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It was common knowledge where I was staying. I’d had fans wait outside before. I’d had fans outside the gym. Inside the gym even. Thankfully, today, there was nobody around, so I put on my grumpy face and pounded the pavement with my eyes to the ground all the way to Matt’s place, using my key to let myself in. I’d held my breath the whole way over, and when I finally sat myself down on the sofa, I was gulping for air.
In. Out.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
In. Out.
Took out my phone.
In. Out.
More messages from Lucia.
One from Tara:I think we need to break up. There are pics of you kissing that Louis Pereira.
I’ve known Louis since season one. Played my dirty hook-up. Killed off in episode seven. I was distraught,I replied. Yes, we’d snogged for the cameras. It meant nothing. Just acting.
Because nobody had actually kissed me before…without a script.Just because they wanted to.
I wanted to cry. My chest hurt, my head hurt, and I should probably have followed Matt’s advice and gone back to bed.
Instead, I reopened my messages. Another one came in from set telling me I wasn’t needed today. They were using Hamish for the shot. Of course they were. Hamish cost them a cool hundred quid a day, while I cost them a small fortune. I didn’t usually care. I earned more than enough already, and it gave me a break, but this morning, it pissed me off.
I needed to talk to Aisha and get Zach Kwan’s number.
I needed to get Lucia to pipe down on my official Instagram, where I’d supposedly been up at two in the morning commenting on a load of posts and posting drunk selfies.
I agree we need to break up. This is insane,I texted Tara back.
Welcome to my life,she replied.At least you’re a sane, normal person. My last stunt was with someone who was too stupid to hold a normal conversation.
Did your commitments keep you apart, but you’ll always remain great friends or something?I teased back. She replied with a load of vomiting emojis.
I needed Matt. I needed to go home to my mum. I needed out of all of this.
I pulled up Matt’s number. Sat there and stared at the phone in my hands.
I had no idea what to write. How to explain. What to say.
I scrolled the net instead, squirming at photos, and shot off an irrational angry text to Lucia, then another one apologising for my brusque tone. It wasn’t her fault. She was doing her job, like I was doing mine.
I tried to go to bed, but I couldn’t sleep, so I sat around all day on the sofa. Finished a book on my Kindle. Read through next week’s script. Checked my messages.
Everything hurt. My head was a mess. My muscles ached. I should have taken it easier at the gym. I needed…I had no idea what I needed. I stared at my bags in disgust. What the hell was I thinking?
The time went slower than ever before, just sitting there, waiting for Matt to come home. I wanted to cry. I didn’t.
Then, at last, the key was in the door, and he walked in, casually throwing his bag on the floor.
“Hi,” he said cheerfully.
I couldn’t even open my mouth. Instead, I got up and closed the distance between us. Wrapped my arms around him and…
I sobbed, big, ugly tears running down my cheeks.
“Oh, Conny,” he said softly.
“Sorry,” I slobbered out. I didn’t know what I was sorry about. Well. Everything. Being me. Being stupid. Having this messed-up job. Having no idea how to be a grown-up. Not understanding shit. All of it, swirled into this festering mess filling my head.
