Urgent need.

      Not even one, not even one trip could be taken without disruption of any form, how much harder could life become for him? All these he thought as he ran through the crowd. He was being followed, by a bunch of stampeding fans, if he slowed down a second, the situation wouldn't be pretty.

 His cover was blown and now he felt like a mouse in a box; trapped and restricted. Adding to that, he was alone—he had earlier rejected his manager's offer to go with him on his quick vacation.

His social anxiety was killing him and the crowd soon multiplied or maybe he thought they did. His mind played tricks sometimes.

What a mess, he thought, still running through the crowd amidst overly energetic fans and earsplitting screams of his name that exited their mouth.

          Of course, he had been careful—with the perfect disguise of a black face cap and a mask to match; he had hoped no one would recognize him till his encounter with a flight attendant who wouldn't stop staring, then caught a glimpse of the mole on his nose. That goddam mole was the perfect giveaway; he noticed how hastily she went into her compartment and suddenly the first class batch was filled with cheeky female flight attendants and wide grins— failing at their pretence of not recognizing him.

He had mentally prayed that they maintained composure, at least till he got off the plane but, that was just a tip of a much bigger iceberg. On getting off that plane, the most irritating thing happened; it wasn't surprising, just plain irritating to him.

"Jones Jackson! There is Jones Jackson!" someone had yelled from behind him.

That was all it took to get a scream out of basically everyone present, followed by their attempts to get closer to him—all of these people at the same time!

How did they even recognize him? He thought. He had covered everything that could give a clue. Although that did a lot adding to his tribulation, the baggy T-shirt and trousers he wore felt heavy—making running a little harder than it usually was. And he never really was an athlete person to say.

"Fucking Airline, fucking A.C.E!" He cussed under his as he made his way out of the terminal, he spotted a cab parked at the front of the airport and thoughtlessly got into it.

He drew heavy breaths as his chest rose and fell very quickly, he glanced at the driver who stared bewildered at him from the rearview mirror.

"Move sir, please," he said to the driver, who didn't budge until much later; then Jackson realised there was someone else in the cab, other than him and the driver.

Someone else sat next to him but he had been too disoriented to notice. A lady who had a shocked expression plastered on her face as she stared at him in expectance of an explanation for his interruption. He didn't know whether to reveal who he was—which would add so much more credibility to his story or even get him a free pass for his behaviour. Speaking of Free passes, what if she was another one of the delusions fans and as soon as he revealed his identity, she goes gaga?

The thoughts of being stuck in a confined cab with an obsessed fan tortured him, it would be an absolutely unfortunate situation for him—not to talk of how uncomfortable it would be for him if she pulled out a condom from her purse like the last one he encountered did.

"I'm so sorry, I was in a bit of a situation and I had to get out of it," he stated calmly, wishing he didn't have to say more. Jonathan pulled his nose mask up higher to his nose bridge, he couldn't risk her seeing the one thing that everyone—literally everyone—recognized.

"Oh." That was all she said, her blue eyes still fixed on him, studying his every movement. 

"Yeah, I'd alight as soon as I get to a corner. I can make my way from there, I hope you don't mind," he added quickly. Etiquettes were fuckers and he needed something else to blame for this unfortunate situation.

It all boiled down to him who worked hard to become a world-renowned actor, but he did get help from the talent agency, A.C.E. So he blamed them for making him uncomfortably famous.

"Yes, I blame A.C.E and my manager for letting me go alone," Jonathan thought.

"Sure it's fine, as long as I'm not included in any troubles," she responded plainly, but her words were woven with a thin hint of worry.

"Trouble?" He asked. Trouble, really? The rest of his response was an internal one.

"Yes, I don't know why you came running into the cab and I do hope I don't explain anything to the police."

Fuck A.C.E, he cussed again internally. He did derive joy in blaming them for all of his misfortune and now a random stranger took him to be a miscreant or a lawbreaker.

"No, it's nothing like that," he said again through his teeth and his hands were balled into fists. He fought the urge to tell her who he was, he wanted to see that spark in her eyes and make her grovel before him—whose reputation spoke more than words ever could. They always softened at the sight of his handsome face and killer smile. He so badly wanted that expression from her.

 He held back since he wouldn't see her anymore after today and he couldn't risk the chance of someone else pulling out a condom on him or worse.

"Here is fine," he said to the driver who came to a sudden stop and alighted, purposely ignoring the lady who sat next to him and avoiding saying a thank you. How lowly did she think of him to relate him to a miserly felon?

His ego was hurt so hers should be too. He took a glance at her and noticed no expression of hurt on her face, she just ushered the driver to move further. The cab zoomed off and he stood there, sighing pettily at how he failed to hurt the pride of a random lady who had hurt his.

   

He put a call through to this manager, telling him his location and how soon he needed a ride. 

He slid his phone back into his pocket, dreading the long wait.

~~

"So how was your trip?" Harry asked from the driver's seat with Jackson fuming behind him.

 

"It was so good, I even forgot to bring my bags with me," he responded, rolling his eyes.

Harry chuckled but it soon dissipated as Jackson glared at him. "I offered to accompany you, sir. You respectfully declined. Looks like you never really handle things well without me."

"Your incompetence is nothing to brag about. A good manager should have accompanied the actor no matter what." He spat with a little bit of annoyance.

"Aye, sir. I'd work harder. You have a script reading tomorrow, for The heart wants what it wants, you also have the advertisement shoot with calvary by 2:00 pm," his manager stated carefully.

"Ah, I know. I take care of my schedule just as well as you do. I hate making movies with Natasha and calvary's perfumes smells like carbon monoxide with watermelon juice, we have to lie to the viewers that I like it." he responded.

"A.C.E already accepted the contract and I think Natasha works her best with you, I think she likes you," Harry said again, maintaining eye contact with him from the rearview mirror.

"Yes, she does. Explains why the last movie's kiss scene lasted two minutes when it was meant to be just one!" He shrugged. "Then again, who doesn't like me?" He raised a brow and his lips formed a smirk. The faint image of the lady who had allegedly called him a criminal appeared in his head and he quickly brushed it off.

"I don't, I just need the money," Harry responded with a grin.

"Co-agree, brother, I'd hoped you'd go off to Iraq as you've always bragged."

 He made a mean face at his half-brother, the lad his mother would pick over him even though he was a stepson. Was he glad they never were close? Yes, he was, he was glad his mother didn't appreciate Harry's existence as much as she did him—she was hurt, partially because her casanova husband had gotten a child out of an affair. That caused their divorce before she realized months later that she was pregnant with him. It's funny how destiny had pulled them back together like this.

Harry grinned and pulled into the driveway of the mansion after clicking the open button on the gate's remote. The silver gigantic gates paved way for the SUV and he parked the vehicle.

"Get out, boss," Harry said jokingly.

"Open the door, I require prince treatment, especially for your incompetence."

Harry exited the car and politely opened the passenger's door. "Yes, sir," he muttered quietly.

"Sometimes it's annoying when you do just as I say," Jackson spat again, getting out of the car.

"I'm your manager after all", he slammed the door shut and clicked it locked. "Oh, and by the way, Mrs Jones said she prepared you a gift, brace yourself," the last two words were as low as a whisper.

Bumps rose on Jackson's skin suddenly, his mum and gifts were opposites. God knows what the gift was going to be.

"Are you coming in?" Jackson asked his stepbrother, partially hoping that he would.

"Oh, no...I can't right now. I have to make preparations for tomorrow and further my plans of running off to Iraq."

"Good grievance, night," he said hiding his disappointment.

"Night," Harry responded before zooming off.

As soon as Jackson walked into the mansion, the strong smell of citrus of rose petals hit him in waves, he flicked the light on and to his surprise, a trail of rose petals lay before him and in the direction of his room. 

 Cardboard was spread against the wall at a distance spelling out a message from his mother; as expected.

GET MARRIED OR I'D DO IT FOR YOU, LOVE MUM.

He read the message aloud and sighed frustratedly, he was only twenty-eight, why was she hell-bent on making him get married? 

He followed the rose trails where they led—his room, dimly lit with numerous scenting candles and a visible silhouette of a figure laying flat on his bed, he takes a closer look, making it out to be a figure of a female. 

"Fuck," he cussed again, flicking on a brighter light.

A few steps away from him laid a flustered young female in a red one-piece bikini, staring seductively at him—or at least she tried to.

She wore a crimson lipstick that flaunted her plum lips and her eyes were heavily mascaraed. Her proportion? Perfect, large breasts and waist males would kill for, except him. 

Seriously, mum? He thought before sending the female who sat unfazed before him a deathful glare.

"GET OUT!" he ordered angrily, trying as much as he could to keep it together. "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

  He motioned towards the door and she stood up reluctantly without a protest, making her way to the exit.

He didn't care if she jumped over a fence, he just wanted her out of his home.

"Your loss," she muttered as she sashayed out of his room. He felt a surge of anger rise from the depth of his stomach.

  He picked up his cell phone without much thought and dialled a number.

 "Mr Higgins? I need a P.A," he stated abruptly to the person on the other end.