Post by redowl on Mar 16, 2007 15:21:34 GMT -5
Disclaimer: Since these are really people, I would think I don't own them...but if I did, hmmm... 
Author's Note: Yes, this is an American Idol fic. Got a problem with that?
Good.
Please tell me what you think.
------------------------------
Walls Between Us
by CallistaHogan
Chapter One
Behind closed doors...
It was the only way she was able to openly display her feelings without getting criticized. Every day she was under the limelight, and every day there was somebody there to snap a picture, capture a comment, and twist it around to fit their needs. There really wasn’t any privacy, not even when she was at home. The paparazzi always found a way to find her, even when she thought she was alone.
They had even stolen her diary, once.
Even though she loathed to admit, Paula Abdul actually did own a diary. If she was going to be completely honest, she owned two—one for her private thoughts, and one for her fake thoughts, the ones she wrote to make sure nobody actually knew the real her. If they knew, and they found her diary, there was no telling what would happen.
Chaos.
Chaos would break out all over.
Sighing, she closed her “fake” diary, where she had simply written her thoughts on the day’s auditions. They had only had eleven people go on to the Hollywood round, which was much less than last year. Placing her “fake” diary in her dresser cabinet, she took out the plain, black spiral-bound notebook, then the chewed pen that she had nicked off Simon so many years ago.
Taking the cap off, she stared at the blank page.
This was where she wrote her inner thoughts, while thinking about one person, the one person who held the power to make her crazy. No matter what else had happened in her life, she ended up speaking about Simon.
Whenever she started thinking of him, the words simply flowed out of her heart and onto paper, like she was simply made of words, and emotions, and love. Whenever she started to think of him, songs would start playing on the her favorite radio station—the one she listened to all the time—that immediately suited what she was feeling.
Sad songs when she was upset. Happy songs when she was overjoyed. And when she thought of him, love songs.
She began writing, her hand whizzing across the paper, words filling one page, then another, then another, and another, until she had filled more than five pages with her frantic scribbling. She only stopped when her hand cramped so much that she couldn’t hold the pen. Placing the pen on her dresser, she read what she had written.
“I really don’t know why I feel like this,” she had written. “It’s just something I can’t hang on, but then again, it can’t go away. He’s a cruel bastard, but he’s my cruel bastard.
And the scary part is that...
I think I love him.”
She stared at those words, startled.
When had she decided that? Sure, she was attracted to him, but she couldn’t truly love him. He had definitely said that he wasn’t ready to settle down, and obviously, he hadn’t proven that when he had broken up with his then-girlfriend, Terri.
If it wasn’t true, though, then why was she always thinking it, always feeling happy when he was around? Tears swelled up in her eyes, dropping big splotches of wet onto the words. Without meaning to, she had fallen in love with Simon Cowell, the cold-hearted judge with the black V-necks and sarcastic humor.
Her hand went to her pen.
She crossed out two words, the two words she knew weren’t true.
* * *
Harsh was the one word that came to mind whenever anybody thought of Simon Cowell. Sometimes that was true, when he told the contestants exactly what they did wrong. He didn’t like to think of himself as “harsh,” but then again, it was a rather accurate word to describe him. Not only was he harsh about the contestants, but even when he was alone, he never really opened up. He didn’t mean for it to be like that, but what else could he do, if he didn’t know how to open up?
Frankly, he didn’t.
With one thing to another, he never had the opportunity to really open up to anybody.
Unconsciously, he grabbed a pad of paper and pen, and began to write, filling the page with his cramped, cursive writing. He wrote furiously, filling two entire pieces of paper. He wrote three little words in front of his signature, before he even realized he was writing a letter. Glancing down, he looked at the paper, noting the greeting:
Dear Paula.
Simon shook his head. Why couldn’t he get her out of his head? There wasn’t anything terribly beautiful about her, inside or outside, and she didn’t really have anything he hadn’t already seen and disliked. She continually irked him to no end, but then again, there was something intriguing about her. It was in the way she smiled, the way her eyes twinkled, the way she constantly beat him up.
There was something about her that drove him insane, and it wouldn’t let him go.
Standing up, he walked over to his notes on that day’s auditions. As usual, they had been dismal at worst, mediocre at best, but Randy and Paula always seemed to put them through. He still hadn’t found anybody with truly star quality, who would be able to hold the stress and actually cope with the constant paparazzi.
He sat down at his desk, and looked at the paper.
Instead of notes, however, he found a picture of Her staring back at him. Without meaning to, he had clearly gotten bored with the auditions and had begun drawing. Clearly, Paula was just his test subject, the only person he could see drawing, but even as he said that, he couldn’t help thinking that, if she had just been a test subject, he wouldn’t have numerous pictures of her, all stuffed into a notebook.
Simon didn’t know when he had gone soft around her, but he had.
Normally, the people he encountered were just that—people he encountered at work. He didn’t really spend time with them outside that, but he did. In fact, they had formed a rather interesting love/hate relationship with her. Half the time, he couldn’t stand her, but half the time, he felt like she was his best friend in his world.
They had started out hating each other deeply, with passion unsurpassed at the beginning of the first season, but by the end of the season, they had grown close, even as close friends. During the time they had off, they visited each other, took each other out, and otherwise just had fun. Randy Jackson, the other judge, sometimes joined them, but most often, it was simply them.
With each passing season, they grew closer together, even though they appeared to dislike each other intensely.
Simon groaned, staring at the picture again. Running a hand through his hair, he stood up, turning away. Without realizing it, he had crossed the room, and placed the letter he had written in an envelope and sealed it. Placing it on his dresser, he vowed that, sometime, he would give it to her.
With one last look around the room, he dropped into his bed.
Staring at the ceiling, he sighed.
Would his conflicting thoughts about Paula Abdul ever end?
Not anytime soon, a voice whispered in his head smugly.
Author's Note: Yes, this is an American Idol fic. Got a problem with that?
Good.
Please tell me what you think.
------------------------------
Walls Between Us
by CallistaHogan
Chapter One
Behind closed doors...
It was the only way she was able to openly display her feelings without getting criticized. Every day she was under the limelight, and every day there was somebody there to snap a picture, capture a comment, and twist it around to fit their needs. There really wasn’t any privacy, not even when she was at home. The paparazzi always found a way to find her, even when she thought she was alone.
They had even stolen her diary, once.
Even though she loathed to admit, Paula Abdul actually did own a diary. If she was going to be completely honest, she owned two—one for her private thoughts, and one for her fake thoughts, the ones she wrote to make sure nobody actually knew the real her. If they knew, and they found her diary, there was no telling what would happen.
Chaos.
Chaos would break out all over.
Sighing, she closed her “fake” diary, where she had simply written her thoughts on the day’s auditions. They had only had eleven people go on to the Hollywood round, which was much less than last year. Placing her “fake” diary in her dresser cabinet, she took out the plain, black spiral-bound notebook, then the chewed pen that she had nicked off Simon so many years ago.
Taking the cap off, she stared at the blank page.
This was where she wrote her inner thoughts, while thinking about one person, the one person who held the power to make her crazy. No matter what else had happened in her life, she ended up speaking about Simon.
Whenever she started thinking of him, the words simply flowed out of her heart and onto paper, like she was simply made of words, and emotions, and love. Whenever she started to think of him, songs would start playing on the her favorite radio station—the one she listened to all the time—that immediately suited what she was feeling.
Sad songs when she was upset. Happy songs when she was overjoyed. And when she thought of him, love songs.
She began writing, her hand whizzing across the paper, words filling one page, then another, then another, and another, until she had filled more than five pages with her frantic scribbling. She only stopped when her hand cramped so much that she couldn’t hold the pen. Placing the pen on her dresser, she read what she had written.
“I really don’t know why I feel like this,” she had written. “It’s just something I can’t hang on, but then again, it can’t go away. He’s a cruel bastard, but he’s my cruel bastard.
And the scary part is that...
I think I love him.”
She stared at those words, startled.
When had she decided that? Sure, she was attracted to him, but she couldn’t truly love him. He had definitely said that he wasn’t ready to settle down, and obviously, he hadn’t proven that when he had broken up with his then-girlfriend, Terri.
If it wasn’t true, though, then why was she always thinking it, always feeling happy when he was around? Tears swelled up in her eyes, dropping big splotches of wet onto the words. Without meaning to, she had fallen in love with Simon Cowell, the cold-hearted judge with the black V-necks and sarcastic humor.
Her hand went to her pen.
She crossed out two words, the two words she knew weren’t true.
* * *
Harsh was the one word that came to mind whenever anybody thought of Simon Cowell. Sometimes that was true, when he told the contestants exactly what they did wrong. He didn’t like to think of himself as “harsh,” but then again, it was a rather accurate word to describe him. Not only was he harsh about the contestants, but even when he was alone, he never really opened up. He didn’t mean for it to be like that, but what else could he do, if he didn’t know how to open up?
Frankly, he didn’t.
With one thing to another, he never had the opportunity to really open up to anybody.
Unconsciously, he grabbed a pad of paper and pen, and began to write, filling the page with his cramped, cursive writing. He wrote furiously, filling two entire pieces of paper. He wrote three little words in front of his signature, before he even realized he was writing a letter. Glancing down, he looked at the paper, noting the greeting:
Dear Paula.
Simon shook his head. Why couldn’t he get her out of his head? There wasn’t anything terribly beautiful about her, inside or outside, and she didn’t really have anything he hadn’t already seen and disliked. She continually irked him to no end, but then again, there was something intriguing about her. It was in the way she smiled, the way her eyes twinkled, the way she constantly beat him up.
There was something about her that drove him insane, and it wouldn’t let him go.
Standing up, he walked over to his notes on that day’s auditions. As usual, they had been dismal at worst, mediocre at best, but Randy and Paula always seemed to put them through. He still hadn’t found anybody with truly star quality, who would be able to hold the stress and actually cope with the constant paparazzi.
He sat down at his desk, and looked at the paper.
Instead of notes, however, he found a picture of Her staring back at him. Without meaning to, he had clearly gotten bored with the auditions and had begun drawing. Clearly, Paula was just his test subject, the only person he could see drawing, but even as he said that, he couldn’t help thinking that, if she had just been a test subject, he wouldn’t have numerous pictures of her, all stuffed into a notebook.
Simon didn’t know when he had gone soft around her, but he had.
Normally, the people he encountered were just that—people he encountered at work. He didn’t really spend time with them outside that, but he did. In fact, they had formed a rather interesting love/hate relationship with her. Half the time, he couldn’t stand her, but half the time, he felt like she was his best friend in his world.
They had started out hating each other deeply, with passion unsurpassed at the beginning of the first season, but by the end of the season, they had grown close, even as close friends. During the time they had off, they visited each other, took each other out, and otherwise just had fun. Randy Jackson, the other judge, sometimes joined them, but most often, it was simply them.
With each passing season, they grew closer together, even though they appeared to dislike each other intensely.
Simon groaned, staring at the picture again. Running a hand through his hair, he stood up, turning away. Without realizing it, he had crossed the room, and placed the letter he had written in an envelope and sealed it. Placing it on his dresser, he vowed that, sometime, he would give it to her.
With one last look around the room, he dropped into his bed.
Staring at the ceiling, he sighed.
Would his conflicting thoughts about Paula Abdul ever end?
Not anytime soon, a voice whispered in his head smugly.
