Page 31 of Unscripted with Mila

I couldn’t imagine having people around to talk to all the time. Share. A place to call my own where I was accepted.

“When did you decide to become a writer?”

“It sort of happened by accident. I think I lived in my head so much, I invented stories to entertain myself. I loved to write, and I kept notebooks of little stories. I entered a contest one day in the local paper for a short story, using a fake name, and I won. I let my mom read it, and she loved it. I started writing more. Once I graduated and started working, I hated it. I hated the nine-to-five thing. The office. The monotony. Most people would be thrilled. A family business. A secure job. But I hated it. I didn’t want to go to university. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but when I wrote, I lost myself in the worlds I created. I loved it, and my parents encouraged me to follow my dream. I submitted a manuscript and got rejected. Over and over. But one day, Andi read my book and contacted me. She helped get me in the door, and well, the rest is history.”

“So here you are,” I murmured.

“Here I am.”

I realized I was still holding her hand. That at some point while she was talking, we had turned to each other, hands clasped, bodies close. Her head lay on the sofa cushion. Mine leaned on my arm I had draped over the top. Our hands rested on our knees that were pressed together. It had gotten dark outside, and the room was dim, the only light coming from the lamp in the corner.

“Does the dark bother you now?’ I asked. “Do you want me to turn on another light?”

“No, I love the dark now. As long as I know I’m safe, I’m okay.”

“You had a rough start,” I observed.

“But a good finish.”

I smiled. “Is this the finish or another beginning?”

“You mean the movie?” she whispered.

“Or something else,” I admitted. “I’m drawn to you, Mila.”

“Which Mila?”

“All of them. The sweet, shy woman. The playful girl. The clever writer. The siren in the pool.”

“I didn’t know I was all those.”

“And more, I think.” I let my fingers drift over her cheek. She smiled and leaned into my caress. I recalled what she said about needing to be touched. I lifted our entwined fingers and kissed her knuckles. “I’d like to find out.”

“How?”

“By getting to know you. Letting you get to know me. I know you feel this draw too.”

“I do, but…” She trailed off.

“But?” I prompted.

“I’m only here for a while.”

“Then we get to know each other for a while.”

She searched my eyes. “I don’t know if I can do that. I tend to get attached.”

I laughed, the sound slightly bitter. “You’ll get tired of me, Mila. Everyone does.”

She frowned. “That isn’t true.”

“It is. I’m a lot to take on.”

She was quiet, and a thought struck me. “I know you’re not married, but maybe you have a boyfriend back home? I’ve overstepped?”

She shook her head. “My last boyfriend was almost six years ago, and he thought I was far more trouble than I was worth, if I recall his words right. Before that… Well, there isn’t much to report before that.”

“First off, he was obviously an idiot.”