Page 119 of Sinful Desires
The theme music jingled in the background while the camera panned to the audience, and I reached for the glass of water next to me, taking a huge gulp, and set it down gently so no one could see my hand shake.
Live interviews were my favorite.Said no one ever.
They were the perfect cocktail of panic, fake laughs, and knowing your publicist would have a stroke if you went off-script. Say the wrong thing and you’d watch it replay online for the rest of your life.
Lyndsay Peels, legendary for smiling while tearing people apart, held out her glittery pink microphone and passed it to a woman in the third row. The woman stood up slowly, probably mid-forties, with short electric-blue hair and oversized yellow glasses. She pressed a hand to her chest.
“Hi, Scarlett! I’m Gabby. I’m such a huge fan! Oh gosh,” she giggled nervously, “I’m actually shaking.”
The audience laughed and clapped.
“Go ahead, Gabby. I’m listening. But fair warning, some secrets are going to the grave with me, clutching a designer bag and an NDA.”
She giggled, nodding quickly. “I was wondering?…?would you ever dye your hair a different color? Ilovethe red. It’s so you. It’s like your signature. But have you ever thought about changing it?”
I smiled, a little more real this time.
I had been born blonde, bright like the sun, but when I was sixteen, my father had said I needed something to stand out. Something bold. Something people wouldn’t forget.
So, I’d dyed it red.
And somewhere between the lights and the loneliness, I fell for her more than I ever had for myself.
“I don’t think so,” I said, brushing a strand off my shoulder. “It makes me feel powerful. Like?…?a weapon. You know?”
The crowd let out a soft ooh, and I shrugged lightly. “Some days, I don’t feel like myself. Or strong. Or anything. But the red? She shows up even when I can’t. So yeah, she’s staying.”
The audience clapped louder. I took a sip of water like I hadn’t just said something weirdly honest on live TV.
“And ittrulysuits you so well, Scarlett!” Lyndsay fake-screamed, her eyes glued to the camera like she was trying to seduce it. “Now, we’ve got time for one more question. Who wants to go?”
A sea of hands shot up. The audience stirred with excitement while Lyndsay made her way into the crowd.
I kept my smile fixed, even as my fingers curled into my palm.
Lyndsay stopped at the fifth row and handed her glittery pink mic to a man who stood up slowly. He looked like he was in his late twenties, bald, with a beard so thick and styled it could’ve had its own fan club.
“Hi, Scarlett. I’m Mike,” he said, adjusting the mic a little. “I just wanted to say thank you for writingHate the Way I Live. That song genuinely saved me when I was depressed and?…?thinking about doing something I couldn’t come back from.” He gave a small, shaky smile and let out a quiet breath.
I felt my throat tighten.
“Thank you, Mike. That song means a lot to me too. I’m really glad it found you when you needed it.”
The crowd clapped, a few soft “awws” and sniffles echoing through the studio.
Mike cleared his throat, still holding the mic. “Anyway?…?I wanted to ask you something.” He glanced down, then back up. “Living in the spotlight, with all the fame, the millions of people who feel like they have access to you every day—how do you cope? How do you protect the parts of yourself that you want to keep just yours?”
The room went quiet. Even Lyndsay leaned in.
“That’s a really good question.” I paused, letting the words settle. “The truth is?…?I didn’t know what was mine until I didn’t have anything left to protect.”
A few murmurs in the audience. I kept my eyes on Mike.
“When I went away?…?rehab, or whatever pretty word we’re using to make it sound softer, I had nothing. No phone. No people. No noise. Just silence. And that kind of silence makes you ask who you are and what you’ve been giving away just because people expect it.”
Be you, Scarlett. Not the ghost they paint and sell.
As much as I hated admitting it, rehab had taught me one thing. I only had one life, and I’d been wasting too much of ittrying to survive instead of actually living. The dream I used to chase—it didn’t fit me anymore. It wasn’t mine now, and maybe it never was.
