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one cares I’m lying face down in my yard in a puddle of my own vomit.
    Truth is, half these people would love to see me break down, to watch my life become a train wreck. Because that’s how they are. They don’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves. I listen to the party going on around me and realize that I have to take a piss—bad. I struggle to my feet and wipe vomit off my face as I stumble into the house.
    I unzip my trousers and realize I’m in a corner in my wardrobe. Part of me is too drunk to care, and I really have to pee. Somehow I make it to the bathroom and end up making a mess on myself because I’m too drunk to stand steadily in front of the toilet.
    I should feel ashamed in the morning when I wake covered in urine and vomit. But I won’t. I won’t because getting this shitfaced is necessary. Being in a multimillion-dollar house full of people—important people, people who are looked up to and loved and respected at that—should make me happy.
    But it doesn’t. Nothing does, because no matter how many people come over, how many people rave about the party later and brag about hanging with party-boy Aiden Shepherd, they’re not talking about me. Not the real me. The real me hasn’t been seen in years, and the façade I put up is what they like, what they see. It works. Sometimes. And when it doesn’t…well, that’s what the drugs and alcohol are for.
    They keep the darkness away.
     

Chapter 4
     

     
     
    I’m out in the middle of nowhere. Literally, no-fucking-where. I only have one bar of service, making it impossible to update my Instagram or answer emails and messages from my friends. Not having social media and “likes” pouring in from anything I post makes me feel lonely.
    Dread for being this out of touch with the real world has been building up inside of me since I got the role. Dread replaced the excitement, replaced feeling proud I easily landed something outside of my genre. I buried the dread by partying, fucking, and drinking. I kept it out of my mind as long as I could, but now I’m here and there is no escape.
    Fuck. It’s just a movie. I can do this.
    Part of me hoped I’d be told I wasn’t right for the role. It would be a bit of an ego blow, I suppose, but then I could stick to doing what I like instead of what was wise for my career. I can do that shit later.
    I guess appearing on the cover of GQ and being called this year’s sexiest actor helps more than I thought it would, and the screen-test was a joke, really. All I had to do was prove I could speak with an American accent, and I can quite well. I don’t think the role will be a hard one. Boring, maybe, since there aren’t many stunts and no fighting to choreograph. I have to ride a horse—a well-trained, push-button horse that is feet from its trainer the whole time. How hard could that be?
    I slump in the chair, waiting for the makeup people to work their magic on me. It’s the first day of filming, and I just arrived. Okay, I was late. There was a party I wasn’t missing last night, and I drank too much and missed my flight this morning. Claire got me a connecting flight that got me here just five hours after I should have been. But I’m here now, sitting in a cold trailer in the backwoods of Montana with my eyes closed, waiting for someone to cover up the dark circles under my eyes.
    The director is world famous. He’s won a shit ton of awards. Yes, Thomas was right. This is exactly what my career needs. We’re filming the majority of the movie on-site with a little green-screen and CGI help. Today, one of the final scenes is being shot. That’s something that surprises people more often than not. Movies are hardly ever shot in order. The end of the movie takes place in the summer, and it’s summer now.
    Hollywood magic can do a lot, but controlling the natural seasons isn’t feasible…yet. I feel a moment of panic as I look at the Google image of this town. Billings was the biggest city in