Devoured
CHAPTER TWENTY

I return to Los Angeles, to the life that I thought I'd made for myself, heartbroken. But while my heart feels weaker than it was before I know that I am so much stronger. So much more my own person.
But even that realization does very little for the fact that at first, I try to avoid anything dealing with or reminding me of Lucas at all cost. Even then, he still finds me - on a giant ad for Your Toxic Sequel's new album on the side of a bus and staring across from me in a magazine carousel in the grocery store checkout. Photos from the shoot he did in Nashville. A month or two ago, I'd have plucked another magazine from the shelf and covered his face, but why bother?
By time Micah, a mutual friend of mine and Tori's who's been stopping by our apartment more and more often just to see her, puts on an entire Your Toxic Sequel playlist at a get-together we have, I'm numb enough to Lucas that I don't even flinch.
Brea pulls him aside, her dark eyes wild, hissing, "You don't play that crappy music here Micah Daniel or I will - "
But I save him, worming my body between the two of them. Even in five inch stilettos I'm still taller than Tori, and I glance down into her eyes, giving her a tight smile. "It's one of their best songs," I say. Micah agrees a little too fast. I give him a sympathetic look as he slinks away. I mean, he doesn't actually know what's going on or why Tori is bitching at him.
It's not Micah's fault Lucas dismissed me.
Pointing a purple-painted finger at Tori, I say, "Don't be a bitch. I can fight my own battles but that" - I nod my head toward the iPod dock on our entertainment center - "is definitely not one of them."
Tori's mouth drops open and she stares at me. I can hear the sound of her hands intertwining nervously with each other. I bet money she's wishing for a stress ball. "You're kind of a ball-buster," she says at last, a hesitant smile replacing her frown. "I don't know whether to kiss you or head butt you."
Then I grab her hand, pull her back to the middle of the floor as fast as her needle heels will carry her. And as we mingle with friends, and I hear Lucas's voice making naughty, sexy promises, I decide I'm alright.
After that, I go on easily. More attentive than I've ever been. More alert to detail in my job. This makes Tomas giddy enough to overlook the fact I shut him down - kindly, of course - every time he tries to run all over me.
Tori stops worrying.
Two months after coming back to California, I come home from work to find a letter from Kylie. I almost slide it at the bottom of the stack of mail I plan to tackle this weekend, but then I sigh. She's sent it in a pretty linen envelope and I take care when opening it, so as not to tear through the bold, cursive red ink. When I pull the neatly folded square sheet of paper out, something else comes with it, floating down to the floor and landing right side up.
It's a check for $6,800, and it's made out to me.
Kylie's written a memo at the bottom left hand corner: 24 hours/day X 8 days @ $25 an hour. Thanks.
"What's that?" Tori asks, coming out of her bedroom and around the corner.
Staring down at the check, I rub my fingers back and forth over the thin paper. "Kylie Wolfe's sent me money for working for Lucas." Then, I read portions of the actual note aloud. "For your trouble." I skip over the part that says God . . . Sienna, please contact me. Send me a message on Facebook or call me or something. And don't be prideful and not cash the check. You earned it.
Tori walks over to the counter and shimmies herself up on top of it. Hugging her knees, she says, "And she thinks that's supposed to be enough for her brother screwing you over? Dude, you should send that shit back and tell her no thanks."
"I'm cashing it." Not because I'm money hungry or anything like that but because this money is enough to get me somewhere I need to go.
Tori rolls her dark eyes but says nothing. A few hours later, after I've eaten dinner and completed an ass-kicking exercise video with Tori - I'm starting to see crazy definition in my abs - I sneak away to my room. It takes me all of 30 seconds to reactivate all my social media accounts, and while I'm doing this, I dial Kylie's number.
"And here I was thinking you forgot about me," she says, the grin in her voice too impossible to hide.
"We're running away together, remember? And you're knocking me up with your blue-haired love child."
The next morning, to Tomas's shock and irritation, I turn in my notice for Echo Falls. He actually places his iPad down on his desk. He glares down at the formal letter I typed up last night after getting off the phone with Kylie. Listening to her enthusiasm about music and the scene in New Orleans where she's currently living had pretty much solidified my decision to say goodbye to doing wardrobe for the TV show and to California itself.
I could do what I loved anywhere. And the anywhere I wanted to be was Tennessee, more specifically, Nashvegas.
"You're only giving me two weeks," Tomas says hotly, his voice bringing me back to the present, and I nod my head slowly.
"That's usual how it works," I reply.
"We're getting into the most complex goddamn part of the whole storyline, the most costume changes, and you're only giving me two weeks."
"There are costume and wardrobe people willing to give their babies up to work on this show. Trust me, you'll find someone else."
I hear him tell me to not return tomorrow, hear him claim that as soon as someone contacts him regarding a reference for me, he'll tell them what a selfish cunt I am. How I was incompetent when doing my job. I leave him talking without so much as a backwards glance but I hear everything.
That evening, when I take Tori out to dinner and tell her my plans to move, she cries dramatically. "I'm not mad," she sniffles. "I just - who's going to watch me drink peppermint schnapps on Fridays and warn me about sleeping with randoms."
I laugh so hard I choke on the Coke that I'm drinking. "Stacy's looking for a place to stay," I point out, referring to one of our friends she often goes clubbing with. As if she has a cut-off valve, Tori stops crying and frowns.
"Ugh, not a good idea. Stacy has new randoms every other night. Maybe I'll just get a puppy. Or, you know, a boyfriend, like Micah because he's got an enormous dick. But probably a puppy," she says, smiling.
I would've still moved whether Tori liked it or not, but knowing I have her blessing makes things so much easier.
I try several times to give Tori some of the money Kylie sent me but she refuses it. "No, that money covers a lot of blood, sweat, and tears." When I waggle an eyebrow at her, she rolls her eyes and begrudgingly says, "Okay, a lot of sweat and tears, but you earned it."
On the day I leave our apartment and California, I'm certain I'll have full body bruises the next day because Tori can't get enough of hugging me goodbye. "I'm going to miss you so much," she mumbles into my chest during the seventh or eighth embrace. I take this opportunity to slip three grand - my share of the bills for two months - into her back pocket.
She pulls away from me and drags the money out of her pocket. Pursing her lips, she puts her hands on her hips and tries to shove it back in my direction. I shake my head. "You agreed to it two nights ago," I inform her. When she cocks her eyebrow, looking at me like I'm telling her the biggest lie ever thought of, I nod. "When we went out to dinner with Micah and you were giving him the eyes. I said - and I quote - I'm paying two months of bills when I leave and you said yes."
"You sneaky fucking bitch," she says, laughing and drying tears.
I realize I'm doing the same thing.
"Listening's a virtue, dear friend. Google it."