Page 54 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

There’s no point trying to hide how all four of us lads see her.

Bloody, breathtakingly attractive.

As a teenager, I fancied the socks off her, I was probably in love with her, but I hesitate to use that word because it was over ten years ago and my feelings for her are slightly altered. But when I first met her, I was only thirteen, and I went to sleep every night just thinking and dreaming of her, creating alternative scenarios of us talking in my head because I was a scrawny little kid back then, and she was on her way to stardom.

We all were, but Eden was born with a natural star-like quality that everyone instantly fell in love with. I, on the other hand, needed work. Sure, I had the perseverance, the high musical skills, the passion, and the creativity, but I didn’t have that unique charisma or persona that she did. She shined on stage and could have easily captivated an audience as a solo artist. As a drummer, I preferred blending in the background behind a frontman.

I spent most of my teenage years with a magazine photo of Eden, learning to wank myself off. In fact, other than Eden’s photo, I never had any intimate relationship with a girl. Jagger, Callum, and Haze were sexually more advanced than me and shagged whatever bird offered herself to them.

Eden was the first person I had an intimate relationship with because no other girl came close to her level. Maybe I became so obsessed with her that I couldn’t see anyone beyond her. Unfortunately, I was also cursed with that obsession because even after her, any woman I had a relationship with never measured up to the one I fancied for years.

I’m not in any relationship and haven’t been for almost a year, but I wish I was so I could put a mental barrier up between Eden and me. Of course, I’m no longer that scrawny teenager who had to wear makeup in public to hide my acne, who would sit and dream about how my first time would be with her.

I’m a 28-year-old man with enough sense and experience to know that anything I start with Eden would be a mistake.

Regarding that video leak ten years ago, which led to our career meltdown, I used to be a hundred percent sure she had an ulterior motive. Out of the five of us, she hated the fake blonde persona they forced on her, and over the years, it just got worse. She tolerated it at first because, like all of us, she was desperate to have a career in the industry, but after six years, I don’t blame her for what she did.

What I hold against her is doing it behind our backs, and when it went south, she fled. I find myself perplexed by the depth of bitterness she harbors against us, as if it's our fault everything crashed on her.

She insists that she had nothing to do with the video.

If that’s the case, then who the fuck did it?

Someone must have planted a camera in our room and sent it to the most notorious tabloid news organization. It wasn’t just the tabloids that hounded her. There was a public outcry from parents who threatened to sue the label and her for marketing her image as America’s sweetheart and influencing teenage girls while she led a lifestyle which, I quote, “insin and debauchery.”

Eden went from America’s sweetheart, setting a record as the youngest female artist, to top the Billboard charts with her band, Sugar Vixens, and their debut album, to become America’s pop embarrassment. People forgot that underneath all that candy floss was a teenager who wanted to be known for her music and not which dress she wore at some event.

So, I understand why she did it if she was responsible for the video.

For which I’m not sure anymore.

Except, I want to believe it was her because if it wasn’t her and it wasn’t us, someone fucked us over.

But all that shite is in the past, and my biggest problem now is being around her all the bloody time. She still holds the title of the most beautiful creature my eyes have ever seen, and this look she carries around, which I know is a hundred percent her, is sexy as fuck.

“Popcorn?” she asks, and the way the end of her mouth curls up in this sexy grin makes my knob twitch.

“Sure,” I say, averting my eyes elsewhere because she’s wearing an oversized band T-shirt. I don’t think there’s anything else under it besides her knickers and a bra. The bra for sure because I caught the outline of the lace through the thin cotton fabric. She must be wearing knickers, too. I mean, why the hell would she not be wearing them?

There was a time when she wore one of our T-shirts and nothing else around us.

“I’ll be out back,” I mutter, needing to get away before I start sporting an embarrassing stiffie and quickly open the kitchen door to meet Callum, who’s having a fag.

“Alright?” he glances at me and turns back to look out into the night sky.

The air hangs heavy with the earthy aroma of herbal cigarettes, and I watch him take a drag. The end of the fag is glowing red in the darkness as he takes another leisurely drag, exhaling wisps of fragrant vapor that intertwines with the lingering scent of what I think is burning sage.

“What exactly is in that fag?”

He grins without looking away from the sky and takes another puff.

“Los Angeles and London are two big polluted cities, but I don’t understand why the skies are so different. The Pacific coast always amazes me at nighttime.”

I remain silent.

“A bit of this, a little bit of that,” he says, referring to my question. “Medicinal.”

I stare at him, wondering if the blazing idiot is mixing his fags with weed, even though I’m sure that’s not what I smell.

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