Handbook from Hell

FREYA

I got up from the uncomfortable leather couch to pace again.

I was too angry to sit still.

But I had nowhere else to go.

Grinding my teeth, I moved all of my worldly possessions that the movers had brought—mostly paintings I had failed to sell and some clothes—into my new bedroom.

After I leaned my paintings against the wall and threw my faded clothes into the too-big closet and dresser, I stomped from ~my room~ to the living room.

Everything was already so neat and tidy that I found myself wondering who the last maid was and why she had quit.

There wasn’t a speck of dust on any piece of furniture, or a pillow out of place on the sofa.

Even all the television remotes were lined up neatly on the clear glass coffee table.

I wanted to destroy something in this spotless apartment, to scream obscenities at the controlling rock star, but he was nowhere to be found.

LIAM

I poured one drink down the hatch, and like magic, another appeared in front of me.

~Down it goes.~

I had been a regular at Bemelmen’s for years.

I started going there before I was a household name, and I had never stopped.

Because of that, my fans were regulars there too.

It bothered me, of course…the constant harassment while I was just trying to drink in peace.

But if I picked a new bar, word would get around.

The prying eyes would follow me wherever I went.

There was no escape.

At least at Bemelmen’s the bartender knew my usual order—double whiskey neat—and the drinks were always on the house.

~Funny how free stuff always goes to the people who need it the least…~

I could drink as much as I pleased without touching my wallet, while someone like Freya would be turned away.

~Freya…~

~Why does her name keep popping into my head?~

The more I drank, the more I thought of her.

I wondered what she was doing.

~Probably messing up my apartment…~

~That’s if she’s even there when I get back.~

I had a fleeting impulse to rush home and make sure that she was still there…that she was obeying my orders.

But I stopped myself.

~I gave her a job. I did her a favor. I’m not going to let her kill my buzz.~

Besides, my head was already starting to spin.

I checked my watch.

11:18 a.m.

~Shit. I’d better pace myself.~

I still had to be at the studio to record at noon.

Just then, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a voice, sweet as candy.

“Hey. You’re Liam Henderson, right?”

I looked up to find a striking blonde woman in a low-cut dress.

“Yep,” I slurred. “You want a selfie or something?”

“No.” She blushed. “I was just thinking that you looked pretty lonely over here and thought maybe we could have a drink. That is…if Jazelle wouldn’t mind.”

She bit her lip seductively, awaiting my answer.

“What Jazelle doesn’t know won’t kill her,” I said, and then, “Bartender!”

I held up two fingers, and moments later, that number of drinks appeared in front of me.

The woman—I hadn’t even asked her name yet—took a sip and immediately made a face like she’d just tasted sewage water.

~I wonder if Freya can take her whiskey…~

~STOP thinking about her! Jeez!~

I tried to focus on the bombshell scooting in close to me, but my mind kept veering back to the stubborn redhead.

I needed to get her off my mind, so I downed my new drink and ordered another.

***

FREYA

Later that night, when Liam still hadn’t returned, I decided to crack open the book he left for me.

I took it back to my assigned prison cell—which in reality was more luxurious than any room I’d ever slept in—and began to run a bath in the oversized tub in the en suite bathroom.

Every surface in my suite, like the rest of the apartment, was pristine.

The walls, the counters, the tiles, the towels…all white.

Despite the anger coursing through me, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness, as well.

Nothing in this apartment revealed anything about Liam except that he seemed very lonely.

~How can anyone live this way?~

~Where’s the color?~

~The life?~

Curiosity started to overtake me, and turning off the bath, I walked toward the door to his room.

~If I’m going to be his maid, I’m going to have to go in there at some point…~

But despite any rationalization, my heart still beat rapidly in my chest, as if I could be caught at any moment.

Cautiously, I pushed down on the handle and snuck inside, keeping the door ajar behind me.

When I looked around, I saw a sparse white room like the rest of them.

No photos, no color, nothing.

I snuck over to his dresser and opened the first drawer.

~Black T-shirts.~

~All folded in the exact same way.~

I had an overwhelming urge to move them around.

I even entertained the idea of dumping them all onto the floor, but I restrained myself and instead moved one shirt so it was just barely out of place.

~A minuscule act of rebellion.~

Crossing to Liam’s bedside table, I slowly opened it.

While I had expected supreme order, I was shocked to find the first sign of clutter.

The drawer was crammed full of pens and loose pieces of paper piled on top of each other, all crumpled and torn.

Gingerly, I picked one up and realized they were song lyrics.

His intimidating black scrawl was across all the pages, with various words and sentences carved out into the paper.

Most were unintelligible, but I managed to find one song that seemed finished.

The top of the page read: ~Disaster Zone.~

~Three steps from a heart attack,~

~Always running, never looking back.~

~I break records for all I lack,~

~Having fun and never fighting that.~

~Living where only rebels go,~

~Living in the disaster zone.~

~Falling fast, but stopping slow.~

~You shield your eyes from all I know.~

~I sell out seats to all my shows,~

~You’re living in my afterglow.~

~Living where only rebels go,~

~Living in the disaster zone.~

These lyrics felt like a window into Liam’s true self that I hadn’t yet been able to access.

Maybe he wanted his home to be spotless because the rest of his life felt nothing short of a ~disaster zone~.

The last thing I expected from such a structured person were these beautiful, freeing words.

I had never given his music a real chance, unless you count hearing it in a Starbucks bathroom or catching it on the radio.

But was it possible that I had misjudged him?

Just then, I heard the front door ~slam~ and I jumped up from where I was kneeling.

~Oh no.~

He definitely wouldn’t appreciate finding me there, snooping through all of his notes.

I placed the lyrics back into the pile, eased the drawer shut, and slipped back out of Liam’s room.

I dashed into the living area to find two men that I didn’t recognize enter the room through the front door.

Propped up between them, one arm slung over each of their shoulders, was a fully unconscious Liam.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the men demanded.

“Anthony!” the other one scolded. “Be nice! You must be the new maid, right? I’m Ryan and this is my—”

“Can we save the intros for when we’re not carrying a grown man?” the other man—Anthony—asked.

With that, he and Ryan hoisted Liam onto one of the couches.

“What happened to him?” I asked when their arms were free.

“Liam does this sometimes,” Ryan said. “He drinks too much, misses his appointments, and expects his friends to clean up the mess.”

“The maid doesn’t need the full story, Ryan,” Anthony snapped.

“Hey,” I said defensively. “If it involves cleaning up his messes, I think the maid ~does~ need the full story.”

Behind me, I heard Liam turning over on the couch.

Then he said something.

A word.

Or possibly a name.

I didn’t catch it the first time, but then he repeated it.

“Jenna,” Liam slurred, still practically unconscious. “Jenna.”

I looked between him and the men who had carried him home. “Who’s Jenna?” I asked, my interest thoroughly piqued.

“Seriously,” Anthony said, his thick brows gathering at the center of his forehead. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I’m damn well certain that Liam didn’t hire you to snoop into his personal business.”

“Whoa.” Ryan patted Anthony on the arm and then gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Down, boy.”

Then Ryan turned to me. “I’m sorry about him. About ~both~ of them,” he said, gesturing to Liam. “It’s a complicated relationship.”

“We gotta go,” Anthony said, giving me one last glare before disappearing from sight.

Ryan gave me an apologetic wave and followed after him.

This day just continued to get worse and worse.

I had suffered more than enough undeserved abuse and humiliation.

And there was only ~one thing~ that I could do to release the tension building inside of me.

***

My supplies in hand, I sat down on the floor of the living room, in front of one of the many large white walls.

Liam was still passed out on the couch behind me, snoring away.

He certainly wouldn’t be happy about what I was about to do, but this place needed a little injection of color.

I dipped my brush in the paint on the palette and got to work…