Rule Breaker, Troublemaker
Trouble
My father was featured in a gossip magazine today, just like all the other magazines that he’s been in before.
“Guess who’s just finished shooting his new movie!”
The headline screamed out from the crisp paper in all of its brightly colored glory, glaring at me while I was flicking through it. It wasn’t written as a question. Far from it, really. More like an exclamation of delight from some overjoyed writer because they got the news first. Because everyone who is anyone knows who’s doing that movie and about his success. I only know him as the man who’s never around and still manages to call himself my father without questioning his right to. If it was my choice, I wouldn’t have had it turn out this way. But who am I to complain? You have to make do with what you have these days anyway.
My whole life has been spent on the edge of the limelight. I've always had people talking about me, yet I get ignored by the man who helped conceive me. But helping create me doesn’t do anything to stop the man from being the way he is. A self-centered asshole, just another person who has had all that fame go to his head.
Jared Joseph Leto.
Apparently he is still not old enough to be considered unattractive, judging by the amount of screeching female fans that turn up to wait on the streets outside on a regular basis, just waiting for something to happen. Why people still find him as attractive as he was about six years ago is beyond my understanding. From all the pictures I’ve seen, and from what I can vaguely remember too, he stopped being as good-looking as they seem to believe he still is after he turned forty-five, and gained an even greater love for beards than he’d had before.
You expect me to look like him? I do, apart from subtle differences in eye and hair color. Expect me to have the same mannerisms? Not likely. I’m the person that you’d usually find in one of those bars that somehow still manage to be classy, even if they do serve teenagers alcohol. When I’m there I watch from the corner. Some people are just fascinating. Watching people get drunk, talking to each other, or breaking down. It’s entertaining. For some reason, I don’t think that’s the type of place you’d find my father. Such a shame that he’s too good for these people, I would think he’d have found it all oh so interesting in his younger years. But he has changed, deal with it. No one knows him as well as they think anymore.
My mother’s a mystery to me. Never known her and probably never will. The only thing I know is that she left me with my father when I was one and he’s never seen her again. I’ve been looked after by Annie, my old nanny/now guardian for when Dad’s away, since I was abandoned on the man. But daddy dearest doesn’t talk about my mother at all, even when he’s home for longer than two weeks after coming off a tour or having finished filming yet another stupid movie. And when you search my father’s name in Google, it becomes apparent that he’s dated a lot of women in his lifetime, so no major clues about the identity of the only other person who had a hand in bringing me into this world will be coming from there. But I’ve done alright so far without her, and I intend on keeping it that way.
“It’s not that you’re not wanted, honey. Daddy’s just really busy with work.”
That’s been the excuse ever since I can remember, and probably before that too. I stopped calling the vile man “Daddy” after the twentieth time he left to shoot a movie on some set in the middle of nowhere for a few months. I usually only realised that he had gone when I received a crappy postcard in the mail. Real supportive, was my father. I bet he just loved it when I was dumped on him, just to be another obstacle in his life that he had to overcome.
I can’t really complain about being left with Annie. Her lack of decent hearing comes in useful when I’m sneaking out to parties or wherever I want to go at 9 o’clock in the evening, which has now become yet another habit of mine, and not one that I want to give up anytime soon.
My mind surprises me sometimes. I occasionally try to imagine if my mom hadn’t have left me when I’m bored. I play out different scenarios in my head. I usually end up the perfect little girl, but that’s also roughly the time I decide to drown my thoughts out with music. I also wonder what happened to the Daddy’s girl that I used to be, but I can never be bothered to analyse my whole life, so I just focus on what I’m doing in the present rather than what I was in the past.
Currently, I am lying on my bed, my laptop open, looking to see if there’s any good gossip floating around Manhattan. No, wait, of course there’s always gossip floating around, silly me. And okay, not the most exciting start to the weekend, but Dad’s supposedly coming home tomorrow and the worst way to greet someone is when you’re hung over.
Annie’s out shopping because I “refuse to touch fruit yet insist on eating any type of crap within two seconds”. Her words, not mine. But it’s not my fault that I burn calories in minutes, for some reason. I’m not complaining, I just use it to my advantage now. Apparently, it has something to do with my metabolism, but I don’t know how accurate my Uncle Shannon is on stuff like that. And I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with me smoking, but whatever. The only thing that matters is that I’m alive and loving the feeling of being out of control, not knowing where I’ll be in a few years, and not really caring, to be quite honest with you. It makes life more exciting this way.
I look at the clock on my bedside table and wonder what time the wonderful Jared Leto is going to get in at the airport tomorrow after being away for five months. I wouldn’t be able to go for that long without getting bored. Dad’s always tried to get me into acting, but I’ve never felt the need to walk around the way I’m told to and having memorized words spill from in between my lips. It’s not as if I have a choice though. Eventually, he’s going to force me to do things that I don’t want to. It’s not going to work, I know it. Nevertheless, I’m going to enjoy seeing him try.
I’m supposed to be his perfect little girl, still, after all these years. When he snaps his fingers, he expects me to come running, to be his perfect angel. A pretty little face to help him get more room on the pages of yet another idiotic magazine, usually paired with a nice little photo of us. The most embarrassing one that’s ever surfaced is one from when I was thirteen and we were caught by the paparazzi whilst trying to buy me clothes. Think a chubby just-reached-puberty picture and you see why I despise it so much. Luckily it hasn’t been seen for a while, and seeing as I’m hardly around my father in public, pictures of us together are scarce.
Another interesting fact about my life is money. Never a shortage of it, just the way I like it. Everything in my room was bought by my father, either buying it himself or the credit cards he gives me doing the job for him. And sometimes, it seems as if he thinks a bunch of things can substitute for a parent. However, nothing can, no matter how much stuff he gives me or how much he spends. But I’m not in desperate need of a father so I do just fine either way.
I hear the apartment door close, signaling Annie’s return with whatever groceries she bought. And luckily for me, Annie’s started to get exhausted after walking around New York for more than twenty minutes at a time since she turned seventy.
I gazed around my room, the walls suddenly feeling like they’re closing in on me. I have to escape, get away from all of the things that hold so much of my life hidden between the materials. Screw it, when opportunities call, who am I to refuse the wild lifestyle I love and all the alcohol that comes with it? I just won’t get completely wasted; I’ve drunk enough over the years to be able to hold my liquor well enough. I just have to leave, get out of here, quickly.
I jump down off my bed and slip inside the double doors that guard my clothing. When I’m done dressing, I release my hair from its confinement, taking a moment to enjoy the feel of it cascading down my back. I have always loved the way my hair falls, the smooth, light brown sheet of it running gently towards the floor until it stops halfway down my back. My make-up is immaculate by the time I’m completely done, my light green eyes shining at my reflection as I check everything over, and then I’m off to cause havoc somewhere in the city.
My little green dress flutters against my thigh as I walk to the elevator, the silken fabric brushing my skin softly as I’m waiting to be let out of the metal doors. The click-clack noise my heels make echoes in the lobby of the building I call my home, my small handbag hanging from my arm as I walk out onto the busy streets of Manhattan.
Most people would think of me as spoiled brat, using my father’s money to get places. And that’s completely true; I won’t waste time denying it. But now I want to make myself bigger than the stupid name I just happen to inherit from my father. I don’t want to be Jared Leto’s pretty little teenage daughter anymore. I want to be my own person, known for my own reasons. And I will make that happen, whatever the cost. And if I have to destroy a few people on my way to the top? That’ll just make the game so much more fun.
You may be wondering who is on the top of my list of people to ruin, but that’s my little secret. I’ll give you a tiny clue though, go to my school, take a good look at the people I call my schoolmates, and start guessing. There are so many to choose from. I’ll give you an idea of the type of people I’m aiming for.
Charlie McCracken; the party girl with all the right genes and the great friends. Adelaide Ross and her sister, Shay Urie-Ross; the daughters of two men, so high up on the little pedestals they’ve been placed on by their dads. Cassie Lee; she has her mom’s voice and you won’t forget it or the blonde behind it. Madelyn Way; the girl who doesn’t have to worry about being called a whore, even with all her MySpace pictures. And those are only the girls, just listen to the list of boys.
Aiden and Jared Way; the fuck-up and the artist, they can’t do anything without causing a scandal. Dan Iero; the hyperactive little shit who has to be drugged up regularly in an attempt to calm him but it never works. And finally, Dick Wentz; the sleazy party boy whose father was just as much an ass as Dick is now.
I’m not deemed worthy of being in their little groups, but that will change. Just wait, my life is about to get so much better.
Nancy Rose Leto-remember the name, no doubt you’ll hear all about me soon enough.
“Guess who’s just finished shooting his new movie!”
The headline screamed out from the crisp paper in all of its brightly colored glory, glaring at me while I was flicking through it. It wasn’t written as a question. Far from it, really. More like an exclamation of delight from some overjoyed writer because they got the news first. Because everyone who is anyone knows who’s doing that movie and about his success. I only know him as the man who’s never around and still manages to call himself my father without questioning his right to. If it was my choice, I wouldn’t have had it turn out this way. But who am I to complain? You have to make do with what you have these days anyway.
My whole life has been spent on the edge of the limelight. I've always had people talking about me, yet I get ignored by the man who helped conceive me. But helping create me doesn’t do anything to stop the man from being the way he is. A self-centered asshole, just another person who has had all that fame go to his head.
Jared Joseph Leto.
Apparently he is still not old enough to be considered unattractive, judging by the amount of screeching female fans that turn up to wait on the streets outside on a regular basis, just waiting for something to happen. Why people still find him as attractive as he was about six years ago is beyond my understanding. From all the pictures I’ve seen, and from what I can vaguely remember too, he stopped being as good-looking as they seem to believe he still is after he turned forty-five, and gained an even greater love for beards than he’d had before.
You expect me to look like him? I do, apart from subtle differences in eye and hair color. Expect me to have the same mannerisms? Not likely. I’m the person that you’d usually find in one of those bars that somehow still manage to be classy, even if they do serve teenagers alcohol. When I’m there I watch from the corner. Some people are just fascinating. Watching people get drunk, talking to each other, or breaking down. It’s entertaining. For some reason, I don’t think that’s the type of place you’d find my father. Such a shame that he’s too good for these people, I would think he’d have found it all oh so interesting in his younger years. But he has changed, deal with it. No one knows him as well as they think anymore.
My mother’s a mystery to me. Never known her and probably never will. The only thing I know is that she left me with my father when I was one and he’s never seen her again. I’ve been looked after by Annie, my old nanny/now guardian for when Dad’s away, since I was abandoned on the man. But daddy dearest doesn’t talk about my mother at all, even when he’s home for longer than two weeks after coming off a tour or having finished filming yet another stupid movie. And when you search my father’s name in Google, it becomes apparent that he’s dated a lot of women in his lifetime, so no major clues about the identity of the only other person who had a hand in bringing me into this world will be coming from there. But I’ve done alright so far without her, and I intend on keeping it that way.
“It’s not that you’re not wanted, honey. Daddy’s just really busy with work.”
That’s been the excuse ever since I can remember, and probably before that too. I stopped calling the vile man “Daddy” after the twentieth time he left to shoot a movie on some set in the middle of nowhere for a few months. I usually only realised that he had gone when I received a crappy postcard in the mail. Real supportive, was my father. I bet he just loved it when I was dumped on him, just to be another obstacle in his life that he had to overcome.
I can’t really complain about being left with Annie. Her lack of decent hearing comes in useful when I’m sneaking out to parties or wherever I want to go at 9 o’clock in the evening, which has now become yet another habit of mine, and not one that I want to give up anytime soon.
My mind surprises me sometimes. I occasionally try to imagine if my mom hadn’t have left me when I’m bored. I play out different scenarios in my head. I usually end up the perfect little girl, but that’s also roughly the time I decide to drown my thoughts out with music. I also wonder what happened to the Daddy’s girl that I used to be, but I can never be bothered to analyse my whole life, so I just focus on what I’m doing in the present rather than what I was in the past.
Currently, I am lying on my bed, my laptop open, looking to see if there’s any good gossip floating around Manhattan. No, wait, of course there’s always gossip floating around, silly me. And okay, not the most exciting start to the weekend, but Dad’s supposedly coming home tomorrow and the worst way to greet someone is when you’re hung over.
Annie’s out shopping because I “refuse to touch fruit yet insist on eating any type of crap within two seconds”. Her words, not mine. But it’s not my fault that I burn calories in minutes, for some reason. I’m not complaining, I just use it to my advantage now. Apparently, it has something to do with my metabolism, but I don’t know how accurate my Uncle Shannon is on stuff like that. And I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with me smoking, but whatever. The only thing that matters is that I’m alive and loving the feeling of being out of control, not knowing where I’ll be in a few years, and not really caring, to be quite honest with you. It makes life more exciting this way.
I look at the clock on my bedside table and wonder what time the wonderful Jared Leto is going to get in at the airport tomorrow after being away for five months. I wouldn’t be able to go for that long without getting bored. Dad’s always tried to get me into acting, but I’ve never felt the need to walk around the way I’m told to and having memorized words spill from in between my lips. It’s not as if I have a choice though. Eventually, he’s going to force me to do things that I don’t want to. It’s not going to work, I know it. Nevertheless, I’m going to enjoy seeing him try.
I’m supposed to be his perfect little girl, still, after all these years. When he snaps his fingers, he expects me to come running, to be his perfect angel. A pretty little face to help him get more room on the pages of yet another idiotic magazine, usually paired with a nice little photo of us. The most embarrassing one that’s ever surfaced is one from when I was thirteen and we were caught by the paparazzi whilst trying to buy me clothes. Think a chubby just-reached-puberty picture and you see why I despise it so much. Luckily it hasn’t been seen for a while, and seeing as I’m hardly around my father in public, pictures of us together are scarce.
Another interesting fact about my life is money. Never a shortage of it, just the way I like it. Everything in my room was bought by my father, either buying it himself or the credit cards he gives me doing the job for him. And sometimes, it seems as if he thinks a bunch of things can substitute for a parent. However, nothing can, no matter how much stuff he gives me or how much he spends. But I’m not in desperate need of a father so I do just fine either way.
I hear the apartment door close, signaling Annie’s return with whatever groceries she bought. And luckily for me, Annie’s started to get exhausted after walking around New York for more than twenty minutes at a time since she turned seventy.
I gazed around my room, the walls suddenly feeling like they’re closing in on me. I have to escape, get away from all of the things that hold so much of my life hidden between the materials. Screw it, when opportunities call, who am I to refuse the wild lifestyle I love and all the alcohol that comes with it? I just won’t get completely wasted; I’ve drunk enough over the years to be able to hold my liquor well enough. I just have to leave, get out of here, quickly.
I jump down off my bed and slip inside the double doors that guard my clothing. When I’m done dressing, I release my hair from its confinement, taking a moment to enjoy the feel of it cascading down my back. I have always loved the way my hair falls, the smooth, light brown sheet of it running gently towards the floor until it stops halfway down my back. My make-up is immaculate by the time I’m completely done, my light green eyes shining at my reflection as I check everything over, and then I’m off to cause havoc somewhere in the city.
My little green dress flutters against my thigh as I walk to the elevator, the silken fabric brushing my skin softly as I’m waiting to be let out of the metal doors. The click-clack noise my heels make echoes in the lobby of the building I call my home, my small handbag hanging from my arm as I walk out onto the busy streets of Manhattan.
Most people would think of me as spoiled brat, using my father’s money to get places. And that’s completely true; I won’t waste time denying it. But now I want to make myself bigger than the stupid name I just happen to inherit from my father. I don’t want to be Jared Leto’s pretty little teenage daughter anymore. I want to be my own person, known for my own reasons. And I will make that happen, whatever the cost. And if I have to destroy a few people on my way to the top? That’ll just make the game so much more fun.
You may be wondering who is on the top of my list of people to ruin, but that’s my little secret. I’ll give you a tiny clue though, go to my school, take a good look at the people I call my schoolmates, and start guessing. There are so many to choose from. I’ll give you an idea of the type of people I’m aiming for.
Charlie McCracken; the party girl with all the right genes and the great friends. Adelaide Ross and her sister, Shay Urie-Ross; the daughters of two men, so high up on the little pedestals they’ve been placed on by their dads. Cassie Lee; she has her mom’s voice and you won’t forget it or the blonde behind it. Madelyn Way; the girl who doesn’t have to worry about being called a whore, even with all her MySpace pictures. And those are only the girls, just listen to the list of boys.
Aiden and Jared Way; the fuck-up and the artist, they can’t do anything without causing a scandal. Dan Iero; the hyperactive little shit who has to be drugged up regularly in an attempt to calm him but it never works. And finally, Dick Wentz; the sleazy party boy whose father was just as much an ass as Dick is now.
I’m not deemed worthy of being in their little groups, but that will change. Just wait, my life is about to get so much better.
Nancy Rose Leto-remember the name, no doubt you’ll hear all about me soon enough.