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Somebody That I Used To Know; Het, James fic, drama/romance
Topic Started: December 16, 2011, 2:04 am (14,465 Views)
Voxx
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Some Kind Of Monster
[ * ]
Some_Kind_Of_Monster
January 29, 2012, 5:03 am
Where is the rest? Where is the rest? Haha!


Moar :biggrin :heart:
Soon soon! :heart:
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Broken, Beat & Scarred
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Well, since I never seem to have the time to comment properly (and lol, I so shouldn't be here, I should be printing out my essays and going to bed!), I'll just say that I've loved the last updates. The manila envelopes still bother me! Grr. :biggrin I do have an idea of what they might contain, but I may be totally wrong, of course. :)
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Voxx
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Broken, Beat & Scarred
January 29, 2012, 4:39 pm
Well, since I never seem to have the time to comment properly (and lol, I so shouldn't be here, I should be printing out my essays and going to bed!), I'll just say that I've loved the last updates. The manila envelopes still bother me! Grr. :biggrin I do have an idea of what they might contain, but I may be totally wrong, of course. :)
I shouldn't be on here either! I'm attempting to write a paper but I'm stuck. How do you write about something you don't have an opinion on :ugh: This has been my dilemma for about three days!

But thank you! I'll try and post more soon... who knows when. :biggrin :heart:
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Broken, Beat & Scarred
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Voxx
January 29, 2012, 4:43 pm
Broken, Beat & Scarred
January 29, 2012, 4:39 pm
Well, since I never seem to have the time to comment properly (and lol, I so shouldn't be here, I should be printing out my essays and going to bed!), I'll just say that I've loved the last updates. The manila envelopes still bother me! Grr. :biggrin I do have an idea of what they might contain, but I may be totally wrong, of course. :)
I shouldn't be on here either! I'm attempting to write a paper but I'm stuck. How do you write about something you don't have an opinion on :ugh: This has been my dilemma for about three days!

But thank you! I'll try and post more soon... who knows when. :biggrin :heart:
You pick an opinion and write about that. Haha. I know how that is, not having an opinion when you should have one. One of the FIRST tasks I had when I started studying at the Uni was to write an essay about study grants - for or against. (Basic argument being that you can or can't survive on the grant... Which depends on what kind of apartment you've been able to get or how nice an apartment you've wanted to get.) Ugh.

I have the same plan about TLTL... More soon at some point. Haha.

Looking forward to your update! :heart: Good luck with the paper!
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tuesday's gone
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Poor Twisted Me
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I envy you for your productivity!!! :)

Now, I understand why you needed modeling, I was referring more to not understanding Katerina, not the writing device you chose to get her out. :D Plus, I also thought she needed a life beyond Metallica, and she needed to get on an equal footing with her two men, which she now definitely is.
Additional plus, the choice of location, Paris is breathtaking and embodies and symbolizes so much of what is going on in our love triangle here. Romance, love, jealousy, temperament, boldness, innovation, beauty...

I believe her final conclusion on what actually happened between her and James is a reasonable one. I'm curious to see how they will both react once they finally meet. Did James do some thinking of his own, or did he embrace the alpha-male philosophy of not caring much and drinking a lot? Will he be jealous now that he sees the photos? Will Jason decide to fight for her by all means?

Is the manila envelope from Canada? Threats? Lawsuits? Blackmails?

OK, I'll stop being all rhetorical and just wait for the next update.
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Nah Bruno
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Poor Twisted Me
[ * ]
Just caught up now! :heart:

Jason still has feelings for her, for sure. She likes him too, but I don't think she's ready to start something with another man again. She is having a good life away from Metallica and man. She should avoid James for a longer time :biggrin

And I think the envelops have something to do with James, don't know why :wavey

Really well written, craving for more! :heart:
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Voxx
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Hello ladies!

I just wanted to let you all know I haven't forgotten about you, I've just been very busy with school this past week and I haven't even had time to start writing the next chapter. Good news though is that I will have time this weekend!! I'm travelling with my sister to the States where she is attending a conference to defend her masters thesis (or something, I'm not entirely sure to be honest. I'm along for the company and support and to act as a shopping companion! :lol: ). So I will be spending the majority of my weekend in a hospital (that's where the conference is) that has no internet :ugh: . Thus, my plan is to write. So hopefully by Monday when I'm home and back with internet connection, I will have an update for you wonderful ladies. Maybe even two. Who knows.

Thanks so much for the patience. :heart: :heart:

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Nah Bruno
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Poor Twisted Me
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It's worth it! :heart:
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Voxx
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Alright! So I'm home, and I wrote a lot! Thanks for all your patience and comments. Here is the first update. And wow, I'm the biggest liar ever. I really need to stop promising things. I tend to write way too much and you will soon see what I didn't keep my promise about :P

I hope it answeres some questions, but also poses some new ones!

Please Enjoy!

PS. Fashion week will be the next chapter and it will be full of all sorts of good stuff as all of Metallica will be in Paris!



Chapter 25

I returned my apartment, closing the door firmly behind me as I entered, feeling a little uneasy about my weekend with Jason. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. Yes, I was more than thrilled that he had surprised me with his visit. It had been refreshing, and in a way, just what I needed. I missed him desperately. But at the same time, I had been disturbed by the casual and flippant attitude he had towards his marriage. It was out of character for him because he was normally so caring and aware of how his actions affected others. Jason was the most emphatic person I knew. Thus, I was concerned that he wasn't even willing to try and work things out with his wife. And I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that when she saw the photos of Jason here in Paris, Judy would be furious. Then, there was the fact that he had basically thrown himself at me, first wanting sex and then wanting to spend the night together. It was slightly concerning because I thought that he was over me. I figured that was part of the reason why he had gotten married. I sighed as I walked further into my apartment, carefully picking my way through the furniture until I was standing in front of my bookcase. I pushed Jason out of my head. I needed to obey his wishes and just mind my own business. It was hard, but I needed to at least make an effort.

It was now time to deal with the envelope. I pulled the encyclopaedia off the shelf and opened it to remove both of the envelopes. I the put it back on the shelf and then settled onto the couch. The first enveloped I set on the coffee table because I already knew what was inside of that. The one that I got this morning I turned over in my hands again. I studied the script on the front. It was careful, neat and bold. I tried to figure out if I could recognize the writing, but I couldn't. It was completely foreign to me. My hands carefully travelled to the top. I smoothed the flap of the envelope up. I had of course already torn it open. It was just a matter of pouring the contents out.

I took a slow, shaky breath and then carefully dumped the contents on the coffee table. A neat stack of papers slid out easily and came to rest slightly scattered on the table. I scooted forward so that I was sitting on the edge of the couch cushion was I on and then carefully began to sort through the contents. My fingers trembled as I reached for the contents and I took another deep breath in an attempt to remain calm. I have to admit that I was both surprised and not surprised at what I was looking at. I furrowed my brows and bit my lower lip as my stomach roiled from the feeling of dread that was washing over me.

The first piece I picked up was a photograph of me. What scared me about this photograph was that it wasn't taken by journalists or paparazzi. How did I know? Because it was taken from outside my apartment, looking through my windows and the press did not know where I lived. I was careful to make sure I was not being followed when I walked home. In the photo, I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes. What followed were a series of photos in a similar manner; all taken through the windows of my apartment from the street. My heart was racing. The thought of someone standing around outside my apartment and watching me sent chills down my spine and made me sick. The first envelope contained comparable photos, though it also included photos of me going to and fro from work.

However, what made the contents of this envelope even more terrifying were two things. First, I had stopped on a picture that made me gasp out loud. It was a photo of Jason, obviously taken last night, sleeping in my bed. I knew that he had opened the windows and curtains in the middle of the night to get some fresh air, so while I was shocked that there was a photo of him, that wasn't really what scared me. What was disturbing about this photo was that all the others had been taken from street level which meant that they were all angled and looking up at the subject in the photos. This photo of Jason sleeping was different. It was angled down; meaning that whoever took it was higher than the window.

I picked up the photo and took it into my bedroom with me. My heart was pounding. I don't know why I was doing this because I already knew what I would see. I had looked out this window thousands of times and I already knew what was outside. I crossed the floor of my bedroom anyways and pulled back the curtains to look outside. Directly below my window was the cafe and then the sidewalk. Then there was the street, another sidewalk and then a low wall and fence to prevent people from falling into the Seine. There were no building across the street because across the street was the river. I poked my head out and looked around. There was nothing nearby that anyone could stand on to take a photo into my window.

I swallowed hard, trying to remain calm as I made the next logical connection. The photo was taken from above. This could mean only one thing; that whoever had taken it had gotten inside somehow; either from the front door or the open window. The photo was either taken from above the bed, or from the windowsill. My stomach roiled and I fought to stay calm and not get sick. But my heart was pounding and I started to feel shaky and dizzy at the thought of some stranger creeping around my apartment at night while I was sleeping, doing god only knows what. I also felt terrible for Jason, because in a way, I felt like he had been violated while he had been sleeping unawares.

I slowly crossed the floor and sat down on my bed while I tried to calm myself. I rubbed my temples, desperately trying to not lose my cool. It just made no sense. Who would care about me enough to break in to my apartment and take pictures, and not even pictures of me, but pictures of Jason? I sat there, breathing in and out deeply, trying to think. But I couldn't think of anyone who might do that.

When I was sufficiently calm, I made my way back to the living room to look at the rest of the contents. Now that I had started, I couldn't stop. I had so know about everything that had been included inside the envelope. There were a few more photos of me leaving or entering the apartment and several of me in cafes. And then I came to the second thing that disturbed me. In fact, I was so shocked I dropped the stack of photos I was holding and gasped, covering my mouth with my hands while I stared down, frightened, at the pile of photos I had dropped.

Looking back at me, taunting me, was the exact same photo that Jason had stopped on when he had been flipping through my photo album at my parent's house in Montreal. It was the photo of Marc, Vince, Lucien, Nicholas and I after one of their gigs; sweaty, buzzed and happy; all smiling giddily into the camera, carefree and young. I felt the tears begin to well in the back of my eyes as I stared down at the photo, unable to move or think. Soon the tears began to blur my vision and then they were streaming silently down my face.

Who was doing this to me? Why were they doing it to me? How did they get this photo?

I remained seated on the couch while my body started to shake with silent sobs. My heart was pounding as I could no longer remain calm. I was terrified. The last few pictures were other photos taken from that same album. I shook my head and closed my eyes, leaning back against the couch trying to come to grips with the contents of this envelope.

The worst part is, whoever was sending these photos, had yet to send any kind of note indicating, or even hinting, at why they were doing this. The only thing inside the envelopes was photos. It was beyond frustrating.

I sniffed and wipe at my tears. I told myself to be strong; crying was not going to accomplish anything. I gave my head a shake and took a deep steady breath. Then I scooped the photos back into the envelope. I picked up the first one and took them into the kitchen. I set them on the counter and then contemplated my next move. First thing first, I needed to have the locks changed on my door and locks put onto the windows. I decided to call Helmut's assistant and have her arrange that for me since I had no idea who to call in this city to do that. I knew that by calling her, she would inevitably inform Helmut and I would have to eventually tell him about my mysterious stalker. But I didn't want to talk to him about yet.

After I had made arrangement to get the locks changed I felt remarkably better. My pulse at slowed considerably and my tears had stopped flowing. I already felt safer knowing that I would soon have new locks on my door.

My next move was to call home. I wanted to know if there had been a break in to my parent's house because that was the only place whoever had sent the photos to me could have gotten them. The only problem was trying to find out if there had been a break in without letting on that I thought there might have possibly been one. The last thing I wanted to do was alert my parents to my situation and make them worry about me. When I had told them I was moving to Paris to pursue modelling they were both shocked and less than thrilled. They thought I was making a mistake by giving up a job with a successful marketing firm to pursue a career that they called superficial and dangerous. If I told them about the photographs, it would only serve to reaffirm their fears, which I had criticized as being unfounded when I first heard them. I knew that they would insist that I give up modelling and return home. But I liked my life here, and I wasn't ready to give in so easily.

I sat down at the breakfast bar and picked up my phone, trying to think about the best way to broach the subject. After a few minutes of no ideas, I finally decided that maybe the best thing to do would be to call Vince because he was still in regular contact with my parents. If there was a break in to my parent's house then I was sure he would have heard about it.

I flipped out my address book until I came to his name and number and then I quickly dialled it before I could change my mind. I put the phone up to my ear and waited while I heard the call connect and then ring. I glanced at my clock to see that it was almost 2:30 pm here. So it would be almost 8:30 am in Montreal. I cringed a little because I was sure that I would be waking him up.

Sure enough, Vince answered on the seventh ring.

"Quoi?" he mumbled sleepily into the phone.

I felt bad. He wasn't his usually chipper self. Not even a hello, just a what.

"Vince?" I asked, just to make sure it was him.

"Oui. Qui est-ce?" he asked sounding annoyed.

"It's Kat" I answered in English.

"Kat, hey" he said switching to English, "How have you been? God, I miss you. It's so nice to finally here from you". Though he sounded pleased to hear from me, I could still hear the sleepiness in his voice as he slowly came to.

I cringed again at his words and hung my head in shame and guilt, running my fingers through my hair in a nervous gesture. He was right. It had been months since I had called him. When I first moved out here, Vince, Lucien and Nicholas had all come out and visited me for two weeks. During the same time Dahlia had come to visit as well. She had made a connection with Nicholas and the two had been seeing each other long distance ever since. When they had both told me that they were seeing each other I could tell they were nervous, perhaps thinking that I might disapprove. But I was ecstatic for them. Nicholas was the perfect gentleman, handsome beyond belief and low key. I thought he would balance out Dahlia nicely, who was a little more outgoing and boisterous.

I swallowed the guilt and answered Vince kindly. "I'm good. Busy with work, but I'm doing well. And you?".

Vince groaned a little. I could just picture him sitting up or rolling over in bed to look at the clock. I was sure the groan was from the (what he considered to be) obscene hour I had called.

"You couldn't call me a little later sweetie?" he asked me grumpily in his smooth Italian accent. I smiled at his words and at his accent that I realized I had missed. Though he had grown up in Montreal and was a fluent French speaker, Vince had grown up within the Italian community in Montreal and had developed a slight Italian accent that came through when he spoke English. His voice was deep and the accent only added to the sexiness of it. I had always teased him and told him he could be a phone sex operator.

"I'm sorry, I know it's early" I apologized to him before moving on to what I needed to know. "I'm also sorry I haven't called lately. But I didn't call for a social chat. The real reason I'm calling is because I need to ask you something...about my parents and I don't want them to know that I'm asking about it, okay?" I asked him, hinting that I needed a conspirator.

"Kay, what is it?" he asked me sounding slightly more awake, worry creeping into his voice.

"Have they mentioned to you anything about a break-in within the last few months maybe?" I asked him quickly knowing that it sounded like something completely ridiculous to be asking about in such a random manner.

Vince was silent on the other end of the phone and I knew in his mind he must be processing what I had just said. The silencing was deafening as I waited for his response. The only thing I heard was the sound of his breathing on the other end of the phone.

"Vince?" I finally asked him, a little concerned that he wasn't answering me. "Did something happen?".

"Kat I'm just trying to figure out how you could possibly know about that if they didn't say anything to you" he said finally, though carefully. "What's going over there?".

My stomach dropped a little as he confirmed my suspicions. Someone had broken into my parents home to steal the photos; which meant that either this person knew me intimately or they had done their research about my past.

I ignored Vince’s questions and asked him one more, almost dreading the answer as I was sure I knew it already. "Did they take anything?".

"No, they didn't take a thing. The front door was left open and the upstairs bedrooms had been disturbed, but nothing was missing" Vince replied, though his tone was testy. "Katerina, stop ignoring my questions. What's going on over there? You're starting to worry me".

I knew that I would have to give him something, or else he would probably tell my parents or hop on a plane and come over here to check up on me, which was the last thing that I wanted. Vince was just like that. He had this indescribable need to look after people, and especially me after I had moved to Paris. We had spoken weekly on the phone. It was only over the summer we lost contact as he started a new job and I became increasingly busy with my own. However I knew that that wouldn't stop him from coming to me if I said I needed him. I knew that there was a part of him that felt like he owed it to Marc to keeps tabs on me and make sure I was doing well.

"I think I've got a stalker" I confessed to him. I heard a sharp intake of air on the other end of the phone as Vince registered what I said. "He or they I guess I should say, I don't know if it's a man, has been sending me photographs that they have presumably been taking of me. They also sent me some old family photos that I guess were stolen from my parent’'s house" I answered him truthfully.

I sighed, almost in relief, at telling someone else about my problem. Though I didn't want to admit that I needed help in dealing with it, I did know that hearing someone else's perspective would probably be a prudent thing to do. Vince was probably the best person to talk to about this. I knew that if I had shown Jason the first enveloped and then especially the second, he would have lost it. He would have demanded that I call the police and then move. He probably also would have been adamant about staying with me until he "knew I was safe". The problem with that scenario was that I didn't want the press to get wind of my little problem. I also wasn't sure how my employer would take the news. And finally, the last thing I wanted was for Jason to leave the tour because of me.

"What the fuck!?" Vince shouted at me and I winced. Okay, not what I was expecting from him. I just knew that he had bolted upright in bed and was completely awake and ready to listen to me more carefully. It was also not exactly the advice I was looking for.

I waited, not exactly sure how to respond to that. "I'm coming to Paris" he declared suddenly and I heard a rustling noise in the background, presumably he was getting of bed and pulling on clothes. "I'm leaving right now to book a flight".

"Vince" I said, trying to get him to listen to me rationally. I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder and rubbed my eyes in frustration. This was the exact reason I was hesitant to call my parents.

When he didn't respond and I continued to hear the sound of rustling on his end of the phone, I shouted at him. "Vince! This is the exact reason I called you and not my parents. The last thing I need is for people flying out here and turning it into a huge deal. It's going to be fashion week next month. I can't be towing extra people around with me. My employer will have questions and I won't be able to answer them. I just want to deal with this as quietly as possible. If you fly out here, my parents are going to want to know why" I told him seriously. And so will Jason I added to myself in my head. I was determined to keep this from him. I didn't want him to worry about me and I knew that if he knew, he would worry and ruin his tour experience.

"Katerina" he said, his voice low. Uh oh. Full name. I knew what was coming next was going to be bad. "I know people who can help you take care of this quietly" he said, his voice holding a hint of a threat, not to me, but to whoever was doing this to me. I gulped and took a moment to think about his offer.

Vince, as I mentioned, grew up in the Italian community in Montreal. He had connections, both through the community but also more directly through a cousin's marriage into the Rizzuto family, whom everyone knew to be involved in organized crime. It was even rumoured that Vito Rizzuto was the most powerful criminal in Canada. It was certainly known, though unofficially, that he was the head of the Costa Nostra in Canada. I shivered at the thought of utilizing Vince's connection to them to help me find out who was harassing me. I shook my head and knew it would be a bad idea. The last thing I wanted was for Vince to be indebted to them because I knew that eventually they would ask him to pay up. He was family, but not really family and so anything he asked them to do wouldn't be a real favour. It would have a price.

"Vince, no. Thank you but no. That's not how I want to deal with this. I didn't call to ask you to get involved, I just called to ask about my parents and now I know" I told him quietly. As I spoke I realized that I had been clenching my fist tightly in nervousness as I considered the option that Vince had proposed to me. I slowly unclenched my fist and wiped the hot sweat on my jeans. "Look, don't come to Paris. I will call you to keep you updated though, okay?" I offered as a way to keep in from coming.

There was silence on the other end of the phone as he considered what I said. Finally he sighed, "Kat, you've got me worried. I want to look after you and I can't do that from here".

"I don't need you to look after me" I answered gently, though truthfully. I didn't need a man to come to my rescue every time I had a problem. I was sure that I would be able to deal with this myself, eventually.

"But Marc –" he started but I cut him off.

"Don't start with that Vince" I warned him. I did not want to get into a discussion about what Marc may or may not have wanted for me. I really hated when people tried to use my dead fiance as a way to manipulate me.

"Okay. Okay, I'm sorry" he sighed heavily into the phone which caused a bunch of static. "Call me if something happens though. Promise me?".

"I promise" I answered.

"And notify the police Kat, so they can start looking into it".

"Okay" I answered him, though it was a lie. I wasn't ready to get the police involved yet. I was sure that once I did that it would draw all sorts of attention to me that I didn't want. I would wait until at least after fashion week. The press always had ways of finding things out.

"Alright call me soon" he answered.

"I will. Bye Vince".

"Bye".

I hung up the phone and put it back into the cradle. The revelation that my parent's home had indeed been broken into was terrifying. I had a lot of thinking ahead of me.

Two weeks later because I had asked Helmut's assistant to help me arrange to have my locks changed, he now knew about my little dilemma. He was concerned for my safety and had suggested that I move. I had thought about it but ultimately decided not to. I liked my apartment and I loved the location. I was not going to let some psychopathic stalker scare me and chase me away from my home. He had also agreed to try to keep this quiet and away from the press until at least after fashion week. He had understood that I didn't want any extra attention because the press could be unbelievably harsh during fashion week and scrutinized every move made in the fashion world. I decided if things progressed beyond what they had, then I would approach the police. Until then, I would wait.

Regarding the photos of Jason and I, Helmut and I had discussed that too. I had sworn up and down that I was not having an affair with a married man and that he was just a friend. He had hounded me and questioned me until he had finally accepted that I was telling the truth; though he made it a point to remind me that the Chanel customer was a woman that was independent and hardworking. She also had a certain moral standard and behaved and carried herself in a dignified manner. She would not engage in dubious affairs, nor would she scandalize herself by perusing a married man. He made it perfectly clear that if I was lying to him, he would have no qualms about terminating my contract with them.

So here I was, two weeks later and a week away from fashion week on my best behaviour for the press and extremely paranoid every time I was home that I was being watched. I had taken to keeping my curtains closed at all times and whenever I came home from work, I found myself looking around the area to see if I could spot anyone out of place. So far, I had failed to do so. But I had also not received a mysterious envelope since.

I was currently sitting in a cafe in the Latin Quarter, waiting for the journalist from Vogue to show up. I had agreed to do an interview (though it was an agreement made under duress from Helmut) before fashion week to talk a bit about the new summer collection from Chanel. She was running a little late, which surprised me as a journalist from Vogue. In my experience, they tended to be punctual, professional and ruthless.

I was sipping my cappuccino when I saw a young woman walking briskly down the street, approaching the cafe and I knew immediately that this was who I was waiting for. She was dressed fashionably, though she was slightly dishevelled, in a long floral maxi dress and jean jacket. She had a beautiful Hermes bag and I was sure it was on loan from the magazine. Hermes bags were extremely expensive and I was sure that she would be unable to afford the one she had slung over her shoulders. She was wearing three inch heels and it looked like she had only just learned to walk in them and she wobbled unsteadily to the door. She was clutching a large folder that was stuffed full of papers in her arms.

She entered the cafe and looked around, spotting me immediately. I had to admit that in this neighbourhood, I was easy to spot. The Latin Quarter was known for being a trendy student area, home to a number of higher education institutions. A lot of the people tended to dress like hipsters. I stood out in my dark wash jeans that I had paired with a white oversized peasant blouse that was flowy and beautiful. Overtop I wore a menswear inspired black tuxedo blazer and on my feet I wore purple platform pumps. My long hair was pin straight and flowed down my back. It was a casual, yet still fashion forward look.

She walked over to the table and held out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Laura, from Vogue" she said in her American accent while she smiled down at me.

I stood and grasped her hand in my own, returning her smile warmly. "Katerina. Nice to meet you" I answered politely.

She sat down at the table across from me and I returned to my seat.

"Sorry, I'm late. So let's get right into it shall we? No need to waste more time" she smiled at me apologetically and I nodded my head to let her know that I was game. I took a sip of my drink while she got her folder sorted out.

She opened it and revealed pages of notes, probably about Chanel and their new line, maybe a few about me. She then took a tape recorder out of her purse. She looked at me with raised eyebrows, asking my permission to use it and I nodded my approval. She switched it on and then began.

"Alright" she started confidently, "I was hoping to take this interview in a different direction than you were probably expecting. As we all know, you've been the face of Chanel for a year and a half now, but no one really knows that much about you. You tend to be fairly low key and you don't really interact with the press that much".

I nodded, that was a pretty fair assessment of me.

"So I was hoping to ask you a few questions that might reveal a little more about you and where you draw your inspiration from when you model" she paused, looking down at her notes. "So why don't we start with the fact that you are from Canada, correct?".

I was silent for a few moments, processing what she had said. She wanted to know more about my past. That was interesting, but not surprising that she would ask about it. Many journalists did and I just gave them the basics. I decided to resort to my typical answers for her questions. I was not prepared to delve too deep.

"Yes, I'm from Canada, though my parents are from Europe".

"Yes, Finland and Russia. I looked into it" she smiled at me and I had to force myself to smile back. "I looked into it" did not sound all the promising to me. "And then after a personal tragedy you moved to San Francisco. Do you want to talk about that a little bit? Your fiance died in a car crash".

I stared at her, my eyebrows raised in shock because my past with Marc was not public knowledge. I never talked about it with the press, nor had I discussed it with Helmut. In fact, the only people that knew about him were my family and friends from back home and the guys from Metallica. I was sure my mouth was opened in shock too because Laura looked at me and smiled in what I assumed was supposed to be a sympathetic manner.

"I'm sorry if it brings up some bad memories for you. But I really did do my research, so I know all about him".

I cleared my throat a little and did my best to cover my surprise. I chose to give a non-committal answer and ignore her comments about Marc. I was not about to allow his name to be dragged through the press. "I moved to San Francisco after I was done school. I got a business degree from McGill University in Montreal". It was a standard answer I employed.

Laura looked up at me from her notes, obviously annoyed by my lack of comment on Marc. But she decided to move on to what I suppose she thought was more interesting; my past with Metallica.

"And then you moved in with Jason Newsted from Metallica? After I saw the photos of the two of you a few weeks back I looked into it. You lived with him for a year and a half before moving to Paris. Were you dating?".

Okay, so this interview was not going where I had anticipated it would go. I knew that eventually there would be questions about the photographs of Jason and I in the Tuileries, but the fact that his woman had somehow found out about Marc and now that Jason and I had lived together was making me extremely unnerved, especially considering the mysterious envelopes. As soon as I thought about the envelopes, I then felt a cold dread creep through my body. Could this be the person who was sending them? She obviously knew enough about me to know to go to my parent's house to for the photos, or to hire someone to break in.

I leaned forward a little and narrowed my eyes at her unkindly. I studied her. She was young, younger than me. She was probably some kind of intern for Vogue. She didn't seem like the type that would know how to find the nitty gritty details about people's lives, but nevertheless she had. Her face was open and sweet. Too sweet. She looked like your typical all American girl – the girl next door. However as I watched her facial expressions change as she waited for my response, from hopeful, to less hopeful to slightly dejected I became slightly less convinced that this was my stalker. She seemed like a genuine journalist, wanting the dirty details of my life, not really caring about about the actual details one way or another. She only wanted them so she could be the first to publish them.

I chewed the inside of my cheek as I measured my words carefully in my mind. "I met Jason at a concert and we talked a bit. He was looking for a roommate and it was convenient at the time. We became fast friends though and to this day he remains a very close friend of mine. We never dated though. In fact he is happily married and his wife lives with him in San Francisco" I answered Laura carefully, giving her just enough, but not really give anything too personal away at the same time. I thought it was important to mention that Jason was happily married so help discourage rumours and gossip generated by the photos of us together.

Laura nodded and then looked down at her notes again. She raised her eyes to be, almost triumphantly and I felt my stomach tie itself in knots. I suddenly became quite nervous about what she was going to ask me about next. "So through Jason, you met James Hetfield, I assume, since they are in a band together".

I furrowed my brows and took a long sip of my cappuccino that had been sitting on the table, almost neglected, as I battled this journalist. In fact, the more I thought about it, I couldn't believe she worked for Vogue because she had yet to ask me about anything fashion related. When I remembered that Vogue was a predominantly fashion oriented magazine, I felt slightly better. I was sure the majority of this wouldn't be printed because it was not fashion related at all.

"Yeah, I met James Hetfield" I answered, my voice steely cold and in no way friendly, indicating that he was not a topic up for discussion.

Laura apparently was tone deaf and either didn't hear the warning in my voice or she just to ignore it. The next question proved this. "You dated him for a little over a month and then you broke up suddenly before moving to Paris. Correct? Why did you break up? Was James Hetfield the reason that you got into modelling, as a way to escape San Francisco?".

I gritted my teeth in annoyance and cupped my mug firmly. I knew if I let go, my hands would, of their own volition, clench into fists. In this moment, I wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and rip up this girl's notes into shreds and then give her a good hard punch to the face for being so intrusive. Not very lady like, I know. But who did she think she was, digging into my past and asking me questions about men from my past. As far as I was concerned, she was out of line. It would be different if she worked for a dirt magazine, but she didn't. She was here representing Vogue and she was not doing a very good job by my standards. However, punching journalists in the face wasn't the image I wanted to project. Doing that would expose me as being angry, unapproachable and wild. I would be ripped apart by the media. I already had a reputation for being unfriendly towards press. The last thing I needed was a confirmation of this. I remember Helmut and his words about what the Chanel woman was.

I almost rolled my eyes, but I was able to refrain from doing so, though just barely. I kept my breathing steady, even and almost normal. When I spoke my voice was even, cold but polite. "Yes, I was seeing him briefly. It didn't work out and we went our separate ways amicably". Okay, so not exactly true. But I'll be damned if I was going to talk about James with this woman.

Laura cleared his throat loudly before continuing. "According to my sources, James was quite distraught and upset over your breakup and that you left him. It was far from amiable, from what I heard. He is known to be quite a womanizer. Perhaps it was infidelity that came between you" she suggested to me.

Her suggestion only served to piss me off further. She really was over stepping her bounds now and she was stupid to believe that I would fall for her barely concealed attempts at manipulating me into spilling details about my relationship with James.

"No" I answered her quite simply and shortly. She opened her mouth to continue and from the expression on her face I just knew she was going to continue to ask me about James, but I stopped her. "And before you even bother to ask, no, I'm not in contact with him anymore. I don't know how he is doing or who he is dating. So no, I don't have an opinion about it. James Hetfield is just somebody that I used to know" I said to her, my voice icy and final. "I'm not going to discuss my personal life with you any further. It's called a personal life for a reason, because it is personal and it has no bearing on my career. If you would like to discuss fashion week or Chanel, then I would be more than happy to answer your questions. But if you came here to just try and dig up dirt from my past, well then I think we are done here" I said to her firmly and as politely as I could muster.

Laura looked up at me with big eyes, attempting to look innocent of any wrong doing.

"I apologize Katerina if I have offended or upset you in anyway. I assure you that it was not my intention. I was merely attempting to produce a story that might give readers some insight into who you are and what makes you tick. I'm sorry if you were under the impression this interview would be about fashion week. I never came here with that intention and I apologize if I led you astray in thinking it would be".

I nodded and then stood up from the table offering her my hand which she took limply, her eyes wide and confused.

"Well then I think you have enough to offer some insight into who I am and what makes me tick, as you say. If you will excuse me, I need to get going".

I picked up my purse and walked briskly from the cafe into the street. When I was outside I was able to breathe a long sigh of relief. It felt liberating to be away from that woman and her infuriately personal questions. I was a little nervous about what she would eventually print about me. And while I had dismissed her as being the person who was sending me photographs, there was a part of me that was still really suspicious because she knew so much about me. I sighed and then hailed a cab to take me home. Now I only had even more to think about.

Fashion week would certainly be interesting as I would have to find a way to balance the press, work, Metallica and keep my stalker a secret from everyone.

Lovely.
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Some_Kind_Of_Monster
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☠ (R.I.P) † Return Is Possible †
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Mama mia :o
I got scared reading about the stalker, poor Kat :ugh:

And the interview :biggrin Classy Kat :heart: :horns2

Voxx the detail you give us is just :bow Love the way you build the scene :heart: Everything is clear to me, where she is, what she's doing and with who. :tu:

I know you wrote a lot but I want more :P

:heart:
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Scorpion Flower
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OMG! Who's the stalker?? Now this is scaring me... :lol:

And journalists, they dig everything in a person's life but Kat handled it qite well. Now I think she has something bigger to deal with, hope all goes well, a stalker is something dangerous sometimes.
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Voxx
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Some_Kind_Of_Monster
February 6, 2012, 6:44 pm
Mama mia :o
I got scared reading about the stalker, poor Kat :ugh:

And the interview :biggrin Classy Kat :heart: :horns2

Voxx the detail you give us is just :bow Love the way you build the scene :heart: Everything is clear to me, where she is, what she's doing and with who. :tu:

I know you wrote a lot but I want more :P

:heart:
Aw, thanks so much for the complement! I really appreciate it! I'm glad that you really feel like you're getting to know Kat and what she's thinking and feeling. I really think it helps the reader to empathize with her when they can do that.

I had a long weekend of no internet and not much to do :lol: So the next chapter is mostly written. I will try and finish it soon!

And please, call me Stephanie. :biggrin
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Voxx
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Scorpion Flower
February 6, 2012, 6:52 pm
OMG! Who's the stalker?? Now this is scaring me... :lol:

And journalists, they dig everything in a person's life but Kat handled it qite well. Now I think she has something bigger to deal with, hope all goes well, a stalker is something dangerous sometimes.
Yes journalists suck! Hopefully the story she prints doesn't cause even more issues for Kat...

And the stalker... I won't reveal too much, but I think once it is revealed who it is, it will all make sense. Or at least I hope so!

Thanks for commenting! :heart:
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Lilith
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Jaimelicious

Uh! Fashion week is so exciting! But I'm worried for her safety! :( The stalker sounds really serious. And, man! The press already knew a lot of her relation with the band!
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CarpeDiemBaby
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Hello! :D I'm just caught up this! :heart:
I started to read yesterday at 8pm and now is 5:37pm (the next day) I haven't sleep yet because I was reading all the story :lol:
You describe everything in a AWESOME way! speachless :drool
...to be honest I must say that I was holding the tears when I read that part when James kinda forced her to have sex, but I was so happy that her first time was with Jason (I'm Jason's team btw) :biggrin I don't know but there's something extremely cute, sweet that made me felt that I like Jason a lot in this fic, (I'm totally James girl though) :blush:
Thank you so much for write this! :wavey
and continuing with the story, I don't know, but something tell me that the stalker is Michael :angry
hope something more happen between Jason and Kat :biggrin

PLEASE MORE!!! :heart:

(Sorry, my english sucks) :blush:
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