opiumsoul: (sunlit)
The sun would be shining, of course. There would be just a light breeze off the coast, stinging the air with the tiniest hint of salt and sea, and the vines that had grown in through the cracks in the walls of the canyon house would be in bloom.

There would be tea and two women sitting around the dining room table eating cucumber sandwiches. They wouldn’t get along, these women, her adoptive mother so prim and proper while her real mother radiated like the sun, but that they were there – together – would be enough.

Rev and her father, her adoptive father, would be laughing outside, washing her Thunderbird, her beautiful, vintage car, which would be parked in the driveway as pristine as it ever was, planning another family camping trip to the desert like they did when she was younger.

There wouldn’t be a camera in sight and all of Rev’s sins would be forgiven. Forgotten. There wouldn’t be any questionable activities, or vices, or even Pop. There wouldn’t be any emptiness and the desire to fill herself up with the closest thing to feeling alive.

There would be her soul, back where it should be, almost as if she’d never lost it.

Rev would be whole.
opiumsoul: (vulnerable)
In her dreams, sometimes Rev has a different life. She can't ever tell if it's better than the one she actually has - but really, what wouldn't be? - but they're always nice dreams, filled with peace and love and no bad memories.

Her mother never gave her up in these dreams. Rev's usually younger, running along beaches or through flower filled meadows, playing games with a woman who's face she can't see, but she knows she loves her. There's laughter and it's almost perfect and after she's woken up, Rev knows it's not real, or realistic. But that's what dreams are for.

She never had to be just a pretty face in these dreams. People don't fawn over her because she's beautiful and they would never hurt her to keep her beauty for themselves. They like her for who she is and what she is is funny and smart and kind and everything she's not when she's awake. When she knows it's not real or realistic. But that's what dreams are for.

She never had to go see the bad men in these dreams. There's no pain, no bad memories, no triggers that leave her shaking and crying in bed for hours. Everyone is nice and they ask before they do things and if she says no, they listen and she knows that if they didn't, they wouldn't get away with it to do it to her again.

But Rev always wakes up, knowing it's not real or realistic. Because that's what dreams are for.

It's life that's the nightmare.
opiumsoul: (faking a smile)
Boredom and Rev don't get along. Occasionally, they can even be a dangerous combination, because one never knows just what Rev's going to do to entertain herself. On good days it's partying or shopping. On bad days it's journeying into places in the seedier side of LA that a girl as pretty as Rev has no business going to.

Today is one of those days that falls somewhere in the middle. It's too early to party and without her car, she's stranded at home. Online shopping loses its thrill after a while.

When enough is enough, she calls the only person she knows will help.

"I don't have anything to do."

"I should be so lucky. I'm busy, kid. Call me later."

"But I'm bored and my license is still suspended so I can't go anywhere unless I take the bus and like that's ever going to happen."

"So? Like I'm just gonna drop everything and come entertain you?"

"Yeah."

"You're spoiled, you know that?"

"Yeah."

"I'm busy."

"I'm bored."

"Rev..."

"Come on. We can eat ice cream in bed and watch movies."

Silence.

"And we can drive out to that junkyard later and I'll let you take pictures."

"Fine. Give me an hour."

"I love you, Pop."

"Yeah, kid. Whatever."
opiumsoul: (coming down)
Sometimes, Rev dreams about her mother. Not her Mom, the woman who raised her, but her birth mother. She can’t ever remember much about those dreams, except that the woman always seems to be crying and Rev doesn’t know why. Is it because of her? Is it because she had to give Rev up? Or is it because the curse was evident even when she was a baby, her curse of beauty, and her mother knew there was no way she could keep her. Keep her safe.

Sometimes, Rev wonders if it’s not really a dream, but a memory. How old was she when she was adopted? Two? Three? Could she even have memories from being that young? She’s heard people say they remember things from when they were babies, but Rev isn’t sure she believes it. Probably just things they want to remember, heard about from someone else, and created a memory for it.

Sometimes, Rev thinks that’s what she’s done, too. Created a memory of a mother who loved her, but couldn’t keep her because she was too beautiful, too precious, too perfect that her mother knew she had to give Rev up to people who deserved her. A mother who was wrong.

Sometimes, Rev wishes she could go back in time, go back to the very moment her mother made that decision and somehow, convince her that it was going to be all right. She could keep Rev and everything would be okay because they would have each other.

But mostly, she just wants to stop her mother from crying. And that’s why Rev will never find her.
opiumsoul: (champagne roses)
Barely a week goes by when Rev doesn’t act like the party girl she is. In fact, from Wednesday through Sunday, it’s almost all she does, even if she’s out of town on a job. Paris, London, Tokyo, New York – it doesn’t matter. Her fellow models, the photographers, everyone knows where the party is and they’re more than willing to let a pretty girl with a reputation like Rev’s know where she can have a good time.

Of course, whether or not she actually does is another story. She gets tired of the same old scene quickly. The music starts to sound the same and the clubs and hotel rooms all begin to look alike, and when you’ve been hit on by one strung out rock star after another, the charm fades as fast as the mist in the canyons of Los Angeles on a summer morning. But it’s part of who she is, what she does and it’s expected of her. Doing what’s expected is what keeps you out of the media spotlight. It’s when you start forging your own path, doing your own thing and other shit like that that the paparazzi starts to pay attention. And that’s the last thing Rev wants.

Forgetting is the first. Fading into the background of an opium and alcohol induced haze, feeling numb all over and letting yourself be taken over so your memories get lost and become nothing more than figments of your imagination. It’s almost enough to make you believe that’s all they really are and for those precious few hours, they’re not real. It never really happened. That’s the real party, and Rev needs it as much as air itself.
opiumsoul: (coming down)
L.A. is full of ghosts. Where else do the rich and famous go when they die? Or those who wanted nothing but to be rich and famous. Their spirits end up in Hollywood, of course.

Rev thinks she can see them, sometimes, drifting in the early morning mists that linger in the canyon before the sun rises to drive them away. Sometimes, if she closes her eyes and listens really, really hard she can hear them - hear them begging for just one more chance to make it big, just one more movie to shoot, just one more red carpet to walk. Just one more.

Maybe it's because she's been close to the edge so many times that she accepts them as easily as she does. Maybe everyone can see them and hear them and they just don't talk about it, because this lifestyle is crazy enough as it is. Or maybe it's just a given that ghosts are hanging around every star lined street, so why make a fuss?

Then again, maybe it is just Rev, and others like her, looking and listening for things that aren't really there. Projecting, as Pop would say; forcing her insecurities to manifest themselves into something inherently more relatable. Of course, Pop talked too much and usually about things she didn't understand.

But maybe he was right. Maybe all she really wants is just one more herself, so she can finally join them.
opiumsoul: (the curse of beauty)
From the outside, it must have looked like Rev had it all. She was beautiful, she came from a rich family, she was young and she could do what she wanted, thanks to her status as a semi-celebrity. And it was all true.

Was she beautiful? Of course she was. Did she come from a rich family? Yes, she did. Because she was beautiful, as her mother had told her many times. We adopted you because you were the most beautiful girl we could find. And Rev knew that was because there were no pale skinned, blonde, blue eyed little girls to be had, but the public didn’t want or need to know that she was a second choice. That she had been chosen was enough. Rev wished it was enough for her.

Her life wasn’t a fairytale, but more often than not, it felt like it was. She had this curse of beauty on her, yet who would believe it? To the masses, beauty wasn’t a curse, it was a gift, something to be reveled in and used to advantage, not something to take refuge from. But that’s exactly what Rev did. She was cursed and she hid under a cloud of drugs and alcohol and reckless behaviour because she truly believed that death would be preferable to dealing with all the shame and degradation her beauty had brought her. Her curse had brought her.

Just like a girl in a fairytale, she felt like she was drowning, sleeping her way through life, no matter how alive she looked to the rest of the world, the ones who didn’t have to deal with fables. Maybe if she waited long enough, she would get to wake up.
opiumsoul: (coming down)
If I could heal myself
Where would I begin?
I really wish I'd had a shoulder
I'd try and climb from this hole I'm in
This is easy
This is easier


They barely spoke while he drove, Rev gazed out the window and watched the scenery as it speed by, enjoying the feel of the wind as it swept over them. There was no doubt Pop had scouted out the location beforehand and she trusted him enough to not pay attention to where they were going. He’d take care of her; he always did.

Do you think this is Selfish?
Does this make me crazed?
It's just a consequence of the easiest choice that I've made


It was a field or something - Rev supposed it she were the romantic type she’d have called it a meadow – all grass and flowers. She changed right there into the outfit he’d brought for her, still not saying a word except to ask how he wanted the dress to look. At least they were alone this time; she hated when he brought other men along though she never complained. There wasn’t much point.

This is easy
This is easier for me
Than to pretend that this will ever get easier for me


She lay back in the cool grass and let him arrange her as he usually did, so she’d be at her most artistic. Pop did, in fact, care about the photographs he took and these were pictures that kept him in business and kept Rev in her much preferred state of numbness. He fixed her hair around her face and then drew a finger along the inside of one of her arms, searching and finally putting pressure on a spot she knew would soon be replaced by that all to familiar needle-prick. And Rev just smiled.

This will never get easy



Lyrics in italics from Tapping the Vein's Fingertips.
opiumsoul: (Default)
Zee questions )

Disclaimer: Information contained in answers is not common knowledge, unless Rev herself has spoken about it.
opiumsoul: (the curse of beauty)
Rev is everything a model should be. She's tall, thin, beautiful and she takes her work seriously, even when she shows up to shoots drunk or high. If it's a runway show, she'll even arrive sober. This is her life, her livelihood and despite her ongoing reckless behaviour, the last thing she wants to do is ruin her career. After all, being pretty is all she knows how to do.

She's almost famous; not a supermodel, but not an unknown, either. The tabloids tend to leave her alone so far and perhaps that's just luck, but it's luck she'll take. They're mostly concerned with sex anyway. Drugs are so last year and commonplace, Rev's habits are practically expected. But she never has boyfriends, never has flings to be reported on. Not with anyone the paparazzi would be interested in, anyway. Maybe in a year or two someone will notice and that's what will be what gets her the unwanted attention but for now, she flies just under the radar.

Relationships aren't something Rev concerns herself with. The closest thing she has to one is whatever she has with Pop and even that's tenuous. Half the time she can't stand him, the other half she can't live without him. It's not love, God forbid, and if someone better showed up who took care of her the way he does - in all aspects - she'd drop him in a heartbeat. Would he care? She doesn't know. Most of the time she doesn't know why he still does what he does for her. She needs so much and gives so little, but she's not going to complain.

Well, only when she's sober.
opiumsoul: (Default)
To Rev, sunrise meant it was time to go home. The party was over. It was a natural clock, nudging her to bed so she could sleep off whatever it was she had done to herself the night before. She would drag herself out of the nightclub, or the hotel room, or wherever she had ended up for that night’s party, and manage to find her way back to her canyon house.

If she was lucky, Pop had driven. Rev liked it when he did. She would curl herself up in the passenger’s seat of his convertible and let the wind whip over her, along with the rising warmth of the sun’s rays. He took care of her and he would make sure she got home in one piece, even carry her in to bed if he had to. Which he often did. Sometimes he’d stay. Sometimes he wouldn’t.

If she wasn’t lucky, she’d have to fend for herself. Rev wasn’t good at that, but somehow, she always managed. She’d lost count of how many times she’d lost her car, just plain forgot where she left it when she stumbled out into the street come morning. Pop was the one who always found it and drove her to pick it up. She wondered why he put up with her.

If she thought about it, Rev would realize she’d probably seen more sunrises in the last three years than most people ever do in their whole lives. And she couldn’t remember a single one.
opiumsoul: (vulnerable)
It was more like a road crash.

Or just a crash.

It had been a pretty good shoot. Pop hadn’t been there, but that was ok. She could work without it, she had before. The assistants on set were more than happy to keep her wineglass full. No one cared that by the end she was so drunk she could barely see. They got the shot – several in fact – and she’d actually been a pleasure to work with. Alcohol always did make her compliant. Not as much as the heroin, but it did the trick. She was happy, the photographer was happy, the client was happy. Everyone was happy.

Who cared if it was fake happy. The appearance was all that mattered, right?

That curve in the road was a bitch even in daylight. Drunk and in the dead of night, Rev and her pretty, vintage Thunderbird didn’t stand a chance. She plowed right through the guard rail, barely taking her foot off the gas. Trees make effective breaks, she found.

She walked away from it. She didn’t know how or why, but she did. Bruised and bloodied, she staggered the rest of the way home to sleep and called the police in the morning. When she was sober.

The car was totalled.

Her Daddy bought her a new one a week later.


Muse: Rev
Fandom: The Rose and the Beast
Words: 223
opiumsoul: (lavishly numinous)
(Click here to post your own answers for this meme.)

I miss somebody right now. I don't watch much TV these days. × I own lots of books.
× I wear glasses or contact lenses. × I love to play video games. I've tried marijuana.
I've watched porn movies. × I have been the psycho-ex in a past relationship. × I believe honesty is usually the best policy.
I curse sometimes. × I have changed a lot mentally over the last year. × I carry my knife/razor everywhere with me.
it goes on... )
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