Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) (2 page)

Chapter
Three

Julia

A few weeks have passed in relative quiet for my world. No
funerals. No uproars in the media. Well, none so far. I’m keeping a few things
on the down-low, hoping the tabloids don’t get wind of them. I am at another gathering
of my peers. It’s being held at the modeling agency I am signed with, Ignited
Modeling Agency. The name says it all and they claim to represent the hottest
male and female models in the world. The invitation declared tonight a
celebration to remember those we’ve lost too soon and to also celebrate our
success. I’m no fool. I’ve been to one of these required celebrations before
and they always follow closely after a drug overdose or suicide or a death
related to an eating disorder. This isn’t a party. This is an undercover
mission. Tonight the agency will have counselors patrolling the party, looking
for those that may be in danger. Tomorrow there will be hushed rumors of about
a half dozen people being checked into a rehab of some sort. I’ve only been
caught once and have no desire to be caught again.

Being a veteran of this business, I’m prepared. I forced
myself to eat an entire Lean Cuisine earlier so that I wouldn’t be chancing a
passing out episode. It took me a while to manage downing it all, but I
stomached it for the cause. I’m also dressed in wide-legged black trousers with
a flowing teal blouse to give me some bulk. I’ve styled my long blonde hair in
fat curls to add more volume to me, too. That should keep the eating disorder
bloodhounds from sniffing around me too badly. I scan the crowd and see some
newbies showing off their bony backs in slinky dresses. They are displaying
their rail-thin frames naively. I’m pretty sure some of these girls will be
going on an extended vacation after tonight.

I’m trying my best to stay away from the alcohol, but when I
do give in, I have a different guy grab me a shot of
Patrón
each time
.
Really.
What is this agency
thinking, serving up the finest selection of alcohol and expecting us to not
indulge? I know it’s a test, and I’m pretty sure I will fail this one. Since
keeping my nose clean, quite literally, alcohol has become my poison of choice.
Some people have a piece of chocolate to calm them, or a cigarette. I choose
alcohol. What’s the harm in that?

Sawyer is here, of course, but he knows to keep his
distance. He has
her
on his arm. She
is fresh and new and so stupid, hanging all over him as though she may get to
keep him. He’s coddling her and wearing her like a trophy tonight. I guess that
means he is still playing the role of her boyfriend. This stings, but with some
alcohol in my system I’m well on my way to numbing it out.

I’m starting to wobble a bit after only two shots, so I’ve
started nursing a bottle of water. That high quality stuff kicks your butt
quicker. The expansive loft space has an industrial vibe—with exposed brick
walls and grand wood beams on the ceilings accompanied by shiny metal ductwork.
I
stroll
the space, stopping occasionally to catch up
with some acquaintances, but tire of this rather quickly so I ease over to the
eight-foot windows to check out the view of the New York skyline. All those
lights twinkling in the dark night have always reminded me of Christmas lights.

The smile automatically pulls at my lips when someone’s reflection
comes into view from behind me. He stands looking me over leisurely, thinking
he is getting away with it. A giggle comes close to escaping me, but I hold it
together. I want to see how long he plans on checking me out. He does this for
a few long minutes until a woman requests his attention. Always the gentleman,
he offers it to her.

Greyson Stone has showed up tonight and I’m ready to go
attack him with questions I want answered. I keep my eyes on him as a cute guy
delivers me another shot. I down the sharp tangy, tequila quickly.

“Be a sweetheart and take care of the glass.” I bat my heavy
eyes at blondie.

He obliges, of course, with a lazy wink.
“Sure
thing, doll.”

I don’t want the booze bloodhounds to catch me with a glass
in my hand. They know my rehab record, so it’s obvious I’m a prime target
tonight. I actually feel people watching me, or maybe my guilt is tapping me
nervously on the shoulder. Either way, I’m dreadfully anxious.

The last drink kicks in and every joint in my body becomes
nice and soft. Now I’m beginning to forget why I’m supposed to be behaving or
why I should really care. Shrugging those notions off, my gaze seeks Greyson
out again. He’s not hard to find, being that he looms over the entire crowd. He
is the tallest person I know. He has his back to me, so I creep up and wrap my
arms around his waist.

“
Gotcha
!”
I squeal.

Greyson turns in my arms with a smile tugging at his full
lips, but keeps it in check.
Hmm…
Those lips… They are
so full and pouty. Those lovelies begin to move as I focus on them. “You
realize there are eyes watching you tonight. Someone’s going to get you, if you
don’t straighten up.” His six-foot-seven-inch frame towers over me. I’ve always
liked how tall he is. I’m taller than most, so he makes me feel more dainty.

I roll my eyes at him.
Typical Greyson.
He hasn’t seen me in over two years, yet he goes straight into reprimanding me.

“Just chill, honey.
Stop being the fun police.” I pull him away from some girl
without a second thought. “I do know someone has been watching me tonight.
Let’s go somewhere so you can watch me some more.” I wink at him and start
moving us through the crowd.

“I’ll catch back up with you later,” he reassures the dismissed
girl over his shoulder—ever Mr. Polite.

I keep dragging Greyson along with me until we are in a less
congested corner, and openly check him out with one hand perched on my hip and
the other tapping my chin. He stands before me, wearing relaxed-fit jeans and a
white oxford shirt casually buttoned and untucked with an unzipped hoodie
peering from underneath a dark blue sports coat. He looks ultra-cool as always
even though I think he is using my tactic of layering clothes to add volume to
his bony frame. Those dazzling green eyes look a bit amused at me, but I
continue to inspect him anyway. I even do a full circle around him while
gliding my fingers along his shoulders and back for good measure. He tenses
under my touch, causing me to giggle in approval. I like making this big guy
nervous. Once I face him again, I do another full body scan. He’s not as pale
as he was and the dark circles under his eyes aren’t as prominent as they were
a few weeks back. I pull the charcoal fedora from his head and tsk my
disapproval. His hair just won’t do.

“I hate your hair,” I say bluntly.

Greyson runs his hand over his head. His hair is nearly
shaved completely off. He shrugs before grabbing the hat from me and replacing
it on his head.

“Just where have you been hiding, and why do you look like a
flipping vampire?” I blurt out. My swaying is becoming more pronounced so he
slides his hand protectively underneath my elbow to steady me.

“You guessed it, smarty. I’ve been portraying a vampire.”
His eyes twinkle with sarcasm.

I don’t know if I believe him or not.

“Look. You not letting me know where you’ve been…” I shake
my head dramatically, but have to stop when dizziness invades me. “Not cool, my
friend.” I tap him on the chest.

“Why’s it matter to you where I’ve been?” Greyson tilts his
head and waits for my answer. The head tilt thing is a signature Greyson
expression. I know he’s really listening when I see this. And man, can he do
something delicious to ad campaigns with that very same move. He is just so
yummy.

I lean closer to him and produce my signature pouty face.
“Because you’ve always been my favorite.
I’ve been worried
about you.”

This makes him straighten his stance and smirk at me, as
though he doesn’t believe me. I’m drunk and don’t know any better, so I start
giggling and can’t stop.

“
Shh
… You don’t want to attract
any attention tonight.” He looks around with worry only evident in his eyes as
he keeps his casual demeanor intact. I, on the other hand, am failing
miserably.

“Don’t I know
it.
” I agree with a
snort. Man, am I wasted. I should have just said
NO
. This thought causes me to snicker even more.

Greyson starts pulling me towards the exit. “Come on. Let’s
get out of here.”

I stop in my tracks and try to think this through. My mind
is swimming in a toxic sea of tequila, making it nearly impossible.

“Hmm… Last time you told me that, I woke up in rehab.” I try
to glare at him, but I’m pretty sure I only pull off an eye squint.

He rubs his head along the edge of the fedora, giving away
his slight frustration, and all I can think about is why on earth would he
agree to an ad contract making him cut his hair so severely short? This man’s
luscious hair should always be on display. It’s a crime for those locks to be
gone.

He gives me another sly look after a few beats.
“Fine.
Stay here and see where you end up.” He releases me
and walks back to his company from earlier, leaving me swaying alone.

But I’m Julia Rose and am never one to be alone for too
long, so another guy offers me a lite beer. I’ve got an awful case of
cotton-mouth from the tequila, so I gladly accept it. I spend some time with
this Italian stud, until I’ve consumed two beers and can barely stand upright.
He is offering to take me to his apartment, and that sounds like such a great
idea to me.

We are making our way to the exit when Greyson is back
beside me in a flash. Things start to get really fuzzy at this point and the
night begins fading in and out. I’m in trouble. My eyes won’t adjust and they
keep a constant blurry quality that I can’t shake off.

I blink my eyes and I’m at the party. Then I blink again and
now find myself in a taxicab with New York City zooming by. There’s no
recollection of leaving the party, as with my world spinning. Clamping my eyes
tightly, I try willing it to stop. Opening my eyes, I find myself in my
apartment, sitting in the dining room. That’s odd in itself because this is a
room I never use. Greyson stands before me, but I thought I was with the
Italian stud?

I blink and am now being handed a slippery glass of water
that I am having a hard time keeping a grasp on.

“Hold it tight. Don’t let it slip,” Greyson keeps
instructing as he moves in and out of my vision. I hear him say something about
an adventure. Then I hear something shatter all over the dining room floor.

“Don’t move, Julia. You’ll get cut,” he says.

I try to sit still as I’m told to do. My mouth is beyond
dry, so I lift the glass to take a sip. It’s gone. Oh… I guess I dropped it. I
couldn’t help it though. My hands are numb. Everything is numb.

Later…
I think it’s later… I find myself in a strange bed and I
swear to you it’s
moving
. I’m
definitely not in my apartment. This space is smaller and very unfamiliar. My
scrambled mind tries to be worried, but my world completely abandons me before
I can grasp ahold of it.

~~~~

Morning finds me all kinds of hung over and I’m scared to
open my eyes. I lay here, trying to piece the night back together, but my head
is pounding and my mouth feels like the desert. I pull the blanket over my head
and try to put off consciousness for a little longer, but it’s not working
because I have to pee something fierce. I
peep
an eye open and panic sets
in and overrides all my other
problems.

I. Don’t.
Know.
Where.
I. Am!

I’m in an RV! What? I jump off the bed and scan the RV for
some familiarity. A wave of vertigo slams into me and I have to steady myself
against the wall for a few moments. Standing in this spot, I regard my
surroundings, while clutching my pounding head. It’s a brand new fancy mini
mansion of an RV, but I find no comfort in that. There’s no memory of any of
it.

How did I
get here? Why can I not remember?

Eventually I stumble towards the back where I find a
bedroom, and looking inside I am almost comforted to find Greyson, lying face
down asleep. I could strangle him and have to fight for some restraint in not
doing so.

“Greyson,” I say urgently as I shake him awake. He grumbles
and turns over to get farther away from me. I continue to shake.
“Greyson!”

“What?” he mumbles in aggravation as he continues to lay
here.

“What am I doing here with you in some RV?” I hop onto the
bed and shake him mercilessly.

“Stop shaking me,” he grumbles. “You said you wanted to go
with me.”

“Go where? Greyson, look at me,” I whine in panic.

“Humph.” He grumbles some more, but rolls back around and
looks at me with barely cracked open eyes.