He took a long shower; the water scrubbed away the smoke from the night before, the sweat, the kisses, and the alcohol clinging to his skin. He had drunk less than Scarlett—only four glasses—while she was completely wasted. Watching her act so freely gave him a strange sense of satisfaction, as if witnessing her rebellion come alive again in such a raw, direct way. And for Billy, who was merely another figure in the crowded frame, it was the perfect moment to think about his own life. He wanted to taste that human-made elixir that turned the mind into a shapeless fog.
He slipped on a fitted blue leather jacket and breathed in the tender morning air.
He had three meetings in six hours, each lasting about an hour and forty-five minutes—an endless loop of brief, chaotic encounters. For the girls, divinely lovestruck, each one wanted to express a thousand thoughts in those moments, through gestures and allegories Billy could barely understand. But with cameras watching and the weight of fame—something he once viewed as distant—now pressing on him like air itself, he could only do what he did best.
–It's easy to hate people –Billy muttered, looking at himself in the mirror. For days now, he had been telling himself how stupid he was, how reckless his words could be, and how deeply they could cut. After thousands of interviews, his life now looked like one of those caricatures of a rude celebrity—someone who spoke disgustingly about others, making everyone around him uncomfortable, regardless of intent or context, as if order and empathy had no place left.
–Good morning –answered Carmen, one of the new people on Billy's team. Unlike Jerry and Michael Ocklars, who had always been the organized ones—Jerry handling all music-related negotiations, Michael managing everything else—Carmen was now in charge of the smaller, more human parts of Billy's life: his appointments, meetings, schedules, blog ideas, wardrobe choices, and everyday logistics that kept him from spiraling into chaos.
–Hey, I imagined you'd be a little older –Billy said, glancing at her. She seemed impressive—someone who had mastered the art of managing people, stars even. Her career was a costly one, but she earned her place, usually hired by the wealthy or smaller companies, since nowadays companies had become their own kind of celebrities.
–Well, you've got two dates and a meeting with Red Bull. You're the center of attention now that you're stepping into the world of extreme sports –Carmen said, composed but with her heart pounding and her fists clenched, trying to suppress the anxious twist in her stomach.
–Easily –Billy replied.
–Your photos from last night are quite revealing; one could almost say you did it on purpose –Carmen shot back, slamming the newspaper down. The pictures showed him holding Scarlett, who had taken another round of drinks after a performance that defied logic but satisfied the dopamine rush performers craved. They had to release that high somehow, or else face a crushing emptiness before the next show—a cycle no outsider could truly grasp. It was the kind of thing that could destroy anyone with a fragile mind in this industry.
***
–You must be Stacy –Billy said, looking at the blonde girl standing nearby. She was only eighteen, with a delicate face that still carried the glow of youth. It was clear she had tried hard to look sexy, though what truly gave her an angelic touch were her slim hips and graceful figure.
–Y-yeah –she tried to murmur something coherent, but words failed her. Silence swallowed the space between them, her tongue freezing as Billy's gaze burned through every possible reaction she might have had.
–Well, it's a shame—I brought you here to climb. Forget about romantic dates, sweetheart, it's just you and me, working out. They told me you're a cheerleader, so you must have the energy for this –Billy said, taking her hand, which was slick with sweat. She tried to pull away, but his smile made her knees melt.
At least she wasn't afraid of heights—or so she hoped.
–I think so –Stacy replied, carrying with her the lingering fear that echoed deep in her mind. She had dreamed of this moment, imagined it countless times, but giving an answer still felt complicated. She nodded as she adjusted the climbing gear. Billy looked stunning in his athletic clothes—so effortlessly handsome that he could make any parent nervous at the sight of him.
–Alright, it's just four floors up –Billy said as he began climbing slowly. She tried to match his pace, struggling as her breath grew heavy. He reached the top and sat, feet dangling over the edge, watching her inch upward. To his left, he began setting up what could almost be called a romantic picnic. Nothing extravagant—just a couple of sandwiches, sliced fruit, orange juice, and snacks like nuts, grapes, and small cubes of candied walnut.
His sandwich was double tuna. The other was beef with cold lettuce, cheese, and tomato. Stacy, however, had brought peanut butter and blackberry jelly, as her mother had described in the interactive guide.
–Give me your hand –Billy said, reaching for her as she struggled to look composed. Her hands ached, slick with sweat, her heart pounding in exhaustion, her back tense from fatigue.
She blushed crimson as she climbed up, while Billy watched her carefully. He hated how simple it all seemed—the fame, the money, the illusion that people could bring him down to earth. But none of it really mattered to him anymore.
–I… –she exhaled deeply.
–Just a little more to go –Billy said, looking into Stacy's bright lime-green eyes.