Smiling at Everything

Jazz sat on the carpet of the living room to her penthouse. Her eyelids were becoming heavier with each second but she couldn't go to sleep yet. It was near midnight; the meeting had ended hours ago. Any normal person would be asleep by now, especially if they needed to start stocking up for the tour coming up. She was sure her band mates were all asleep.

Well, maybe not Dorian.

She couldn't go to sleep. Not now. Nightmares would haunt her in sleep like they always did. The past and unexplained future all bombarded Jazz at night, making her mind reel when she would awake in a cold sweat.

The past was always the worst. She always saw them in such great detail, could hear their voices. She could feel the pain they inflicted on her. And she would wake up crying, shaking, hyperventilating.

Jazz struggled to keep her eyes open. She hadn't slept in three days; her body was angry with her. But her mind understood. It didn't want to relive the abuse. It was bad enough that the thoughts tried to conquer her mind on a near daily basis. She could try to conquer them during that time but she couldn't do that while she slept. In sleep, she was defenseless.

Her eyes slid shut, her mind screaming for them to open before she drifted into a much needed sleep. Jazz leaned back against her couch, head lolling to one side. Her thoughts faded to blackness, calming yet foreboding. Relaxation triumphed over the tense feeling in her body.

"Don't cry, Juliet."

Jazz jolted alert, eyes darting around the room. Her breathing rate increased to sharp spurts that made her dizzy. The living room and kitchen of her penthouse were empty. No one was there. He wasn't there.

She pulled her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth, repeating the phrase to herself. He wasn't there. He wasn't there. He wasn't there.

They weren't there. One was in jail; the other supposedly in jail. They didn't know where she lived now. They would never know. It was unlikely they even remembered her. Not the same way she remembered them.

Jazz shook her head and pushed herself to her feet, walking across the expanse of her living room and into her kitchen. She opened her refrigerator. The top three shelves were filled with energy drinks. Each row of cans was a different color and different brand. Anytime Jazz went to the grocery store, she stocked up on energy drinks. She had to have them in order to stay awake through the long nights without jumping out of her penthouse window. When she wasn't feeling the aftertaste of energy drinks, she would opt for coffee but that didn't happen often.

Her friends never seemed to think her caffeine intake was anything out of the ordinary. She was Jazz Presley; she had a reputation for doing weird things. Her caffeine intake was expected of her.

Sometimes she wished they would ask questions. She would tell them.

Jazz grabbed three Full Throttles—one citrus, one red berry, and one blue agave. She placed them on her pristine countertop and turned to her set of cabinets, opening them and pulling out one of the large Mickey Mouse cups with matching top that she bought when RxN performed in Disney World. Not bothering to close the cabinet, Jazz turned her attention back to the energy drinks. She snapped each one open and poured them into the cup.

When she didn't want to sleep, she had a habit of mixing energy drinks. The amount of caffeine would keep her awake for hours on end. She was never too worried about her heart exploding or dying from caffeine abuse. It would take a couple hundred energy drinks in one sitting to cause her death. She may have been able to drink a large amount of energy drinks but that was a bit excessive.

Not to mention expensive.

With her father paying her penthouse rent and her mother paying for her Porsche she had the funds to buy that many energy drinks. She hated the fact that her parents wouldn't let her pay for her living conditions and motor vehicle. Ever since the divorce, they had taken to buying Jazz lavish gifts to gain her affection. Well, not really to gain her affection; her mother wanted her to hate her father for leaving the family for his secretary and her father wanted her to see what a conniving bitch her mother was.

They had a very loveless relationship and vicious divorce.

Jazz screwed the top onto her Mickey Mouse cup, popping the protector on the oversized straw off and taking a sip. A mix of flavors flooded her senses all containing the caffeine she needed to stay awake. With the amount of energy drinks in the concoction, she wasn't going to bed tonight.

Jazz leaned against the countertop, sipping from the straw and overlooking her penthouse. It was gorgeous, she couldn't deny that. The white, silver, and gold theme that decorated her living room and kitchen made her swoon the minute she had walked in to view it with her father. Her kitchen contained stainless steel appliances, a white marble countertop, white-finished wood cabinets, and a breakfast bar that came with the penthouse. Her father furnished her living room with white furniture to match the overall theme of the living space and the largest flat screen television Jazz had ever seen. Up her winding staircase, was an office space where she kept her music related paraphernalia and a master suite. She had a terrace, something most penthouses in the area didn't have. In front of the sliding windows that reached the terrace, was her baby grand piano. Jazz had never been one for material things but she couldn't help thanking her father for the living conditions he provided for her.

In response, her mother bought her various styles of Porches. Every year, she would send a new one. The most recent was the silver Porsche Carrera GT that resided in the parking garage under the apartment building. Jazz sold the old ones, finding no need to keep them. She didn't use her car much. She was ashamed of how expensive it was. Instead, she walked to most places. But she did appreciate the gift from her mother.

Both of her parents were plastic surgeons, both well-known. They were always capable of buying Jazz anything she wanted. The gifts she received from them came as no surprise; they often bought her things to keep her out of their hair when she was younger.

Her parents never wanted her around. She knew they never loved her but they never hated her. Her parents never abused her or yelled at her. They yelled at each other. Never her. Generally speaking, they didn't talk to her unless it was necessary. There were the times her father would look at her and tell her he was happy she would never need plastic surgery to look beautiful. Her mother would sometimes compliment her on the symmetry of her face and of the way her body was filling out her clothing properly.

Being plastic surgeons, all they cared about was how she looked.

If Zack knew, he'd probably think there were even more layers he couldn't see. What he said to her had really gotten to her. Jazz was worried he would find out; she didn’t want him to but he was the only person to see through her façade. The tour coming up gave him more opportunities to try to pump the information from her.

Jazz sighed and picked up her Mickey Mouse cup, walking from her kitchen to the piano. Her fingers skimmed over its keys. She sat on the bench that was already pulled out and placed the cup on the carpet.

She would play her piano until she forgot. Forgot the pain, forgot the past, forgot her parents, forgot how fake she was, forgot Zack's comment. She just wanted to forget it all and her piano would help her do that.