HAPPY FAMOUX FRIDAY!!!!!
It was so nice posting yesterday! Thank you again for being patient about me missing Wednesday. I'll remind you once more that the reason for me missing that day will come to light soon, and you will hopefully be delighted.
As always, thank you for being so engaged with the story. That's truly the nicest thing you can do, since I have no way of knowing how you like my story without hearing your thoughts. New characters are coming up soon, and there are some consistent commenters who I CAN'T WAIT to surprise. Please remember to be commenting so I can make note of you!!!
Now, let's get into this!!!
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Emeray and Till just had a creepy heart to heart. As it turns out, Till knew of Emilee Parvenu in her past life. Her boyfriend was friends with Carstan! That tells you everything you need to know about what kind of a guy he was, huh? Also, Till revealed to Emeray that she also got a note from DEFED. Will the other members get notes too? Is DEFED planning to do what they did in book 1??? What will happen?!?!
emeray
The next morning, I leave the Metropolix before dawn. The car moves like a shadow in the dark of what still feels like a night sky, and I watch from my window as the city slowly tarts to wake. Lights sporadically pop up, silhouettes of tired people crawling past. As we turn the corner toward 8th street, I notice that Wes Tegg's isn't even open yet.
Beside me, Gerald yawns. "You must really hate this guy, huh?"
"More than you know," I say.
Without saying his name and risking being heard on the hidden mics in the car, we're talking about Carstan, the obvious reason for my early exit. The thought having to sip coffee alongside him and make small talk made me sick. It kept me up at night. Once it turned a more reasonable early hour, I poked my head out the door and ask Gerald to take me to Cartney's. He got a kick out of that.
"Fleeing to go see the boyfriend you used to flee from," he says, whistling. "I hope the irony is not lost on you."
"Trust me. Cartney is a beam of light in comparison."
"Wow. Guess he made a pretty bad first impression."
As much as I want to tell him about everything Carstan has done to me over the years, I know that even if I tried, he'd never let me. But I wish I could. Before the protocol, Gerald was always such a good person to talk to.
But luckily, I have an alternative. It takes several knocks on the door before Cartney finally answers, rubbing his eyes and looking at me like I'm crazy.
"It's four in the morning," he says. "Are you aware of this?"
"Carstan's back," I say.
While Cartney doesn't know everything about my past life, after meeting Norax's beloved son at Bree's gala he does know this much. His eyes widen, and he steps away from the door, gesturing for me to come in.
As he makes us coffee, I look around his living room. I don't usually ever visit Cartney at his place, but every time I visit there's always a new plaque on the wall celebrating a milestone for album sales. Ever since he and I started dating, his music has gotten a surge of new listeners, even the older records. As it turns out, not a lot of my fans used to listen to him before. But if the newest, shiniest plaque proclaiming twenty million sales says anything, they do now.
Cartney enters holding two powder blue mugs. When he sets them down, he looks out the window. "The paparazzi isn't even awake yet. How am I expected to be?"
I take a sip. The creamer he's put in our coffee today is vanilla. His favorite, I've gathered. "I didn't have any other place to go."
"I can promise you that if you were to knock on any door in this city, they'd happily take you in. No questions asked."
"Yes," I say. "And I knocked on yours."
Once the banter has subsided, Cartney lets me explain things. Carstan, the new members. The only thing I keep to myself is my conversation with Till. Telling him about how she knew me from before would mean revealing her past, which, since she keeps it under such lock and key from us, feels wrong to simply vent out. As for the DEFED note, Till and I both agreed that since we don't quite know yet what they have in store for us, nor quite know who else has gotten a letter too, it'd be best to keep the amount of people aware to a minimum.
As I delve deep into the parts I feel I can share, Cartney has a lot of questions, and even more reactions. The amount of gasps that ensue when I mention Carstan's plan to have us mentor new members are innumerable.
His first question, however, has solely to do with our new advisor.
"Does he know it's . . . Well, you?"
I think to what Till said. I don't know how he couldn't.
"Maybe," I say. "Maybe not."
"Does Norax know?"
I shrug, forcing nonchalance. "If she has, she hasn't told me."
His jaw drops. "You mean to tell me that you haven't even asked her whether or not she's aware her son used to torture you?"
His words make me wince. They'd been floating around my head for hours last night, but hearing them recalled to life makes it all feel terribly, terrifically real.
"I've been avoiding the subject," I tell him. "I mean, why else would I be in your apartment at this hour?"
"I thought it was maybe because you loved me, your boyfriend." He shakes his head, setting his mug on the table beside him. "Ray, how are you going to avoid this? If I were you I would've told her right there on the spot, the moment he walked in."
It's easy for Cartney to say this. He was never subject to Carstan van Horne's grand and grotesque torment. I try to keep that in mind as I word myself.
"I know. I will soon."
"Good" he says. As he pours himself a new cup, he pours right over into a new conversation. "Now, what's this you said about new members?"
"I'll show you."
Pulling out the file from my purse, together we flip through the Polaroids of my apparent biggest fans. As I glimpse the wide-eyed faces, I wonder to myself a few things: I wonder if the guards who approached them for these pictures told them any detailsââtold them that they were the prime candidates plucked from a lottery they never knew they'd entered. I wonder how they must've felt in that moment, if they really truly love me as much as Norax claims. I wonder what they'd think about this world of mine if they were to join me, pull back the veil.
I wonder if, when it's all said and done, they wouldn't love it anymore.
Four potential Famoux members, their fate at the mercy of my simple choice. Mercy. The word brings a smirk to my lips. I was never graced with mercy in my life as Emilee Parvenu, not even for a faltering moment. I'm not sure I ever really understood the word until I joined the Famoux and believed I had found itââreally, sincerely found it.
But if I were to be truly merciful, the way of which I have learned, I would make them all members. I'd give them the lavish living spaces and the white-hot spotlights and the closets that seem to accumulate more and more clothes in them with the turn of dawn. I'd put them in the Fissarex so they'd never have to worry about their weight, or hate their bodies, or question whether or not the cameras being jabbed into their faces are getting an unflattering angle. I'd hold their hands and walk them across the street, leading them headfirst to the better place. The greener grass. The grass I'd watered especially for them.
If I were to be truly merciful, I would be Norax.
"This one's got my hair," says Cartney, pointing to the blonde boy.
Just looking at the picture makes my stomach turn. He doesn't look a thing like Cartney Kirkââhe looks like Dalton. My poor, still missing brother. Feeling sicker by the second, I push the boy with the blonde hair to the back of the pile.
"We won't choose him, then," I say. "Wouldn't want you to have any competition."
I'm thankful for the excuse to excuse him off. If I were to have to spend prolonged time with him in the Metropolix, I fear that he would only become a constant and thrumming reminder of what I left and what's been lost.
Cartney makes a few jokes about some of the others, but it's hard to focus. Just looking at the Polaroids fills me with more questions. Will the person I choose have to go through the Fissarex? Will they be forced into a dating contract alongside me? Will Carstan, their supposed fateful advisor, make them feel a fraction of the way I've felt beneath his thumb?
When the pot of coffee had been emptied, Cartney checks the window and happily proclaims that the paparazzi has arrived, and it's finally an appropriate hour to go to outside. He has me help him pick out what to wear ("Black shirt or black shirt?") while we map out our day's events. Since it's very clear that I don't want to return to the Metropolix, Cartney proposes that we shake things up, try new things. This means avoiding all the stops on our usual walking routine, includingââmuch to my chagrinââWes Tegg's.
On the other end of the city, we have breakfast at a cafe that specializes in creating only blue foods. After a very color-processed meal, we visit an art museum, but it gets so quickly packed with fans and followers that we're politely asked to leave before we've even made it through the first floor. For the rest of the afternoon, the paparazzi has a fun time following us around, anticipating our turns and stop as we journey through Colburn's fashion district. In every store we enter, we vows to purchase the oddest item we can find.
As we go about our day, Gerald's pager rings off the hook. It turns out that Norax is very keen on getting ahold of me, offering a colorful array of different reasons why I must pick up the phone/return to the Metropolix immediately. But I have Gerald remind her that me spending a highly publicized day with Cartney is a rarity and a goldmine for my likability. It's enough to make her begrudgingly accept.
As enjoyable as the day turns out to be, all throughout I can't shake my fear of returning to the Metropolix, to Carstan, to everything. We end up extending the day, going to dinner and staying out late enough that, when Gerald and I finally creep back in the front doors, it's clear that everyone is asleep.
The day was exhausting, but even so, rest eludes me. I stare at the curtains by my bed until warm, orange light starts to peak out. Just when I'm about to get up, there's a terse knock on my door.
Her voice comes through muffled. "I hope you're aware that I'm holding a key to your room right now," Norax tells me. "I am choosing to not enter your room by force because I respect you."
The thought that perhaps Carstan might be standing out there with her has my hands instantly shaking, but I manage to roll my eyes. She respects me? Really?
"Oh wow," I say flatly. "Thanks."
In an instant, her voice is noticeably less soft. "Your sarcasm is very unappreciated here, lumerpa. Please let me in."
"I'm tired," I call out. "You woke me up."
"I'm surprised you're not gone already. The only time I saw you yesterday was in the pictures from the paparazzi!"
"And when have you ever been opposed to Cartney and I spending more time with the paparazzi?"
"That's not my point, Emeray," she says. "Something is obviously bothering you, and I want to figure it out. So we can move past this."
How does she know something's bothering me? Till's words flicker through my mind once more, and I force myself to stay composed. "Nothing's bothering me. I just wanted to spend the day with Cartney."
"I know you well enough to know when you're lying."
The door makes a clicking noise. I scurry to a couch, occupying myself with the first book I can find. My eyes scan through a random page of The Bell Jar as the clacking of Norax's heels gets closer and closer, stopping right in front of me.
"So much for respect," I say beneath my breath.
She catches it. "You haven't been too respectful yourself. Carstan was very upset with the way you and Chapter treated him."
"Till and Race were wary about me when I first joined," I say. "Why can't we be wary when he does?"
"Carstan is not a new member," Norax states, matter of factly, as if I didn't know. "He is only here to aid you, dear."
If she really does knows about her son and I, it's a marvel how she can say any of this with a straight face. Feeling frustrated, I tear my eyes up from the book, taking on her grey eyes against mine like battle. While my gaze is certainly terse, hers is lax. Calm. As if nothing in the world should be wrong here.
"I don't think he'll want to aid me," I dare to say.
This makes Norax falter. I watch as her gaze takes a swift shift toward confusion. "How can you say that? Why wouldn't he, lumerpa?"
The words fall out before I can stop them.
"You know," I say. "You were there."
"Where?"
"You know where."
For a while, she doesn't say anything. We stare at one another, the tension hanging in the room like clothes that might never dry.
Finally, she shakes her head.
"I thought you two got along well at the gala," she says. "Did he say something to make you feel as if he didn't like you?"
Everything inside of me wants to scream at her. Not the gala. The Fishbowl, stationed just outside my town of Red. An outskirt where Carstan and Felix had plucked me from the crowd, preparing to do their worst. She has to know. She has to remember.
But I can't bring myself to confront her, so I manage a half-hearted excuse about how he seemed unapproachable. Though my delivery is poor, she accepts it without a moment's hesitation, then launches into a long spiel about what my day has in store before finally, finally leaving me to get ready.
As I button up the front of a crisp black blouse, my fingers tremble. I take a few minutes to myself before leaving and bracing the perils that may lie in the hallways. I sit at the foot of my bed, reading over a line in DEFED's note for the umpteenth time.
You have always been caged.
You have always been caged.
You have always been caged.
And though they pledge a haunting promise to free me, I fear that's impossible. No matter where I go, or what I do, I'll always find myself in some sort of cell. Even if I have to build one myself.
xxx
Ooooo spooky. Give me your thoughts on today's chapter!!!!
I also have a few questions:
Do you think Norax knows about Carstan?
Do you think Carstan knows Emeray is Emilee?
Do you know how many times I got "Cartney" and "Carstan" mixed up while writing this chapter? Do you know how many times I screeched and was like, "I'M SO SORRY CARTNEY FOR EVER MISTAKING YOU FOR CARSATAN!!"?
I hope you have a wonderful weekend. Do you have any cool plans? My plans are to relax, watch some shows, and nap. I'm finishing up Arrested Development, so if you have any underrated show recommendations worth watching, throw them at me!!
Don't forget to read THE AROTTIR by hannahgrowe! I genuinely cannot recommend that book enough. It's been consuming my thoughts and making me wish that Famoux was even a fraction as well paced and planned as it is.
As always please send me your story recommendations so that I can read them and post about how much I'm enthralled by them! Please please please comment them for me!
I hope you have a wonderful weekend, Wattpad. Stay golden always. And remember:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.