The Story of Me (Carnage #2)(51)
The driver opens the door of the car and Jackson steps out first; the flash from the photographer’s cameras lights up the night, and I suddenly don’t want to get out. I’ve talked this over and over with Jax, and I know I shouldn’t care, but I do, and I know that by me coming out tonight, of all nights, the press are going to rip me to shreds. I sit completely still. I don’t want to cry. I want to throw up and I want to run, but I know I can’t just keep running. Brooke squeezes my hand as she sits silently next to me. Jax bends down and puts his head back inside, and he holds his hand out to me.
“Come on, Georgia. We’ve got this. They’ve no idea who’s in here, and the last person they’re expecting is you. And if they do work out it’s you, f*ck ‘em; you can’t keep hiding away like this. C’mon, let’s go.” I reach out for his hand. I keep my head well down and buried in Jackson’s chest as Brooke covers me from the other side, and we make it inside the club to whispers of, “Who is that?” “No idea.” “It’s no one famous, I don’t think.”
Brooke and I head straight into the first lot of bathrooms and straighten out our ruffled hair. There’re a few people in there and when they start to whisper, nudge and stare, I realise I should have waited and gone to the bathrooms up in the VIP area. My heart is pounding as I grab Brooke’s hand while she’s still putting on her lipstick.
“Let’s use the bathrooms upstairs.” She doesn’t say anything and just follows behind me.
There’s a lift dedicated to delivering guests to the top floor, and we have to give our names before we can get in. A few heads turn as I give mine, and I spend the next five minutes staring at my shoes as we wait for and then ride in the glass capsule.
Once up on the roof, we are greeted by waiters and waitresses; beer, wine, champagne and vodka shots are being offered. I take a flute of champagne and a vodka shot, I throw back the vodka and take another before the waiter is out of reach. We find a spot to stand and people watch quietly for a few minutes while we all let the alcohol calm us down.
“Fuck knows how you deal with that all the time, George. I’d end up punching someone,” Jax eventually says.
“I know; I’m still shaking.” Brooke holds up her shaking hand as to prove her point.
“I don’t deal with it. That’s why I came here, to get away from all that shit.”
“But you’ve had to deal with it most of your life,” Jax says.
“Yeah, and to think I used to be jealous of you. Fuck, that’s just madness! They were all pushing and shoving and they didn’t even know who you were.” I don’t want to tell them that what happened outside was nothing compared to some of the situations I’d been in; the worst was in Japan. The Carnage fans and the press were just insane and broke through the security barriers that had been set up. Sean and I were separated; I tried to get out of the way, but I was pushed all over the place and knocked to the ground. I remember Milo appearing from nowhere, then Marley, both of them holding people back so I didn’t get trampled on. Then Sean appeared and lifted me off the floor, and the three of them surrounded me as they pushed through the crowd. Sean and Marley had gone absolutely ballistic at the organisers and threatened to pull out of the live appearance if security wasn’t stepped up before they went on stage.
“Bet that was nothing. Bet you have better stories than that to tell, eh, George?” I shake my head at the memories.
“You have no idea, Jax. Seriously, anywhere I went with Sean or the band, the fans and the press would just go crazy; some of them are certifiable. I’ve seen fans climb through windows to get to them and the press hanging off roofs and balconies trying to get a shot.” I’m quiet for a few seconds; I forget sometimes the crazy, mad life that I’ve lived. Brooke brings me back into the now as she squeals; she’s recognised someone, but I’ve no idea who they are. An Australian-rules footballer apparently. I don’t even know what that is, so I take her word for it.
We’re on our second round of drinks and our third shot of vodka. I’m feeling considerably more relaxed now that there’re no photographers in sight; no one has approached me, and I don’t seem to be drawing anyone’s attention. Jackson told me that nobody here will probably know who I am, and if they do, they will probably just think I am someone who just happens to look like me. They will never actually expect the real me to be here. I laugh at the thought of lying and just making out I am someone else.
I see Jodie approaching us through the crowd; she’s looking right at me until I look at her then she looks at her brother and sister instead. I know it’s deliberate. She gives each of us a kiss and we talk about how the night’s going. It’s only nine-thirty and the place is already almost packed to capacity.
The dance floor is filling up, and Jackson and Brooke go off to dance. I turn straight to Jodie, saying, “We need to talk.” She raises her eyebrows as she turns and looks at me.
“How could you? Of all the people in Byron, in Australia. You can have your pick, Georgia, anyone you want and you went after Roman.” Well, f*ck this.
“Hang on a minute. I never went after anyone, and I had no idea you and Roman were involved until Monday; not one person, including him and your family, told me anything.” I can’t believe I’m getting the blame for this. A waitress goes by and I grab two shots off the tray; I drink them both as Jodie watches me.