The Journalist and Her Actor

Chapter 13

Things get complicated when the world knows who you are. When they quickly learn where you live. When they decide that following you is normal. When blocking your car is a completely rational thing to do— which is ridiculous, I mean, it's not like my car could flatten you like a pancake or anything. It's a shame that making people pancakes is not allowed... I really wanted to make a breakfast buffet out of few people.

Carter couldn't walk to school, trapped in the house or risk getting tackled for information. And he couldn't afford to shed any blood. It was too precious. He was too precious. That left me driving him, and my car was... temperamental, barely functioning.

I had dug out a black wig, shoved on a green beanie, and threw on a pair of sunglasses, hoping it was enough to leave the paparazzi that waited outside of the underground parking garage confused. My car slowly puttered out of the parking garage, jolting and letting out large puffs of smoke. Carter sat in the passenger seat, baseball cap pulled down over his face, body stiff with fear as I slowly inched through the crowed of paparazzi.

The pictures of me posted online were blurry, and all of them showcased my signature rainbow hair and tattoos. None of which I currently had. We squeaked by the paparazzi, who mostly muttered in irritation, waving their hands through the air as my car continued to puff out smoke like a bad magician attempting to escape in a bucket of bolts.

Carter let out an uneasy breath once we turned the corner, no paparazzi following us. "This is not going to be fun..." he said quietly, pulling off the cap and shoving it into his bag. "Those people are scary." 

We drove quietly for a few minutes, his fingers playing with the straps of his backpack, something on his mind.

"Is that what you do?" he finally asked.

I sighed. "It's not what I want to do."

"But you do it, right? You follow people around and write lies about them." His voice, which was normally so calm, hand an edge to it.

"I don't want to do it Carter. I'm just trying to—" The car began to shutter, shaking the entire frame.

Not now, car. Keep it together.

"—I'm just trying to make sure we have what we need. That you have what you need, Carter."

Smoke began to bloom up from the hood.

"So it's my fault that you write bad things about people?" Carter asked, sounding hurt.

I shook my head, squinting through the smoke, trying to see. "No!"

The car died, sputtering out a pathetic final growl before stopping next to the curb at the side of the road. I glared out the windshield. "None of this is your fault. I took a job I shouldn't have and that's on me. I wanted to make sure we had all the money we needed and at the time..." I leaned my head on the steering wheel. "It was all I thought I could get. So no, none of this is your fault. I did this. And now we are stalled on the side of the road in a crap car because you aren't safe enough to walk to school and..."

I turned to look at him. "I'm sorry Carter. You are wonderful and don't deserve this... any of it."

He offered me a half smile, nodding before staring down at his feet, brow furrowed. "It just sucks Em. I don't like what they are saying about you."

"Makes two of us kid." I squeezed his hand. "But we can't control what others say about us. All we can do is not give them the power to hurt us with it. They don't deserve to have that kind of influence over us."

I reached to open my car door. "Guess we better walk from here, huh?"

Carter yanked my arm away from the door. "No!"