‘Like I wasn’t good enough.’
Lila’s heart squeezed. ‘Did I say that?’
‘You didn’t have to, Lila. It’s the way you put stuff sometimes…it’s like you think you’re not important or not worthy of people’s time or respect for some reason.’
Lila pressed her lips together so hard it ached. ‘Oh. I don’t know if that’s Mom’s fault though – I think that’s the social anxiety.’
‘Or it’s the reason you’ve got the social anxiety in the first place.’ He was frowning hard – she didn’t think he’d ever looked so serious for so long around her before, his dark brows pulled low.
‘No. I think I’m just naturally shy.’
‘Shy, maybe. But maybe you spent all your childhood being fed after midnight and having water poured on you.’
Lila forced a smile. ‘I’m going to regret using that analogy, aren’t I?’
‘I’m glad you used it. It’s made me understand. And I’m glad you opened up to me about it too.’
This time Lila’s smile didn’t have to be forced. ‘Me too. It’s helped. A problem shared and all that.’
‘Good.’ He flexed his fingers again and her hand tingled, like her nerve endings were trying to stretch themselves outside of her body and nearer to his, desperate to feel his skin against hers. But then he drew his hand back towards him, rubbing his jaw and then pinching the bridge of his nose.
‘We kind of got off topic there, didn’t we? Weren’t we supposed to be talking about you?’ she said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. ‘What’s happened today, Rowan?’
He caught her eye and she saw there was more going on in them than frustration, it speared through her chest, seeing the vulnerability there.
‘Whenever I’ve done confrontational scenes or fight scenes, it’s always felt pretty effortless once the rehearsal and blocking has been done. That it’s just moving from A to B, following choreography, even when it seemed to be intense. I’ve usually been on a green screen set, and I’ve gone through the moves with the cast, until it’s just basically a dance. But this morning…I couldn’t get away with that. I had to bring more emotion to it, and…it brought back bad memories. And then everything became kind of surreal and detached. That was why we needed to do so many takes. I never really noticed until today, that I check out sometimes. Or Ihavenoticed, but I’ve just put it down to tiredness and rode it out. Today, I had to force myself out of it, for the scene, and now I feel…beaten up.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Which is ironic.’
‘Why is that ironic?’ Lila could feel her heartbeat kicking up. What had happened to Rowan? What was so bad that it would trigger him to that extent?
‘Maybe irony is the wrong word. It’s just that I was pretending to be beaten up, and I pretended so well that I actually feel emotionally battered.’ He took a sip of his tea, even though she could still see the steam coming off the top.
‘You don’t have to make excuses either,’ she said. ‘Were the bad memories about your dad? Was he violent with you when he was drunk?’
He lifted one shoulder, still talking into his tea. ‘With whoever happened to be closest at home.’
Lila’s hand moved to her chest without her even thinking about it, pressing hard over her heart. ‘That’s awful. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Here I am, moaning about my parents—’
‘You weren’t moaning. You were just telling me a bit more about yourself. And it’s okay.I’mokay.’ He put his mug down with a definitive thunk, some tea spilling over the edge.
‘Are you? What you just described, about retreating in your head – did you know there’s a name for that? Dis-something…? Dissociation, I think.’
‘Isn’t that like a multiple personality thing?’ He leaned further back into the corner, and she felt a spike of panic. Most people didn’t like being told they had a mental health condition.
She pressed her lips together, wondering if he needed her to drop it. Maybe she was making a mountain out of a molehill? He was one of the most well-adjusted men she’d ever met – and that wasn’t even taking into consideration the extra pressures he had to handle from being famous.
But he’d just admitted he had to detach himself from reality sometimes to deal with bad memories. And he didn’t sleep well. Even now she could see the dark marks under his eyes. How long had he been ignoring these things? ‘I think there are different kinds – like the different types of depression or schizophrenia people suffer from.’
‘Maybe I should look up this “dissociation” thing and see.’ He pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen. ‘I wonder if it will tell me to call 999 because I’m having a heart attack,’ he joked, as he scrolled on the results and she felt a flicker of relief that he wasn’t going to push her away to keep himself in denial.
She watched him as he scrolled, his elbows planted on the table, the joint of his shoulder so big and masculine, the curve of his bicep straining his shirt, firing some primal part of her brain up, so hard and fast she could barely breathe. He looked so far away from vulnerable but that just seemed to make it worse. She was the one having chest pains; it hurt to think of what he’d been through. She wanted to take away anything that caused him pain. As though she had the power to do that.
‘Oh yeah, you’re right – people experience it differently. Some for months. Christ. Thank God that doesn’t happen to me,’ he murmured, as he read something through and then tilted the phone towards her so she could see. ‘Not sure how it will help me through this afternoon though.’
‘The scene’s not even finished, is it?’
He shook his head and sent her a smile, their heads bent near each other over the phone, even though she was barely concentrating on it. Little gusts of his breath were falling against her arm, making her feel like a straw house teetering on the edge of collapse.
‘Maybe just the fact I’ve talked to you about it will help.’
