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The laces on my boots are all I can focus on. Fuck, it’s all I’ll let myself look at.
Her laugh, gentle and inviting, filters through everyone, making it to me. The delicacy in her tone lifts my chin, and my eyes are on her again.
I have no right, no fucking business staring at her. I feel guilty that my body is reacting to her, but I can’t fight my racing heart, I can’t combat the awareness prickling through me.
I place a palm to my stomach as I stare at her. I’m queasy, but queasy with something I haven’t felt in ages.
Possibility.
My body is pulled to her. My body is reacting to her. And not to her naked or dressed scantily clad, or her scene or her role.
Her laugh. Her sweet smile and gentle voice.
Padding across the dark film-ready space, I shoulder tap Lance to let him know I’m stepping off set for a moment. I’m in my office with my back to the door in less than thirty seconds.
My mind spins.
That feeling in my stomach... they’re…butterflies.
five
scarlett
“Please let me take you home.”
“Tremendous work today, Scar,” Aug says, poking his head into my dressing room.
I didn’t want to come off as the Mariah Carey of porn, but when I signed with Crave, I had a few non-negotiables. And it isn’t because I’m a top earner, or the most desired female star in the industry.
The non-negotiables were all about reclaiming my strength. Starting somewhere new with boundaries set. And privacy. I never had privacy before, so here, I bathe in it.
The way Jizzabelle,namely Pete, put me on display, pushing me into scenes and roles I wasn’t comfortable with—it left me covered in scars. The worst kind of marks, the kind invisible to everyone around me, but have forever changed me. Scars that have me shut off from feeling if I evenattemptintercourse.
Thus, the no male penetration stipulation in my contract.
And the private dressing room is so I can break down and sob without eyes on me.
It’s important to me that I’m more than my past, and that all the amazing people at Crave go on unaware of my scars. I need a clean slate, and some distance between myself and the overwhelming feeling of shame. Why didn’t I leave sooner?
“Thanks, that was a fun one this morning,” I admit, recalling the solo scene where I embodied a sultry singer. I got to strip from a beautiful sequined dress, and take things slow with my body. I still found myself faking the orgasm as it’s been ages since my body has actually made it to the finish line—but nonetheless, I loved and appreciated the creativity and artistry of the scene.
“That was gorgeous. You were perfect. But the lunch shoot and afternoon shoots were just as good. I’m liking that promo Debauchery suggested,” he says, looking a little surprised. I’ve learned that Crave is at the helm of promoting Debauchery and Crave partnered toys, but this time, Debauchery had a strong hand.
“I think that was Vienna,” I say with a smile. In my pre-casting sessions, I’ve gotten to know Vienna pretty well, and one thing she told me is that Debauchery really listens to her. I remember that she told me that, because it gave me hope. Hope that these companies I’m now with actually have my best interest at heart.
Because again, at Jizzabelle with Pete, shock and awe were traded for cash and views on the daily. I was a cog in the studio's machine, a whore for Pete to use, a pretty face and a well groomed pussy to be presented to men as a prop to use and abuse.
Panicked heat blankets me at the briefest of memories, and I reach for my bottle to take a cooling sip. It does nothing to soothe me, so I take another few drinks as Aug nods and closes the door behind him, leaving me alone.
Panic and anxiety attacks are part of my normal life now. Granted, they’ve started to decrease the last few weeks since I’m no longer with Jizzabelle. But they won’t go away untilhegoes away. Of that I’m sure.
I dig my phone out of my bag and find that I’ve missed several text messages as well asforty-eightcalls. All from Pete.
He needs to let me go so I can be free.He has to.
Though if I really peer into the complex mixed bag of my emotions, the truth is, I realize he’s not the only problem.
It’s also my mind. It’s a battlefield of self-loathing, anxiety and hatred. And according to my shrink, Dr. Evans, a battlefield I’m currently working through.
