After the Gala

Content & Trigger Warnings for Chapter 1:

• Prescription Medication Usage: Mentions of emergency anti-anxiety/sedative medication (benzodiazepines) taken under stress/exhaustion.

• Consensual Adult Intimacy (Aftermath): References to a recent anonymous/uninhibited sexual encounter, physical marks (faint biting, hickeys, bruising), and rough play.

• Health Anxiety & OCD / Intrusive Thoughts: Depictions of an obsessive health spiral, fears of STIs, intrusive guilt, and panic-induced vomiting/physical illness.

• Substance & Mental Health References: Mention of a bandmate in addiction recovery/rehab.

• Emetophobia Warning: Graphic depiction of nausea, retching, and vomiting at the end of the chapter.

My head was a spinning with euphoric bliss as I wandered through the hall back to my condo. My thighs were still trembling with the slight ache of this evening's surprise activities. I found myself smiling at the tiny jolts of pain with each step I took.

I kicked off my heels with a blissful huff and closed the door behind me. The kitchen lights were on, so Sophie must've just gotten home.

"Soph?"

"Hello my love!" Her voice wafted in from her bedroom. "One sec, I'm putting on my jammies."

I watched my hands through a hazy fog as they grabbed two glasses and filled them with ice and then water.

"How was your night?" Sophie asked as she sat in the barstool, tying her auburn hair back in a scrunchie. I slid one of the water glasses over to her.

I sipped my water and smiled inconspicuously, "I did something crazy…" I gave her a moment to stare at me. "Savannah handed me one of my emergency panic meds in the car when I started spiraling. It's my usual prescription, but combined with sheer exhaustion, it made me feel invincible. And maybe a little reckless.."

"And?"

"I hooked up with a complete stranger." I said matter of factly before returning to sipping my water

"Woah, What’s his name?"

"What makes you think it was a he?"

"If it was a girl you've brought her back here. So what's his name?"

"So like…" I gestured with my hands, seeing if she'll pick up the hint "a complete stranger."

She blinked at me slowly. "You didn’t get his name?"

"Nope."

"Does that mean you didn't ask for PDF of his panel results?" I shook my head. "Woah. Who are you and what have you done with my Morgan?"

"I'm telling you, this pill made me… not the way I am."

"And you don't know what she gave you?" Sophie asked, concern lacing her tone.

"She handed me one of my emergency panic pills from my bag, but with the sheer exhaustion, it hit like a sledgehammer. I just remember starting to have a panic attack in the car so she gave it to me and said she doesn't want me ruining the evening"

"Hmm," Sophie considered my words carefully. She'd never been the biggest fan of my band's manager, but even less so now that the band was on hiatus and her attentions were focused more on me and my acting career. "Sounds like your usual rescue prescription kicked in hard with the exhaustion."

"Whatever it was, I liked it. like I was bossy while hooking up with this dude! I told him what I wanted and he did it!"

"I mean, that's pretty cool." There was a slight trepidation in her voice now. "You get to be the wild Morgan that you've always wanted to be. But…" she trailed off. I decided to wait to let her finish the thought. "If Sav makes a habit encouraging you to double up on doses at big events, it could get a little dangerous, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I don't want to think about it right now. Maybe I'll talk to her about it tomorrow when I she comes over. Anyway how was your booking?"

"I had the exact opposite night from you." Sophie's job as an escort meant that could many a number of things. For one, her night lacked the glitz and glamour of the fashion brand gala that I just came from. But I had a feeling it meant the nature of our encounters were the opposite.

"You gave him the full five-star package and then brought out the handcuffs?" I asked coolly.

"Okay I kind of like benzo Morgan." Sophie cracked a smile at me. "No, I went out expecting to have sex with a man, and then didn't."

"He cancelled?"

"No, we still had the booking. But he was too anxious and we ended up just talking."

"Awe poor guy."

"It happens from time to time," she shrugged. "Where someone is trying to push themselves out of their comfort zone. Either trying to lose their virginity or recover from a sexual trauma so they book me. I just sit with them and talk. Sometimes what they need is just company."

"Gosh, you're a saint."

"Ha. Barely. But sometimes guys just want company and are touch starved and they don't know how to ask for it so they book me. So anyway that's my night, back to you. Tell me about your… encounter."

I told her everything. How completely uninhibited it was, the weight of him pressing me back against the cold marble, and how he asked me exactly what I needed before giving me total control

Oh and then there was the countdown.

"You used my countdown method! I'm so proud of you!"

"Yep, and we did all that while we were both wearing custom Christopher Marrow."

"Damn Morgan. Sounds magical."

"Yeah," she was right. It was magical, that was the only correct way to describe it. "It was."

I woke up from the most amazing dream where I was in a ballroom in a castle, I was dressed in a ball gown covered in crystals and beads. There was a handsome knight, or maybe a prince, who asked me to dance. He whisked me around the dancefloor laughing and smiling.

Then he asked me to come somewhere private and I felt a shiver run over my body. This was dangerous, he was danger. But I wanted it, I wanted whatever he was offering.

He stole me away to a private quarters somewhere else in the castle and kissed me. Then he kissed me all over, and dropped to his knees, pushed up my skirts and looked up at me with mischievous eyes before diving under my skirts and sending me into endless bliss.

I moved to get out of bed and instantly felt the sore everywhere. Nope, I definitely didn't dream it. I pulled back the sheets and gasped at the sight of my legs: The knight prince left his mark on me—a faint bite mark high on my thigh, a shadow of a thumbprint on my calf, and a subtle hickey near my shoulder blade. Pure, reckless evidence of last night.

The knight prince marked me up and I let him - no, I practically begged him. Only he wasn't a knight or a prince; I think there was a real man, but the memories were hazy like a dream.

I had a feeling I should check in the mirror for other spots. My shoulder blade had both a bite mark and a hickey.

So if there was no knight prince, how did I get all these marks?

Where was I last night? I think there was an event?

My phone chimed on my nightstand and I went to check.

Savannah: I'm 5 minutes from your building. You're awake?

Right, Savannah was coming over to meet. Maybe she could fill me in about my dream. I remember her showing up as the chaperone that I snuck away from.

Morgan: Yep, I'm up!

I didn't want all my souvenirs visible to her, so I threw on a sweatshirt and leggings quickly. I ran a comb through my hair and splashed water on my face, giving me just enough time before I needed to let Savannah in.

I opened the door to see my fresh faced manager in her suit, holding her briefcase and two coffee cups. "Hey!" I greeted before she thrust one of the cups at me and brushing past me into the kitchen.

“I want to talk to you about something. While you were in the bathroom last night, a rep came up to me and proposed an idea for a campaign they’d like you to do."

Bathroom. Bathroom rings a bell. But not a normal bathroom. There was marble and gold accents. Don't remember toilets but there were sinks.

“No,” that came out whinier than I planned. “Why?”

“I know, I know. I told her not to expect a guarantee, we’d need to talk about it. But if it helps, you wouldn’t be alone. She got me and another manager together and she pitched the idea to both of us.”

I'm glad Savannah understood how overwhelming all this was for me. I never really planned to get famous. But my last movie, an indie horror that I co starred with my best friend Carter somehow blew up online. It was what the industry calls an anomaly: we broke even at the box office and there wasn't much hype around it when it came out a year ago. But horror film bloggers and YouTubers uncovered it and claimed it was a hidden gem that everyone needed to check out. Then it took off on streaming platforms and got picked up again by small cinemas. I was happy for the success of course; we worked hard on it. And the success of the movie turned into success for my band - once everyone found out the "scary hot chick" from the movie was also a front woman for a rock band, our shows ended up getting sold out and it sounds like we're in talks to add some arenas to our next tour. That would be cool, I always hoped that would happen someday. But what I didn't expect was for Buzz Feed, Vogue, and the Hollywood Reporter to latch onto it and request interviews with me and Carter.

And I certainly didn't expect it to land me an invite to a Christopher Marrow gala. Which meant that I'm a friend of the house now? I still don't understand the logistics of it all. Right, the gala! I wasn't at a ball in a castle, I was at gala. All I know is I was at a gala last night with a bunch of other young barely-D list celebrities like me.

Oh, and that I let a breathtaking stranger wreck me against a marble pillar in a private bathroom. A bathroom with a bowl full of condoms - it's like they wanted us to.

How do you want it, baby?

Rough. Don't hold back.

“What do you mean?”

“Like it would be you and this other guy, I’m not really sure who he is but she said they think you two would look good together," she informed me. Not sure why she was so vague on the details. Probably because she knows I'm terrible with staying up to date with celebrity culture so I wouldn't know who he is anyway.

“Who?”

“I don’t know anything about him. They just said his name was Ryan.” First name doesn't ring a bell.

“Ryan what?”

“Damn, she didn’t say,” Savannah was a competent manager, but she did seem fairly new to the job. Which is probably why my band was able to secure her at the low rate we did. I didn't really care who the guy was anyway. I may have dreamed about acting and singing but fashion modeling was never on the table for me. I'm going to find the smoothest way out of this immediately. "Marrow's rep was being really secretive about his team—standard high-fashion hype strategy. She only let me meet his manager and said they don't want the talent knowing each other until the first shoot."

“Sounds culty. Why do I have to do this?”

“You don’t have to, technically. But people really love you right now and want to see more of you. No one’s going to make you, but…” she trailed off, considering her next words carefully

“But?”

She sighed heavily. “It’s just that with Hawksley’s rehab stay delaying the album…”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” My icey walls went up faster than I meant for them to.

“That’s not how I meant it." She raised her hands defensively. I was too snappy, I realized. "I just mean… with the band in limbo right now, there’s not a lot of capital, right? We lost a lot of money. And we all want to support to Hawksley's recovery, but we've been looking over the numbers and there's no way we can cover the costs beyond the next month. And from the last update, he might need a longer stay than originally expected."

“So you saying no one is making me do it… but kind of everyone is making me do it?”

“Yes. No. Maybe?” Savannah pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's just that you are the face of the band, and with all your popularity right now we can capitalize on it and use it for some good. The Marrow people have already sent a contract. You would get a signing bonus that we can use to cover his treatment and once you finish the whole campaign in six months, the payout will be more than enough to front any additional costs and help fund the next album… whenever he's ready to make it."

“Sounds like I’m doing it then." I suppose I can sacrifice my dignity for Hawksley's well being.

“It’ll be fun! Ryan's manager seemed nice.” Savannah tried to encourage me.

“Everyone seems nice. That doesn’t mean shit and you know this.” I regretted that. Not because it wasn't true - the more I got exposed to Hollywood, the more I saw how two faced and cruel people can be and I honestly wanted nothing to do with it. I missed the cattiness of musical theatre. Those people could still be awful but at least we all have the camaraderie of knowing none of it matters when we're onstage and everyone has to have each other's backs. The culture shock of the last year really rewired my brain chemistry. That didn't mean I needed to snap at Savannah. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"It's fine," she smiled sincerely, "I've heard much worse."

"That doesn't mean it's okay. I'm sorry."

"Seriously, Morgan. You are one of the nicest people I've ever worked for, you don't have to apologize." She smiles again. But maybe I was the evil one I was talking about. I am really good at appearing nice, but deep down I'm fairly certain I'm a bad person. And maybe she knows that too and that's why she smiles like that - she's scared that I'm going to snap at her again. And maybe I will. Like a bad person.

I only nod in response, unsure how to respond to that while my thoughts are spiraling. It's easier to let Savannah talk.

"Like I said, they sent over the paperwork already. They really want you. We just need to go over it, see if there's anything we need to negotiate or not. And sign and accept!"

Sign my life away.

"Should we review it now or do you need a moment to digest it all?"

"Might as well do it now." Rip off the bandaid. Plus it's better for me to know now what I'm getting myself into instead of let my imagination run wild with possibilities.

She sidled up next to me with her laptop and began scrolling through the documents. I told myself I didn't care about the details, even though I do love being prepared for everything. But I was still emotionally spent from talking myself down from my encounter with the stranger in the bathroom that my eyes just glazed over and I watched pages of text go by, and then flashes of color with the concept sketches and previews of the designs. Savannah said something about NDAs for artistic integrity. Not that anyone in my life would care if I told them what I was looking at.

All that really got through to my mind was that it's a seasonal line with a high concept photo spread. We’d be doing four shoots over six months, which meant even more travel. What was the point of calling myself a Toronto-based artist if I was never actually allowed to be in Toronto?

I only put up with all that air travel for tours. Even that I could live without if I could. But at least that meant getting onstage, grabbing a mic and turning off all the noise in my head just to focus on the music and the fans.

Traveling to Paris, LA, Scotland and Italy in the span of 6 months? Just to have my picture taken in high end clothes? Sounded like a nightmare. Until Savannah hit a page with numbers and dollar signs floating around.

"Holy shit!" I couldn't stop myself from blurting. "Is that… that must be the shared amount for the talent right? Like I'd be splitting that with this Ryan guy?"

"Nope. This is just yours. I don't know what he's getting but it should be close to the same. I can call Jason and find out to make sure you two are equals-"

"No, I don't care about that." I ogled the numbers before me. "That's… a lot of zeroes." I've never seen that much money in my life. Of course my corporate attorney parents probably make that much per phone call. But I've never myself earned that amount of money from one job. This is going to be huge.

We went through over the contract in detail. In particular, how the dates will lineup with my filming of the new horror miniseries that I'm filming. Most of that is going to be filmed on a soundstage in Burbank.

"Wait what was that date? I'll have a shoot in LA during the show's reshoots?"

"Yeah! Convenient, hey? You're welcome." Savannah flipped her hair dramatically. "Okay and then there's the non-fraternization clause. It's pretty standard, doesn't look any different than what we've seen before. Let me read it really quick just to make sure. Okay, Clause 14B: Talent agrees to refrain from romantic or sexual involvement with co-talent during the active promotional timeline..." She trailed off, eyes scanning the clause for any other wording relevent to me. "Oh this is important: Failure to disclose a covered relationship, attempting to conceal an intimate relationship constitutes a breach of company policy and/or contract terms. Violations may result in disciplinary action up to and including: Immediate removal or reassignment from the project, campaign, or tour. Termination of employment or cancellation of talent/service contracts for cause, without entitlement to severance and repayment of signing bonus in full."

"A little intense, but I'm not worried about that in the slightest. I can't see myself getting involved with whatever brooding model guy they recruited." I sipped my coffee. I've worked with friends that turned into friends with benefits after the show ended and vice versa. I'm pretty good at keeping it in my pants to be professional.

"Okay that's the whole thing. Sign here, here and here, my dear." Savannah waved the stylus at me and gave me the iPad. No going back now.

It was in that moment that Sophie emerged from her bedroom yawning and her gaze landed on us.

"Good morning." She said sweetly to me. Then nodded curtly at Sav. "Savannah."

"Sophie." There'd been an unspoken tension between Sophie and Savannah for some time now. I tried to not let that bother me, to no avail. Both of them had my best interests at heart, but I could tell they disagreed with each other's methods on how to best handle my fragile mental bandwidth. That, and Savannah has made a few subtle comments that my being associated with Sophie might not be in my brand's best interest. I usually shut that down since Sophie was my closest friend of twenty years and I still couldn't get behind the vocabulary of me being a "brand."

The appearance of Sophie, however, suddenly reminded me of our conversation last night.

Does that mean you didn't ask for PDF of his panel results?

Oh my god, what have I done?

My fingers ghosted over the bite mark beneath the fabric of my leggings.

What if I caught something? Last night I was so excited about how confident and reckless I was being. I let him bite me. But now I'm not remembering the confidence; only the recklessness.

"What are you guys working on?" I heard Sophie's voice cut through the ringing in my ears.

My hands started getting clammy. You let a complete stranger take me in the bathroom. No questions asked. Not even names.

"We're just going over details for new Marrow campaign."

It's fine, we did use a condom. When was your last test though? What if you gave him something during foreplay?

"A fashion campaign? Since when is that Morgan's thing?"

And now that random stranger who kindly gave you three orgasms is just living life until something mysterious shows up on his mouth.

"Since it offers a lot of a money and she's got bills to pay."

He's probably famous too, so whatever you gave him is going to cause problems with his work.

"Oh so that's what last night was all about? You were scouting opportunities for her to exploit her?"

He didn't seem to know who you are but he could easily pick you out of a lineup. I don't think unintentionally giving someone an STI is a crime. At least not one that you get called in for a lineup. Maybe not in the real word, but this is high fashion. You broke rules you didn't even know existed.

I tried to hold perfectly still as I felt the bile rise in my throat. I made a pathetic attempt to swallow it down.

"If you must know, we were approached by a-"

I bolted to the bathroom and braced myself over the toilet.

"Oh my god, Morgan! Are you okay?"

I couldn't even process which one of them asked me that as my body retched and the contents of my stomach emptied.

"I've got this, you can go, Savannah."