Page 72 of The Awful Truth

She hung up and took a deep breath, her mind flashing to the day before when they were filming a violent sex scene. He was supposed to simulate assaulting her. Only he had really done it. When the director called for him to push her panties out of the way, he’d yanked at her modesty garment too. Mercy, who was already nervous about filming the scene, froze, her brain unable to process what was actually happening. She had a moment of disbelief, then he whispered the line in her ear. “You’ll take it until you like it.”

It was the single best line he’d ever delivered, as low on talent as he really was. And the only reason he managed it was because he was no longer acting. Mercy started to struggle and say no, and he carried on. So she struggled harder, slapping him in the face and pushing him away, screaming for him to get off of her. As a hundred people watched, silent, rapt with awe at the incredible work being done on the stage, she was being raped.

Finally, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked hard enough to make him stop. He yelped and exited her. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

“Cut!”

Everyone started to clap. “Amazing work, you two. Incredible stuff. Mercy, the improvising there. Oscar-worthy. Talbot, you okay? She really slapped you. You’ve got a handprint on your face.”

Talbot smirked at her, then turned to the director. “I’m great. Should we go again?”

“Nope. We got what we need.”

Talbot stood and one of the production assistants held a robe up for him. He slid his arms in and tied the robe, then offered his hand to Mercy to help her get out of the bed. “You’re a real fighter, aren’t you?”

She stared at him, numb, as if her mind was hovering above her body while another member of the crew, a woman named Yvonne, covered her up with a robe. When she didn’t answer him, he turned to Yvonne. “Can you get her a mug of tea, please? I think that was a little much for her.”

Yvonne wrapped an arm around Mercy and led her off the set. “You okay, sweetie? That looked pretty intense.”

She nodded her head and whispered, “It felt very real.”

And now, she rushed into the same space where that awful event had taken place, praying that Talbot wasn’t there. Or at least if he was, that they weren’t alone. She hurried to the director’s chair with her name on the back of it, her heels clicking against the concrete floor. When she reached the chair, there were no papers on it. Her heart sank as she saw him strolling towards her with two bottles of beer. “There she is.”

“I take it you lied about the pages?”

He held a beer out to her. “I thought we should talk. I noticed things have changed since we filmed the sex scene and it’s best not to have strained relationships on set.”

Instead of taking the drink from him, she turned away and started for the exit. “I have to go. I’m meeting someone.”

She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him set the beers down on the floor.

She quickened her pace, but he jogged after her, easily catching up. He grabbed her shoulder, spinning her to face him again. “Mercy, please. It almost feels like you’re mad at me, when I was just doing my job.”

She shook free of his grip. “You were not…you…you raped me.”

He gave her a condescending look. “No, no, I didn’t. It just felt that way to you because you were so nervous.”

“I know what I felt,” she spit out.

“You’re mistaken. I was worried that might happen. There’s always a risk for misunderstanding with these types of scenes. Especially for women. You tend to…believe things that aren’t real. This happened with Annette, only in her case, she thought we were really falling in love when we were filming our scenes together.”

She fought her tears because she’d be damned if she was going to cry in front of this monster. “That is not the same thing. You and I both know what you did, so don’t pretend that’s not what happened.”

He lifted his hand to her cheek. “Come on, even if I did, you wanted me to do it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have let me.”

Slapping his hand away, she said, “I was trying to fight you off!”

“But not really,” Talbot said with a smirk.

“That’s it. I’m going to lodge a formal complaint,” she said, her brain screaming at her to stop engaging and get out of there. She turned and started to rush off again, only to have him grab her, this time by both upper arms.

“I don’t. Think. You. Will.” He pushed her away from the door, toward the catering table, and she knew what was coming next. Her eyes scanned the area for something she could use to stop him, and they landed on the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. He pressed her up against the table and as soon as he let go of her to undo his pants, she scrambled up onto the table and yanked it off the wall. When she turned around, she swung it without even looking. The wild, furious, crazed swing of a woman consumed with the deep-seated rage that he’d caused.

She connected with the side of his forehead and he collapsed to the ground. Out cold.

She threw the extinguisher onto the ground, as far away from herself as she could get it. Then she stood on the table, her back against the wall as she panted and stared at his limp body. Blood started to dribble out of his mouth, and she climbed down, and shouted at him. “Talbot! Wake up!”

She slapped his cheek easily as hard as she had the day before. His head moved from the force, then lolled back to its original position.