Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  “Wardrobe. He’ll be right back.”

  She sighed. “I seriously wonder why he hasn’t fired me yet.”

  “Maybe he likes you.” The words popped out before I could even think twice.

  Callie jolted in surprise and pointed to herself. “Definitely not.”

  I recalled the day when Nick told me Callie might not be a good assistant, but she was good for other things.

  Yeah. So? Maybe I still thought about that. Maybe it made me a little jealous... Maybe I wanted to know Callie’s exact relationship with her boss.

  “Why not?” I answered, closing my hand around the lipstick. “You’re beautiful, and you spend more time with him than anyone.”

  Leaning in, the steaming cup of coffee between us, Callie whispered, “Actually, it’s you who sees him the most.”

  “Zoey!” Carson hollered.

  “Duty calls,” I sang, holding the lipstick up between us. “Nick will be back in a sec.”

  Callie nodded, and I headed across set. People milled around, adjusting lighting, checking sound, and getting everything in place for the filming to resume.

  If Nick hadn’t reacted so fast, I’d have been the one covered in hot coffee. My shirt would have been drenched through. It would have burned.

  The thought made me shudder. It was the kind of pain a person couldn’t forget.

  The sound of a match striking echoed through my head, and the flicker of a flame flashed in my mind. Stumbling over my own foot, I straightened, glancing around to make sure no one noticed.

  “Girl!” Carson called. “Are you walking a turtle?”

  Trying to rid myself of the unpleasant thoughts assailing me, I hurried forward. The skin on my shoulder and upper arm tingled, but I resisted the urge to rub it.

  Jessica was tapping her toes on the floor, looking really annoyed that she had to wait for me to bring over what she needed. I recalled the way she fawned over Nick, touching his back and laying into Callie. It made me want to walk even slower.

  Thunderous sound rumbled overhead, making me tilt my head. Barely a second later, ear-splitting screeching made everyone wince.

  “Watch out!” someone yelled.

  I looked up in time to see a large metal hook and sandbag plummeting right toward me. Flinging my arms up over my head, I cried out and launched forward.

  The force with which that thing fell was greater than the force I used to escape.

  The weight of the sandbag slammed into me, knocking all the wind out of my body and pounding me into the ground. Pain ripped through my wrist, and my arm gave out, my cheek smacking against the floor.

  I lay there sprawled out on my stomach, cheek throbbing and wrist screaming with ache.

  “Oh my God!” Carson exclaimed. “Get it off! Zoey!” He rushed forward, but the sound of more screeching gears above made everyone falter.

  “Is something else going to fall?” Jessica exclaimed, totally freaking out.

  I could feel the chain attached to the sandbag pinning me wobble. “Stay back,” I told Carson, my voice breathless and weak.

  “Get that lifted!” a man yelled, probably the director.

  Cranking sounds filled the set, and the bag on top of me trembled as it was hefted up, much slower than it had crashed down. My chest felt stiff from being pressed into the floor, and when I tried to lift onto my hands and knees, my wrist screamed in pain.

  “It’s lifting!” Carson said, wringing his hands.

  I took a deep breath, feeling some of the crushing pressure start to ease, but it was instantly replaced with a new sensation.

  As the chain was lifted... so was I.

  “Wait!” I cried, but my raspy voice wasn’t loud enough.

  Up, up I went until I was off the ground, hanging like the bag, caught on whatever it was lifting me.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” the director yelled, everyone noticing I was literally being dragged up off the floor like a rag doll.

  The ripping sound was likely very low, but it was louder than a gunshot to me. As I hung there suspended, the place where my shirt was caught tore.

  With a lurch, the chain started moving me up again, taking me farther away from the ground.

  “No! Stop!” I yelled, struggling to get free as I felt the fabric of my clothing give way. “Stop!” I screeched.

  But it was too late.

  My shirt tore open, the fabric ripping completely. I hit the ground with another hard smack, the rush of cold air brushing over my newly exposed skin.

  There were a few gasps.

  Goose bumps prickled my body.

  Oh my God, everyone will see... everyone will know...

  Tears and panic came at once, overwhelming me the way the air did my back.

  Roll over, Zoey! Roll over!

  Body obeying my insistent mind, I started to roll. Searing pain ripped into my wrist, and I collapsed again onto my stomach.

  A wrenching sob built in my throat, threatening to explode.

  Something warm and solid covered me, sheltering me from prying eyes. Nick’s chin brushed my shoulder, and his voice filled my ear. “I’m here, okay?”

  I whispered his name, and his weight shifted a little more firmly over me.

  One of his arms slipped between me and the floor, his hand curling around my waist. “Let’s get up now.”

  Clutching his forearm, I said, “Don’t let me go.”

  “I won’t ever.” He swore.

  His balance was great enough for both of us. We stood without him loosening his grip even the slightest bit. Keeping my back plastered against his chest, I clutched at his arm with both hands, feeling jittery and sore all at once.

  “My shirt,” I said, cowering into him even more. “People will see.”

  “No one’s gonna see.” His voice was so quiet my ears had to strain to hear.

  But I did, and I believed him.

  He walked with me until we were at the edge of set, positioning himself in front of me so no one else would see.

  Quickly, I turned around, putting my back to everyone, including Nick.

  Shivering, I looked up, afraid of what I would see on his face.

  It wasn’t what I expected. Tenderness was definitely not even on my radar, but it was exactly what I was getting.

  “I leave you alone for five minutes,” he muttered. “You’re almost as bad as Callie.”

  My shirt was shredded in the back, falling off my shoulders, and would have hit the floor if it wasn’t for me clutching it over my chest.

  Sighing heavily, he pulled off the shirt he’d just gone to get. “C’mon,” he urged, holding it out for me.

  “Th-that’s yours.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  I peeked around him, noting everyone—and I mean everyone—staring. Shoulders slumping, I shook my head.

  Flinging the cotton over his shoulder, he peeled what was left of my shirt off my body, allowing it to flutter between our feet.

  “Arms,” he instructed after he put the shirt over my head.

  He held the hem while I peeled my arms away from my chest and stuffed them through. Once the T-shirt fell around me, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Perching his hands on his hips, he scowled. “What the hell happened?”

  “Something fell and ripped my clothes—”

  Staring up toward the ceiling, I saw the sandbag with the hook rocking back and forth, a torn piece of my shirt still attached. An eerie, surreal feeling overwhelmed me, and I shuddered.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, making me feel vulnerable and afraid. Sliding my hand around my shoulder, I rubbed at the spot and then continued rubbing down the back of my arm.

  Instinctively, I spun, glancing over my shoulder into the darkness beyond set.

  Something felt creepy... off.

  Everyone swarmed us, and I was swept away by the medics, the director, and a fussing Carson.

  Even though there were tons of people all around, the urge to glance
back into the shadows haunted me.

  She could change her appearance. She could change her name. There was one thing, though, that never would.

  She belonged to me.

  Her screams echoed through the house, pounding into my closed bedroom door like a madman trying to break in.

  Or maybe the pounding was my heart thumping so hard it was trying to break free so it could run to her.

  My heart didn’t have to go alone, though. The rest of me was just as anxious to be there. The door smacked against the doorstop, making the wall shudder and the wood bounce back. It didn’t hit me, though. I was already running through the house.

  Turning the corner, I saw a man in black reaching for her doorknob.

  My vision went dark, and all the fight training I’d had over the years kicked in without hesitation. The flying kick knocked the man sideways, his body hitting the floor with a satisfying smack. Leaping up almost instantly, he came back for me, but all I heard was Zoey screaming and no one was going to keep me away.

  A swift uppercut to the man’s jaw and then a few jabs to his ribs knocked him back. I dove, grabbing him by the front of his clothing, hauling up his limp body between my legs. My fist was on the way down when I saw who it was.

  One of my bodyguards.

  His suit was black, but the shirt under it was white.

  I dropped him, his body hitting against the floor, and he rolled to sit up.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry,” I said, rough. “I thought—”

  “Go to h-her.” He waved me off, motioning to the door.

  I didn’t even think twice, turning my back on the man to throw open her bedroom door. Her screaming reduced to whimpers and cries.

  She was alone.

  No one was attacking her.

  She writhed and clutched the blankets in the center of a bed that seemed to swallow her whole. Dark hair thrashed across a white pillow as I climbed onto the bed.

  “Zoey,” I called. “Zoey, you’re having a bad dream.”

  “Please, no,” she whimpered. “It hurts... I don’t want to die.”

  A lump the size of a planet formed in my throat, nearly choking me. Forcing it down, I slipped my arm under her shoulders, lifting her upper body off the mattress.

  “Wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. Even in the dark, I could see the tears bathing her cheeks.

  “Nick?” she whispered.

  Nodding, I wiped at her cheek. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

  A sob filled the room, and I no longer had to hold her up. She pressed tightly against me, her hands clutching at my back.

  The sound of her weeping made my heart hurt, and the feel of her tears running down my chest left me helpless. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to comfort this woman, even though it was all I wanted to do.

  Her sobs quieted, her body collapsed into mine, and I continued to hold her, stroking the length of her hair while her breathing evened.

  “You were having a nightmare,” I whispered.

  Her voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad I was here.”

  Pulling away, she started to look up, then abruptly stopped, ducking her face. When I reached out, she pulled back slightly, as if afraid. I didn’t stop, though. I just moved slower to give her time to get used to the movement.

  “You’re sleeping in my hoodie,” I observed.

  “It’s comfortable.”

  Fingers clasping the hood, I lifted it gently so it offered more coverage for her face.

  A face I intently wanted to look upon.

  Once the hood was in place, I eased back. “Want to tell me about your nightmare?”

  Her head shook.

  “It might help.”

  “It won’t.”

  “How about I stay with you for a while?”

  She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but then she grasped the hood to pull it tighter around her. “You don’t need to.”

  I wasn’t going to give up this easily. Not tonight. Not after today on set. Not after everything.

  Pushing to my knees, I moved around her on the bed.

  She stiffened, glancing around. “What are you doing?” her voice was wary.

  “Getting comfortable,” I replied, slipping between her and the pillows at her back. Opening my legs, I pushed them beneath the covers on either side of her hips. Our bodies brushed together, and she stiffened, instantly starting to move away.

  “It’s fine.” I assured her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

  “I-I don’t have it on.”

  Ah, she was worried I would feel. “Your prosthetic?”

  She nodded, trying to scoot away.

  Winding both arms around her waist, I pulled her into my body, my front colliding with her back. “It’s okay, angel.”

  She was shaking.

  I was pushing too much. She’d just had some hideous dream, and even though I was trying to comfort her, it seemed I was doing the opposite.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling bereft because I craved closeness with her but knew it was probably too much too soon.

  She caught my hands just as they were letting her go. Everything inside me stilled, even my heartbeat gently offering her the lead. Not breathing, I waited to see what she would do.

  Tentative fingers wrapped around mine, tugging my arms back around her waist. “Stay.”

  I hadn’t felt like this since I was in high school and my crush let me hold her hand at the movies. Back before I was famous, when I had to work to make someone like me... when I liked someone purely because they made my stomach wobble.

  It was unsettling, foreign, and... addictive.

  Everything under my skin buzzed with awareness, and excitement soared through my veins. Gathering her close again, I settled my chin on her shoulder and smiled.

  She tugged the blankets up to her waist, fluttering her hands afterward like she wasn’t quite sure where to put them.

  She’s nervous too. Probably more than me.

  Covering both of hers with one of mine, I brought them to her waist so I could hold them, along with the rest of her.

  This wasn’t enough. I might have been holding her body, but what I really wanted was her heart.

  Her trust.

  “I was sort of annoyed with you when we first met,” I admitted.

  She made a sound. “You were mean.”

  “I wasn’t!” I argued.

  “You called me an L.A. girl.”

  Gently rubbing my chin against her shoulder, I thought for a moment. “I was really drawn to you. Whenever I saw you on set or in the trailer, this weird tugging sensation made me want to be near you.”

  “You didn’t like it.”

  “I was intrigued by it. By you.” Pausing for a moment, I smiled into the side of her neck. “And yeah, maybe it kinda pissed me off.”

  She didn’t laugh or say anything at all, mentally making me wince. “This talking stuff is hard,” I muttered to myself.

  “There’s no script to refer to, huh?” Her voice was light and teasing, which put me at ease.

  “I guess it’s easier to talk about your feelings when you’re pretending to be someone else.”

  A small sound of agreement filled the room. “Yeah, I get that.”

  Settling a little closer against her, I confessed, “I couldn’t understand why. Why I was so lured by you. You looked like everyone else here in L.A.... but you didn’t feel like them.”

  “It’s a lot of work for me to look like those L.A. girls you seem to dislike so much.”

  “I don’t dislike them. Hell, I’ve dated my fair share. But I want something different, something real.”

  “Everyone wants real until reality sets in,” she mused.

  “In my world, you learn just how fake everything can be. Everyone wears a mask, puts on an act. It’s appearances for appearances’ sake. It’s like wading through a river of bullshit, search
ing for a shred of genuineness.”

  “I don’t alter my appearance because I want to look perfect,” she murmured.

  “I know. I’ve known it since that day you fell into the water.”

  “How much of me did you see that day?” Her voice was timid. “And again today?”

  “Some.” I hedged, not wanting her to pull away.

  “Enough to understand why I hide myself.”

  “You aren’t hiding, angel.” I corrected. “You’re protecting yourself.”

  “You’re just curious,” she told me. “You probably have a million questions you’re dying to ask.”

  “I do,” I admitted, not shying away from any truth. If I wanted her to trust me, then I had to be transparent.

  Her body puffed up with her indrawn breath. “Go ahead. Ask. I’ll answer.”

  Bravado. Strength. Resignation. I heard all these things in her voice. She thought once my curiosity was satisfied, I would walk away.

  She was wrong.

  “How lonely have you been, keeping people away? Did you cry a lot in the beginning? Was anyone there to dry your tears?”

  Her body elongated as I spoke, sitting up in fascination.

  “Does it still hurt? Do your muscles contract a lot? How many times have you woken up screaming in the middle of the night?”

  “Nick,” she whispered, her body turning toward mine.

  “When you look in the mirror, are you reminded of all the bad things that have happened, or has anyone told you that it’s all just proof of how strong you are?”

  “Stop.” Her voice caught, fingers tightening around my hand.

  “You told me to ask. You said you would answer.”

  “That’s not—” she stuttered. “This isn’t what I thought you would ask.”

  “You thought I would want a firsthand account of your accident. You thought I would want to marvel at your scars, ask about your missing limb, and be fascinated by your trauma.”

  She rotated just a little bit more. Even though I stared right at her, the hood still protected her face. “Aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “I want to know those things, but not because of morbid fascination. Because it’s part of who you are. More than anything, though, I just want to be able to look at you.”