Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  The figure grew closer and closer until blue eyes pierced through the darkness dragging me down. My body glided toward him the second he wrapped his hand around mine, his arms and legs closing around me like a vise.

  It felt as though the water expelled us, forcing us out of a place we didn’t belong. I began coughing and gasping for air before I even realized I hadn’t drowned. My limbs were heavy, and everything beneath my ribs burned intensely.

  Large hands pulled me up, holding my boneless body away from whatever was wrapped around me. I tried to grab it back, but I was too weak, too out of it.

  “Zoey!” The insistent calling of my name brought me back.

  My head bobbed when I was shaken, making me groan.

  “Zoey, are you okay?”

  Fisting my hands in the saturated material of his shirt, I collapsed against him again, one arm thrown around his neck as more coughing racked my waterlogged frame.

  He wasn’t gentle as he patted me on the back, but I didn’t care. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be breathing at all.

  The realization made me gasp, and I clutched at him even more.

  “It’s okay.” Nick soothed, lowering his lips against my ear. “I got you.”

  Shuddering, I pressed a little closer. Nightmares aren’t as scary when you aren’t alone.

  Sensing the desperate need I had for comfort, Nick wrapped both arms around me, holding me tight. Water splashed up my back, and I realized we were still in the giant water tank.

  “Don’t let go,” I said, shivering. “Please, hold on.”

  One of his hands went to the back of my head, holding me against him. “I’m not going anywhere.” He vowed, his voice utterly calm and confident.

  The worst panic in me slipped away, defeated in one blow by his assurance. Starting to relax, awareness of my current situation plowed in.

  Around us, bedlam reigned. People shouted, lights flooded the surface of the water, and the furious buzz of people talking pressed in on me.

  I’d fallen off the platform on set, knocked into the tank by a blast of water of some kind.

  I gasped so forcefully it brought on another coughing attack.

  “Whoa,” Nick said, easing back to look down.

  “No!” I panicked, burying my face into his shoulder and arm.

  Briefly, he paused, then tried to pull me away from him to look down again.

  “Please don’t look at me.”

  “What?” he asked, lowering his head closer to me.

  “Don’t look,” I repeated, my voice still muffled against his chest.

  “Are you seriously worrying about the way you look right now?” he asked, a disgusted tone coming into his words.

  I had to. I had to think about it every minute of every day.

  When I didn’t reply or pull back, he made a rude sound and proceeded to peel me away from his chest. I wasn’t a match for his strength. He clearly worked out, he was clearly comfortable in the water, and he wasn’t currently a shivering drowned rat.

  The second he forced me off, I suctioned back against him like the tentacle of an octopus. Winding both my arms around his shoulders, I buried my face in his neck and clamped one of my legs around his waist.

  “That’s enough,” he spat, gripping me again. “I know there’s a TV show here and you’re one of those L.A. girls, but this is a bit much.”

  Oh my God, Hollywood Access!

  Turning my head so my face was tucked against his, I whispered, “Are they still here?”

  “Who?”

  “The TV show?”

  I felt him gaze around. “Of course. We’ll probably be the top story on tonight’s show.”

  A painful shudder moved through me.

  “We’re going to tow you up now!” someone yelled from above.

  Nick lifted his face to holler up, but I grabbed his cheek, splaying my hand over it to stop him.

  “Wait.” I felt him pause, so I plunged on, trying not to think too much about what I was about to do. “Please help me.”

  A humorless laugh rolled through his chest. “Pretty sure I just did.”

  Shaking my head against him, still holding on, I lifted my chin to whisper in his ear. “If you won’t help me now, you should have just let me drown.”

  His body stilled.

  At that moment, my shoe floated past us. It wasn’t just a sneaker, though. It represented something important to me... something I’d just lost.

  I began shivering uncontrollably.

  “Zoey?” Nick whispered, all the disdain in his voice gone.

  “Turn around,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “Turn us so you’re blocking me from the cameras.”

  He did it, rotating us in the water with power and ease. I realized he was still wearing his stunt harness that allowed him to hold me without having to tread water.

  Before he could ask anything else or tell me how shallow I was, my fingers sank into his shoulders. Slowly, I pushed back, easing away from the protective shield of his body, keeping my chin against my chest.

  Long wet strands hung around my face like a curtain, providing me with some protection.

  A frustrated sound broke out of him, and the rope around him tugged. We were being towed up.

  “Wait!” he yelled up. Instantly, the rope went slack.

  People called out to us, but we were in our own little world... Well, actually, the world I’d painstakingly built for myself shattered, shard by shard.

  Taking a deep breath, I did something I never, ever wanted to do.

  I showed him who I really was.

  I was holding my breath, but I didn’t understand why. All the annoyance I’d been feeling drained away, leaving me with an ominous sense of anticipation.

  Something was happening right now... something I felt I had to protect.

  What was it about this woman—?

  All thought ceased.

  Her eyes fixed on mine. But it wasn’t the same stare I’d been gazing into just minutes ago. Well, one was. One brown eye that just hadn’t seemed quite right.

  The other?

  It was blue. It was right.

  “Your eyes,” I whispered, bouncing between the different-color orbs.

  Her shivering intensified. Instinctively, my arms tightened, shoulders curling in, trying to surround her. Her chin lifted a little bit more, but my eyes never left hers as she reached up and pushed some of her saturated hair back just a little.

  “Look,” she beckoned quietly. I didn’t realize so much pain could be in such a simple word.

  Tearing my eyes from her multi-colored ones, I scanned the rest of her face.

  I was an actor and, like I told you, a good one. But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Schooling my reaction to such a reveal was just not possible.

  My breath faltered. Shock stiffened my limbs.

  The left side of her face was... damaged. Scarred. Burned. A roadmap of pain I couldn’t even comprehend.

  She only let me look a second. Long enough to register there was so much more to this woman than I ever would have suspected.

  “Ah, Zo,” I whispered, lifting a hand to cup the side of her face.

  She winced and turned away from the touch.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please help me get back to the trailer without everyone seeing.”

  Keeping her close against my chest, I wrapped both arms around her, swallowing up as much of her body as I could.

  “Pull us up!” I yelled.

  I didn’t say anything to try and reassure her. What the fuck could a man say? I couldn’t process everything I was thinking and feeling right now. All I could do was pull us through this until we were somewhere safe.

  I don’t know how I realized Zoey wasn’t safe out here like this. Exposed and vulnerable like a lamb in a field of coyotes.

  But I did.

  The protective lion she’d awoken within me roared to life and took control.
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br />   The second we were lowered onto the platform, I started issuing orders. “I need a blanket! Get me my jacket! Turn off those spotlights!”

  Everyone scrambled to do as I demanded because I was Nick-fucking-Preston—usually an amiable and easy guy. However, I knew how to command a room. It’s what made me so good at my job.

  Zoey continued to shiver, plastered so tight against me I could feel every inch of her long, thin frame along my front. Keeping her secured in my arms and shielding her from prying eyes, I stayed still while the guys unhooked me from the harness.

  “Step back, ma’am,” one of them said, trying to reach between us.

  Her fingernails dug into my back, and I gave the handsy guy a dark look. He pulled back instantly.

  “She’s fine where she is,” I told him, shifting so I could reach between us myself and pull off the rest of what they needed.

  A blanket appeared, and I draped it over her head and back completely.

  “All right now,” I whispered, pulling back enough to tuck the blanket closed around her.

  Her hand fisted in the front of my shirt, silently asking me to stay close.

  “C’mon,” I said, tucking her beneath my arm and leading her toward the beam. I noticed her limping but didn’t call attention to it because getting out of here was more important.

  That’s when the whispering started.

  Her foot...

  What was wrong with her foot?

  I stopped walking and gave the whispering man closest to me a piercing look. He pointed at her feet like there was something I should see.

  A moment passed while my brain processed what I saw, because at first, nothing looked amiss. Her sneaker came off in the water. Big deal.

  Then I felt her fingers tightening, felt her shrink closer against me.

  I looked again.

  Five toes. Flesh-colored and shaped just like anyone’s foot would be... but it wasn’t.

  Her foot wasn’t real. It was a prosthetic.

  Zoey was missing one of her feet.

  Bending without a word, I lifted her into my arms and forged ahead, carrying her across the beam, down the steps, and across the set.

  Of course Candace appeared, wide-eyed and practically drooling at the scoop she thought she was getting. Despite the blanket being tucked around Zoey’s head and face, I cupped my hand around her head, shielding her with my arm.

  “Nick! Nick, can you say a few words about what just happened up there?” Candace pounced. “Do set accidents like this happen often?”

  Setting my jaw, I pushed forward, refusing to acknowledge her.

  “Nick! My God! You could have been seriously hurt!” Jessica gasped, running alongside me like the ever-concerned costar she was.

  I knew our agencies wanted us to act like there might be love blooming behind the cameras, but I wasn’t in the mood. The fact she was acting like I was the hurt one and not the woman who was knocked into the tank with no harness, no warning at all, pissed me off.

  “Excuse me,” I said, pushing through the camera crews swarming us.

  “How well do you know the woman you leapt in the water after?” Candace questioned, shoving a mic close. “Is she hurt? Should we call 9-1-1?”

  “Security!” I bellowed.

  Breaking away from everyone, I rushed off set and went to the trailer where Carson was standing at the door, looking like a dear in headlights.

  “Heavens!” He gasped. “What happened?”

  “Grab the door,” I barked.

  Carson snapped up like a soldier, pulling open the door so I could sweep through.

  “I need the room,” I announced, making everyone look up.

  Mouths dropped, and the other makeup artist, Laura, came rushing over. “Is that Zoey? What happened? Let me help you.”

  Under the blankets, Zoey made a small sound.

  “Out!”

  Everyone rushed out, with Carson standing in the still-open door.

  “Don’t let anyone in here,” I demanded. Outside, I could hear Callie rushing over, calling out my name. “Not even my assistant.”

  Carson saluted and pulled the door around, the fanny pack spinning on his waist with the movement.

  Carefully, I set Zoey down in a makeup chair and sank down in front of her. She huddled back, gripping the blanket around her, keeping her face buried inside.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked, resting a hand on each armrest. “Do you need the paramedics?” We always had some on standby.

  “No,” she said quickly. The blanket slipped a little with the definitive shake of her head.

  I couldn’t help it. I glanced down at her foot. Her pants were soaking wet and sticking to her. A mechanical-looking ankle rose out of the foot, and from this angle, I could see the limb was really just like a shell or case for more metal.

  Flexing my fingers around the chair, I forced my eyes up and reached for the ends of the blanket to pull them back.

  She jerked away the second I moved, practically cowering inside the cover. “Let me help you.”

  “I want to be alone.”

  “Zoey—”

  “Just go.”

  I sat there debating but, in the end, conceded. Going to a nearby cabinet, I pulled out a few towels and carried them over. Laying them in her lap gently, I stepped back out of her personal space.

  She looked small hiding in the folds of the blanket, and I knew she was still trembling. There were so many things I wanted to say. So many things I wanted to ask.

  “Please go,” she whispered again, her voice hoarse and weak.

  Embarrassment washed through me because it probably seemed to her I was standing here staring, trying to get another look at everything she’d been hiding.

  Aren’t you? A voice heckled me.

  As I reached for the handle on the door, I noticed for the first time that I was drenched as well. I needed to—

  “Nick?”

  I spun around. Any thought I had of myself was silenced by my name on her lips.

  “Yes?”

  “I-I need my shoe.”

  “It’s probably soaked. I’ll get you some dry ones.”

  “I need that one.”

  I glanced down at her exposed foot again. Emotion welled up within, but I didn’t know how to identify what it was. “Just wait. I’ll get it for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Those two words were spoken about a million times a day. They were common, often said automatically without the proper sentiment behind them.

  Not this time. This time it felt like I was hearing them for the very first time. Like I finally understood what it was to have someone be truly thankful for something I’d done.

  It made me feel small but strangely filled up inside.

  I left the trailer with the sole mission of getting that shoe, knowing I would go to the ends of the earth to achieve it.

  I was indeed alone.

  My companion, most definitely dead.

  The scratch, scratch, scratching I heard? The movement I thought was her head turning toward my voice?

  The sliver of hope that offered me a slice of life here in this pit of death?

  A rat.

  A large, beady-eyed thing that decided a corpse made a promising meal.

  Skittering back against the wall, my fist jammed against my mouth as I shuddered and shook. It had taken all my courage to look over there, but now I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

  What a hideous way to die. To lie there in pain while blood seeped from your body, saturating the old, crusty tile, streaking it like some sort of abstract work of art. Knowing you would never get up again and the last sound you would hear was the life sliding out of you and dripping down the drain in the floor.

  The rat moved again, making me whimper. It paused and looked in my direction, then turned back and started pawing at her face like its claws were a fork.

  “Stop!” The scream burst out of me, and I lunged forward. Anger overpowered my fear in th
ose moments as I watched a young life reduced to rat food. I was so enraged at the rodent’s audacity that all I could think about was stopping it.

  The rat gave a squeal and rushed off. I sprang forward, hand outstretched. Maybe I would have caught it.

  If not for the chain.

  It yanked me back, a grim reminder that I was not free. That I was not unlike the dead body rotting away so close by. My ankle ached, and pain radiated up my leg.

  I collapsed, weeping. The inhuman sounds ripping from my own soul were something I never would have thought I could make. Something sticky and thick coated my hand, squishing between my fingers, making me go quiet.

  Lifting my head, I stared at the blood dripping down my wrist. It was cold. Not mine.

  My eyes drifted to the corpse.

  Backpedaling to my corner, I ignored the way my legs tangled in the chain keeping me prisoner, furiously wiping my hand down the wall to rid myself of the blood. Seeing the streaks down the wall, seeing the red still discoloring my hand, a thought occurred. I could wipe every last drop of this away, but I would still be stained forever.

  “Help!” I screamed as loud as I possibly could. I didn’t even care if he heard. “Help!”

  The plea echoed through the giant room, rising out of the vacant, abandoned pool. I cried and screamed until I couldn’t anymore. Finally collapsing against the cold wall, I gazed through swollen eyes at the way the floor sloped up toward the shallow end.

  I imagined the pool filling with water, rinsing away the blood and death, offering some kind of fresh start. It wouldn’t even matter if I was still chained. If I drowned down here. Drowning would be better than this.

  * * *

  I needed to get up. To put myself back together and find some dry clothes. Makeup. I needed makeup. I needed my kit so I could cover up.

  Oh God, how many people saw?

  All these years, I’d painstakingly made sure no one ever saw, that no one ever knew. Was all that ruined now? Ruined by some freak accident on set? Had my perfect cover become a terrifying reveal?

  Tightness squeezed my chest, and a noxious feeling squirmed around just below my diaphragm. The urge to get up and escape, to run away without looking back, was so strong my entire body tensed, readying to spring out of the chair.