Never Say Never Read Online Free PDF

jeers at me, reminding me how alone I am in this monstrous house. I’ve lived here for two and a half years, but it doesn’t feel like my house. Nothing in it fits me, really.
    I paid someone to decorate it. There are rooms I never use, rooms I hardly even go in. My favorite part of the house is outside. The patio was made for parties. Actually, I need to have one. I trudge up the curved staircase, footsteps echoing with no one to hear them, and go into my room. I should spend the weekend sleeping and resting, since I’m leaving for that fucking cowboy movie on Monday.
    I get out my phone, send a few quick messages, and go into the master bathroom. I have time for a few hours of sleep as long as I get some assistance. I break a Tramadol in half and swallow it dry. I take a quick shower then take a shot of vodka from the bottle I keep in the top drawer of my nightstand. I lay down, waiting for the drugs to take over and pull me into a dull sleep.
    I wake up three hours later and still feel tired. The bedroom door is open, and I can hear people downstairs setting things up for the party. I roll over on my stomach and try to go back to sleep, but the alcohol is out of my system and my mind turns on me, reminding me of all the things I try so hard to forget.
    I sigh and mentally debate what to do. There’s still enough time for more sleep, but I don’t want to take anything else and not have it wear off before the party starts. I need an hour or two of good, sober behavior before hells breaks loose. If I take the rest of the pain pill, I might be in a fog when my friends come over. I have Adderall, but I hate taking that shit. It makes me anxious as fuck.
    I get up, knowing there is stuff I should be doing, like going over lines. Instead, I open my MacBook and scroll through comments on my Facebook fan page, replying to just enough to give me good fan interaction but not too many to appear needy. Basically, I give them something to make them want more.
    Claire texts me, making sure I’m awake and decent before she brings me espresso and something to eat. I hired her as my assistant before I could afford her, and she’s stuck with me through everything. Though she’s my employee, sometimes I feel like she’s one of the only friends I actually have.
    Four hours later, the house is filled with some of Hollywood’s hottest. I play the perfect host, talking and greeting everyone, taking pictures for our social media accounts before I get so wasted I’m puking off my own balcony. Kennedy Jamison, a singer turned actress—and my ex—walks in with her arm laced through the arm of another A-lister. Both women look fantastic, and both smile and wave to me through the crowd.
    Kennedy was on Shadowland with me for two and a half seasons. We were lovers on the show and took that romance off screen. Things were good for a while, and then I couldn’t fucking stand her. We just didn’t mesh, and she was constantly putting anyone and everyone down to feel good about herself—including me. She’d been in the scene since she was a child and couldn’t handle getting passed up by me, who’d only been in a few years at the time.
    We split the day before she found out she was being killed off in Shadowland, and I’ll just say things didn’t go too well after that. She went through periods of hating me, trash-talking me to anyone who’d listen, then she’d turn around and want to get back together. I occasionally hated myself, but not enough to ever get back with that crazy bitch.
    I didn’t invite her. But whatever. She’s here and she’ll suck my dick if she’s drunk. When a blowjob is my silver lining, I know the night isn’t that bad.
     
     

     
     
    I should have stopped drinking hours ago. Someone should have seen how far gone I was and taken the bottle of Scotch from my hands. Someone should have noticed the fresh cuts on my arm, three in a row in perfect straight lines. I’m surrounded by dozens of friends, yet no