Derrick sat in Jackson's bed, his knees pulled to his chest. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to deal with this. It wasn't every day that he woke up next to one of the most handsome men in America.
The sound of the shower running was a constant reminder that he had done something that he couldn't just let go.
"Jackson." Derrick yelled over the sound of the shower. "I'm going to get going."
Derrick grabbed his clothes off the floor. Why was this hitting him so hard? It should just be like any other one night stand. So it was with a man? It happened. He was drunk, Jackson was drunk, and stuff happened. It was a tale as old as time.
The shower turned off, and Jackson peaked his head out of the bathroom, steam billowing behind him. His hair was wet, slicked back. His skin shimmered in the sunlight that peaked through the closed blinds.
"I'll see you later." Jackson smiled.
"Why?" Derrick was hoping he hadn't made promises last night. He wanted to get out of that apartment, and block this whole ordeal from his mind.
"The photo shoot." Jackson stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. He leaned against the doorframe. Even in his natural state he was a born model.
"Right." Derrick grabbed his stuff. "Right, the photo shoot. I'll see you there." He was attempting to put his shirt on and pull his pants up at the same time when he felt the strong, firm hand on his arm.
A shiver went down his spine. It wasn't the bad kind of shiver though. It wasn't the kind he was hoping for. It was that shiver of anticipation.
It was all to much.
"Calm down." Jackson's voice was calm, smooth. "You're not gay. You were just drunk."
"I know that." Derrick pulled away, tripping on the pants around his knees. He landed hard on his ass. "Damn it!"
"You're a wreck." Jackson laughed, extending his hand, helping Derrick to his feet. "You need some coffee."
"I need to get out of here." Derrick began buttoning his shirt, his eyes refusing to look at Jackson.
"That wasn't a recommendation, that was an order." Jackson walked past Derrick, out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
Derrick leaned against the wall, his heart beating, his head swimming. He could hear the coffee pot bubbling.
Maybe coffee would help.
Derrick finished getting dressed, and sat at the kitchen table. "Do you do this often?"
"What? Confuse straight men? Sometimes. They usually find me though." Jackson looked up, smiling.
"I have to ask... why did you get married?" Derrick rubbed his forehead. The hang over was starting to set in.
"I loved her. I mean, not romanticaly, not sexually, but it was enough." Jackson grabbed a mug, pouring Derrick a cup of coffee. He handed it to Derrick, their fingers brushing briefly. "And yes, I slept with her. We have a daughter."
Jackson motioned to a picture above the fireplace. The girl was tall, with shoulder length black, red hair, and a build that most girls would kill for.
Hearing all of this didn't help Derrick. It just made him that much more confused. If Jackson could fake it, then maybe he had been faking it this entire time.
*****
Annabelle was already out the door when Layla finally caught up with her. She had done it again. She had ended up in bed with Layla, and that was something she couldn't do anymore. Not after the video. The humilation was to much for her to handle. The way people looked at her now was almost physically painful.
"Stop. Annabelle, just hold on." Layla was running behind her, clutching at her blue silk robe, trying to keep it closed.
"This was a mistake. This whole thing was a mistake." She jammed the elevator button, and suddenly was praying for stairs. Sadly, the only stairwell was an emergency exit, and she didn't feel like setting off alarms. Just what she needed, more attention.
"Why are you freaking out?" Layla kept her distance.
"Why do you think? I'm the laughing stock of the fashion world. Hell, I'm the laughing stock of the world!" Annabelle was shocked that she was screaming. She hardly ever raised her voice, let alone screamed.
"You're not the laughing stock. It's not that big of a deal." Layla was finally able to catch her breath. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, trying to seem composed.
Annabelle leaned her head against the cold metal of the elevator door. It was helping her sudden headache. She could feel her heart racing. She had to get out, and she had to get out now. If she didn't now, then she knew Layla would be able to talk her back into the apartment, and then back into...
"My parents saw it." Annabelle couldn't even look Layla in the eye as she spoke. "Do you get that? My dad saw a video of me making out with, having... He saw us Layla."
"I'm sorry." Layla was getting a little closer.
Annabelle pulled away when she felt Layla's hand on her shoulder.
"This needs to be professional. That's all." The door opened, and Annabelle stepped inside.
As the doors closed she could see the way Layla's face tightened, the tears spilling down her cheeks.
She couldn't even have something like this. She couldn't have a private life. That had just been proven to her in the worst way possible. Something she had wanted to be private, personal was suddenly plastered all over the internet for the whole world to see. They had seen her doing something she had been so terrified to do, and she had every right to be apparently. Annabelle walked out onto the street and slipped on an over sized pair of sunglasses, blocking her gaze from the sudden blast of camera flashes.
She could hear the voices yelling at her, asking her about her 'girlfriend'. She tried to block it out, but it was to hard, and she found herself ducking into an alley, hiding herself, her tears, her humilation from the sudden scourge of paparazzi.
She had what she wanted. She was famous, but at what cost?
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