Dreams and Disenchantment

Only Jasper St. Clair knows how something so beautiful can be so haunted.

Jasper St. Clair, with the boyish charisma and devilish smile, Jasper St. Clair, Hollywood's latest heartbreaker with the ability to charm and create irresistibly volcanic chemistry with anyone in his orbit, Jasper St. Clair, the enigmatic artist with a vision to inspire empathy through each role he plays on screen. Jasper, the lucky lad who managed to snag a model for a partner. Jasper, a man of self-made wealth and success. Jasper, a provider of luxury.

Jasper Kensington St. Clair, the poetic soul who's felt out of place his entire life.

Jasper, invisible.

Jasper, losing himself.

The solitude and quiescence of the lavish vanilla-and-beige penthouse apartment is a stark contrast to the chaotic superficial energy and flashes of light on the red carpet. Away from the noise, underneath the charismatic and fiery persona he uses to charm his way to the public's good graces, Jasper sits alone with a sense of being incomplete. Gazing spacily at the cream toned walls in a space of deep introspection, Jasper feels just as empty inside as they are. Slipping into the void of his own mind, the corruption of his heart, he has to come home to this every night. The facade of wealth and luxury, and how it leaves him with nothing but unfulfillment. He isn't smiling now, feeling as stone cold as the expensive display of pottery on the shelves. They're just for show, like the poise and confidence he musters in front of the reporters. It's beginning to creep on on him more and more, the emptiness. In a place where he should feel safe and comfortable, free from the pressures and prying questions of fans with their parasocial hopes and nosy paparazzi, he's faced with the demons of loneliness and rejection. The gaping truth that this was never what he originally envisioned for himself.

Six years have passed. Six years of hiding from his own truth. Four years of a role that was much different than the one he thought he was auditioning for. Instead of propelling himself toward what he loved, he remained dormant with a slowly vegetating self-doubt and an even more latent resentment. To others, he may have appeared to be hiding from the pandemonium of fame and the overwhelm of stardom after the success he had earned… but what is he really hiding from?

Jasper sits on the couch, absently flipping through his social media feed on his phone, while Ava hovers nearby, her watchful eyes tracing his every move. Ava Delia Marshall, the bombshell bikini model who was once a humble farm girl he met in a college classroom. Ava, who rejected him time and time again until he became somebody. Ava, who saw an opportunity standing next to him in a fancy gown on a red carpet. Ava, whose lust for la dolce vita was insatiable.

He feels Ava's catlike intensity nearby, cool slate grey eyes tracing his every move as he absently scrolls through the photos and reels of his peers on his phone but he tries to shake it off. Pretend that he isn't crumbling under the pressure to choose between his dreams and the illusion of love he wants so hard to manifest until it looks a little more convincing.

"Jasper," a seductively sweet voice calls him from the depths of his silent nightmare.

"You know how much I love you, right?"

Here it comes. Another delicate dance around a trap.

"Of course, Ava. I love you, too." Jasper forces a smile, oceanic blue eyes dull and stormy but at the same time wide and searching. Trying to intuit what Ava's onto. He knows her too well by now.

"I just worry about you, you know? These reporters, these women…" Ava's tone rose, her disdain increasingly audible. "They only want to use you for their own gain." Jasper isn't deaf to the possession in Ava's voice. Isn't she supposed to support and encourage him? Isn't she supposed to celebrate his recognition with him?

Hesitantly, he started to speak. "I think they're just fans, Ava. They like my work, it's … it's a testament to my craft," he explains, only to be slightly taken aback when Ava's red manicured hands cling onto him.

"No, Jasper. You're mine, and I won't let anyone take you away from me."

Jasper's eyes betray a sense of discomfort, but he remains silent, not wanting to upset Ava further. Jasper had given up everything for her, given everything to her, given all that he could have been to be whatever she wanted. Since when did he give her any reason to be this insecure?

Ava's sharp gaze snaps to the phone he was holding, taking it out of his hands with her fingers quickly at work. "Let me handle your social media, Jasper. I know what's best for our image."

Jasper knows better than to fight Ava on this. What she wants, she gets and she made this rule very clear before she agreed to finally humor him with a date. Yielding, he complies, almost robotically. Already defeated.

"Okay, Ava. If you think it's for the best."

In this home, the demeanor of sweetness could shapeshift to dominance before Jasper's eyes with every opportunity for Ava to take control over his public presence, using it to further her own agenda. A partnership that began to feel like parasitism.

A long period of silence stands between them. Again with the hesitance, the walking on eggshells, Jasper finds his voice. A small voice, low in volume, but still his own.

"I… I used to have dreams, Ava."

Ava stares at him, brows knit together and eyes narrowed piercingly.

"Dreams of telling stories, making a difference through my art."

Ava scoffed dismissively. "Oh, Jasper, you're being ridiculous. Look around you," she gestured flourishingly, waving a hand to the expensive and intricate lighting systems. The designer furniture that could never be touched or even looked at by peasantry. The million-dollar wine bottles on display in the dining room. "You have everything you could ever want right here, with me."

Which was true. Jasper was living any man's dream: A house of his own, enough money for anything he wished, a beautiful woman by his side and only the richest man's possessions. A treasure trove of material wealth built on his talent. But was it enough?

Jasper's voice softened. "Maybe you're right, but…" he stopped himself from saying just that. That it isn't enough. Choosing his words very carefully, he continued. "I feel like I've lost myself, like I'm just going through the motions…"

He felt Ava's grip on him tightening. "You need me, Jasper. I'm the one who keeps you grounded, who takes care of you."

Jasper struggled free from the death grip curled around his wrists, using his strength so that her hands fell away. "I know I have my issues, my mental illness, but… I don't want to be defined by that. I can't just lock myself away pathetically while you put up with me-"

"You don't have to be defined by anything, Jasper," Ava pressed manipulatively. "Except for being the most wonderful partner I could ask for…"

Jasper stares at Ava, then into space, torn between what he thought were the two loves of his life. Between the love he craved and thought he needed, and the dreams he left behind.

"I thought we could be happy together, Ava. But I'm starting to see that I can't keep ignoring who I really am." Jasper finally whispers, a glassiness filling blue eyes. It's painful to hear himself say this, in his own words. To be on the edge of tears before her, to be so sensitive. But he'd always been a sensitive guy. And now, it's more putty she can mold him with.

Ava is getting visibly upset, her tone rising in volume. "Jasper, don't do this. We're perfect together. The fans love us. We're goals."

There was that, too. The pressure to maintain appearances, the impression of a balanced and happy relationship. A sugary-sweet, idealistic romance. Everything this was turning out not to be. Jasper's voice fell even quieter.

"But what about my own goals?" he asked Ava. "What about the person I used to be before I met you?"

This was triggering Ava, pushing her further and further and bringing out a defensive side of her she kept hidden under the plastic smile she would fake when she knew people were watching them. "You don't need that person, Jasper. You have me."

It hit Jasper like a blast of arctic wind, her words echoing in the acoustics of their spacious walls, echoing throughout his mind. She had successfully molded him into someone he wasn't to cultivate a bougie lifestyle. All of this, everything around them, this luxurious mansion of an apartment was all for Ava. He listened to her blindly, abandoned his aspirations and sacrificed it all for her at the cost of his identity. She turned him into someone just as fake and pretty for the cameras as she was, leaving him isolated from his friends and family and becoming hollow inside. All in the name of love… or what he thought was love. But was love supposed to feel like this?

As Jasper realized the extent of Ava's influence over him, he began to realize that he had been living in a simulation. An illusion he neglected to confront for too long. The cracks in their relationship were appearing under the tension and Jasper was feeling the weight of his choices.

He sat at a crossroads with uncertainty hanging in the air like nebulous clouds of fog, questioning the authenticity of their so-called perfect relationship. Questioning the authenticity of his whole existence. Questioning who he was, because it was getting harder and harder to remember.

Jasper St. Clair, a failed actor.

Jasper St. Clair, a strike of lightning. There, bright and luminous, then seemingly gone in a flash.

Jasper St. Clair, a puppet to a social climbing gold digger who never loved him despite his every effort to please her.

Jasper, hopelessly romantic to his own demise.

Jasper, heartbroken before and afraid to be alone.

Jasper... disenchanted.