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“I guess we’ll head out too then,” Jackson says. “Good luck, guys.”
Chuck and Jackson follow Charles towards the door, taking their cue to exit and give me time to get ready.
Once the door closes behind them, I head towards my massive master bedroom, suit in hand. Stripped out of my jeans and white undershirt, I step into the steaming hot shower equipped with a waterfall shower head. The heat trickles down my body while the stall fills with heavy steam. I linger for a moment too long as I mentally prepare myself for tonight.
I’ve always accepted the responsibilities that come with my job. As much as I want to focus my attention on theactingpart of my career, I’m still a public figure. A role model to some, and I have to present myself as such. But all I want to do right now is disappear. Or whatever it is that I need to do so that I can feel like myself again. My mind keeps wandering to my phone, ready to call Levi to tell him I’ve changed my mind, to go back on my word and weak assurances that I’m fine.
I’m just hoping that I have enough of me leftover to get through the night. I guess the silver lining is that I don’t need to be alone with my own thoughts. A welcoming distraction, because I don’t know what I would do if left to my own devices.
SEVEN
ELLIE
The sniffles I hear are coming from Claire, a wrung-out tissue held up close to her eyes in an attempt to not ruin her perfectly done makeup. She’s holding up a large, fluffy makeup brush, held midair as her attention has shifted onto the small television screen on my desk.
She had barged into my room after her last class, an overnight bag filled to the brim with makeup, hair care products, and three different types of curling irons varying in barrel sizes, ready to primp herself up for her first movie premiere attendance. And, undoubtedly, not her last.
“This is my favorite part,” she whispers, her tiny voice breaking as her chin trembles.
“Brent!”
“Katherine!”
“Brent! I didn’t mean it! Any of it!”
“I know. I knew the whole time.”
“I love you, Brent.”
“I love you, my Kit Kat.”
I wait for the tears to spill from my own eyes or at least some form of emotion that mirrors the empathetic tears coming from Claire as we watch the scene between two reunited lovers unfold, but nothing comes. So instead, I huff out a laugh in Claire’s direction, finding her reaction to a movie that she’s seen a dozen times endearing.
The End.
Written in perfect cursive with a flourish, the words sit dead center on the screen, with Brent and Katherine, played by Rhylan Matthews and Sarah Hyland, driving off into the sunset. The dramatic music turns into a melancholic tune as the names of the cast and crew scroll upwards.
“I would let that man do whatever he wanted to me,” Claire says wistfully, methodically dabbing the moisture from the corners of her eyes. “If he wanted to throw me over his shoulder and carry me into a dark dungeon to do unmentionable things to me, I would go willingly.”
“I’m sure Wes would love that,” I counter sarcastically.
She rolls her eyes and waves her hand at me, making atsksound with her tongue, telling me her boyfriend’s protests wouldn’t matter. “He would have to just deal with it. But can you blame me?” Her hand extends towards the screen, presenting me with exhibit A in the long list of reasons why she would leave her boyfriend for Rhylan Matthews.
She’s not wrong. Even now, as the credits roll, his dark unruly hair and eyes the color of the waters in the Maldives are all I see. His height is a whole other subject. An entire chapter going into detail about how he sprouted from the ground and took residence on every screen he appeared on. Even through a flat-screen TV, I can tell he’s tall. Like, unnaturally tall. The kind of tall that takes up a room no matter how big it is. With shoulders and a chest broad enough to take up what’s left of that room. And that smile, the way it curves at the edges and softens his normally sharp, jutted jawline, would make any girl swoon.
Jesus, I’m no better than Claire.
Claire’s phone dings, interrupting our ogling and bringing us back to reality. Her brows furrow, glaring at her phone screen. “What?!” she exclaims.
“What?” I ask.
“Wes can’t make it tonight!”
“Why?”
“He said he’s sick. Fever and everything.” She extends her phone towards me, presenting me with a blurred image of her boyfriend riddled with illness in bed, proof that he’s actually sick and not standing her up for some other incredulous reason.
“Oh, that sucks,” I say, genuinely apologetic that her plans fell through.
