Chapter 10
Ensley
I couldn’t stay out too late. The fact that my friends had deserted me and gone somewhere else was bad enough. After my encounter with Thorn, I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and the whole experience just got worse.
I grew tired of the thumping music at the nightclub, and I didn’t like the way random guys were brushing up against me while I tried to dance. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the crowd, I wasn’t thirsty for more drinks, and eventually, I just got bored.
So, I returned to my apartment and after changing out of my clothes and taking my makeup off, I slid into my bed. It was still early for a Saturday night, and I had pictured today going very differently. Now, finally, when I had some time to myself, I was doing nothing exciting.
I tossed around in bed. I wasn’t tired or sleepy. Every move I made, I wished Thorn’s body was next to mine. I just couldn’t get Thorn out of my mind. No man had ever stood up for me like that before.
He had left so suddenly. I had no intention of leaving. It hadn’t mattered to me that my friends wanted me to go see them, I had very little interest in meeting them. Instead, I would have liked to spend some more time with Thorn and explore the possibility of spending the night with him.
I bit down on my lip as I pictured the scene in my head.
What did his bike look like? What did he look like with his helmet on? I imagined him riding his bike, his biceps clenched as he gripped down on the accelerator. His thighs were taut and muscular as he swerved the bike.
What would I look like sitting behind him? I would have no choice but to wrap my arms around his expansive chest. I would have to press myself to him for support. He’d be able to feel the rise and fall of my breasts. Nothing was sexier to me right then than sitting behind him on his bike and riding away.
What if he stopped? What if he suddenly stopped his bike in the middle of nowhere?
I imagined him swinging his long, athletic legs over the seat of the bike, his hands on my waist as he helped me down. I was biting down harder on my lip as I thought about how hot it would be if he pushed me against his bike, leaning me back over the seat.
His hands on my crop top, sliding it up to my belly, cupping my bare sensitive breasts. His mouth on my nipples. I’d reach for his cock. I was dying to know how big he was, how hard it would be when I stroked him with my hand. His tongue on my erect nipples, me moaning, my nails digging into his leather cut as he adjusted himself between my legs.
On my bed, my hand traveled down over my pajama top, over the base of my stomach, teasing the soft skin right above my pussy. My other hand was cupping my left breast. I could almost feel Thorn’s cock between my legs, I could feel the stickiness of his tongue on my nipples.
He’d whip me around. I was dying to be thrown over the bike. He’d grab my ass and stroke it gently, before beginning to peel my jeans off. I didn’t want him to take it slow with me. I wanted him to thrust his cock into me from behind.
I moaned in my bed as my fingers played with my clit. I was picturing Thorn thrusting his cock into me rapidly, and my teeth were clamped down on my lip tightly.
My eyes flew open, and I sat up in bed, in my dark room. I was panting. Sweat covered my face. I had just fantasized about a man I barely knew. I almost had an orgasm just thinking about how hot it would be if he took me on his bike!
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and rushed into the bathroom. In the mirror I looked at myself, splashing my face with water quickly. What was wrong with me? Thorn wasn’t the kind of guy I usually went for. He had said it himself. If I knew what was good for me, then I should stay away from him.
I was dangerously attracted to him. I was seductively drawn to him. My hands shook as I wiped them with a hand towel. I wanted to stop fantasizing about a man I shouldn’t be with, but I couldn’t.
I continued staring at myself and wondering what he saw when he looked at me. Did he see me the way I saw him? Did he want me too? Why had he walked off so suddenly? And then again, why had he left me his phone number?
The paper napkin! In a panic, I ran out of the bathroom and rummaged for the purse in my closet which I had thrown in earlier. Inside the purse, the paper napkin lay folded up and I felt a sense of relief wash over me.
He’d told me to call him if I needed him. Not if I wanted him. What did he mean by that? Why would I need him? What did he think his purpose in my life was?
I sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the napkin in my hand and stared at the digits. Would it be too forward of me to call him now? To tell him that I needed him to make me feel good? What if that wasn’t the kind of ‘need’ he was talking about?
I let out a slight laugh. I was being silly. How could I want a man so badly that I barely even knew? I must be working too hard if the first man that talks to me I want to hop in bed with.
Stuffing the napkin back in my purse, I walked out of my bedroom and to my living room. It was too early for me to fall asleep. My mind was racing with thoughts of Thorn. I needed a distraction.
My eyes fell on the pile of fan mail that my publicist had delivered to my apartment earlier that day. Perfect.
***
I made myself a cup of hot cocoa and sat down at my writing desk with the pile of fan mail beside me.
If this wasn’t distraction enough from thoughts of Thorn, I didn’t know what else could be. I was giddy with excitement as I stared at the unopened pile of letters now. I truly loved my fans. I tried to keep in touch with everyone that contacted me through social media. But what I think I loved the most was actual letters. According to my publicist, Sandy, the letters had been flooding her office, and she had picked out a bunch of them and had them delivered to my apartment.
I picked the top one up and felt the smooth red material of the envelope between my fingers. There were stickers on it, with my name written out in neat frilly handwriting in glitter pen. I knew exactly the kind of person this letter was from.
I tore it open carefully, and my prediction was true. It was a fan letter from a thirteen-year-old girl who had seen me on TV and more recently watched the whole season of Failing at Love.
She wanted me to know that she loved everything about me. The way I did my hair, my clothes on the show, how my character was good-natured and how just like me, she too was just looking for someone to love her back.
I smiled as I read her letter over and over again. It was my first piece of fan mail and I wanted to cherish that moment of discovering how I was affecting people’s lives.
I opened the next one, which had been scented and this too was written by an excited teenage girl. This girl, called Marissa, said that she wanted to be just like me when she became an adult. She said she was a redhead but wished that she had beautiful golden hair like mine.
I was itching to write back to these girls. I wanted them to know that I was thinking about them, and to reassure them that life had a funny way of working out. I wanted Marissa to know that red hair was just as beautiful as golden hair was. Most of all, I wanted these girls to know just how much their words meant to me.
But Sandy had explicitly told me that I shouldn’t write back. She had warned me against forming any sort of unhealthy relationship with the people who wrote to me, and I could see her point. These girls were at the cusps of their lives, and undue attention from a celebrity could make them grow over-attached.
The grown-up thing for me to do would be to read these mails, appreciate them and then leave them aside.
I raced through the next few letters. They came from people of all ages and all backgrounds, but mostly from teenage girls who looked up to me.
Tonight, I was feeling rejuvenated. Now finally I felt like I had achieved what I had set out to do. The whole reason why I wanted to work in television more than in films was so that I could form a bond with my fans. So that I was a regular presence in their lives.
I had made a vow to myself, a very long time ago; that I would only take on roles which I felt could influence an audience. So that person watching the show had something to take away from it. This was probably why it had taken me so long to break through, why achieving success in my career had been such a struggle.
I sighed and sipped on my hot cocoa as I read some of the other letters. I was feeling now like every decision I had made in my life before this had been worth it.
It didn’t matter to me anymore, what I went through in New York or with Ryan. I’d nearly forgotten about the fact that I had wanted Thorn with an animalistic desire, that chances were that he would never want to see me again. All I could think about now was how happy I was with my own success. I had finally achieved something of worth.
The last envelope in the pile was a discreet plain white. It only had my name on it, but it had been printed neatly and not handwritten. Something gave me the sense that this one had been sent by an adult, someone who was way more mature than the teenage girls who had written to me.
I tore the envelope open carefully and flipped open the printed page. It was barely a letter. It had just one sentence printed in the middle of the page.
I’m watching you, Ensley.
Love,
Ryan
The page fell from my hand with a jerk, and fear began to course through my body. My hands rose up to my mouth, and a low shriek escaped my lips. I had stood up from my chair hurriedly and knocked the mug of hot cocoa all over the carpet.
I glared at the sheet of paper lying on the desk now. It was like the words were emblazoned in my eyes. I blinked rapidly, and I couldn’t get them out of my vision.
In an instant, I was no longer the confident Ensley who was on the successful TV show. I was the frightened girl in my apartment in New York. How did he find me?
With my heart in my hand, I rushed to the windows one by one. I was pulling the curtains shut in every room. I ran to double check the front door to make sure it was locked.
I knew I was being watched. For the past few weeks, I had a nagging feeling inside me that I was constantly in the presence of someone else and my gut had been right. This wasn’t just an empty threat. Ryan was manipulative, but he always meant his word. This wasn’t just a way for him to scare me. He wanted me to know that he was a step ahead of me. That despite me leaving New York and him behind, he was still watching my every move.
I slid down to the carpet, with my back pressed against the door. My breathing was ragged, and little pearls of sweat had formed on my forehead now. I felt like I was gagging like someone had their hand around my throat.
I didn’t know what to do.
Every fear I had about Ryan was coming true.