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“I’m not your fucking friend, Tate!”
Shit.
“Cut!” Jared yelled out. “Reed, come on!”
Reed raised his hand. “Sorry, sorry. Let’s do it again.”
An hour and five takes later, we finally got the scene wrapped up.
Despite the constant tension between me and Reed, I was glad that I’d gotten through that scene. We could do this. I’d worked with plenty of people I didn’t like, so why should this be any different?
It was getting late, though, and we still had two more scenes to finish tonight.
This was when my urge for coke hit hardest.
Also, when I was alone.
Cocaine was a siren’s call for the lonely.
Instead of giving in to the need, I asked one of the supporting actors to practice lines with me. Then I called my sponsor.
Next thing I knew, it was time to report on set again.
As I sat in the chair getting my makeup touched up, I realized that I wasn’t the only one looking worse for wear.
Reed came into the dressing room and sat down beside me. Despite his easy smile and upbeat demeanor with the rest of the crew, I noticed the dark shadows under his eyes and the fact that he’d lost some weight. He was always slimmer than me but looking at him now, it sparked a worry.
And the longer I stared, other, more dangerous feelings rose to the surface.
An ache, a longing I never felt for anyone. Only for him.
You’re ridiculous.
He’s fine. You’re fine.
And you don’t need him, right?
“Too many late nights?” I quipped as I looked at him in the mirror.
“Fuck off.”
“Ooh, touchy. Can’t get laid?”
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he snapped. “I’m having problems sleeping, all right? Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”
“That’s not like you.”
“Well, a lot has changed in a year.”
“No shit.”
Then there was an awkward silence as our makeup artists worked quickly to finish up.
“So, have you—” I started.
“Don’t,” Reed interrupted. “I don’t want to make small talk. Just leave me alone.”
But of course, I couldn’t. That wasn’t me.
