Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  Oh. He thought I was like this because of a car accident. “I wish,” I muttered to myself.

  “What?”

  “Oh, I—”

  His eyes were so earnest and concerned. It pierced my heart that he thought anything he could do would bring up the horror of what I’d gone through.

  I need no reminder. I never forget.

  “It wasn’t a car accident.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  I shook my head.

  I could see the wheels. I knew he was asking himself if it wasn’t that, then how was I like this.

  He didn’t ask.

  “So I didn’t scare you, then?”

  I smiled. He was so incredibly sweet. “No. I like your car.”

  “What about me?” he teased. “You like me?”

  I shrugged. “You’re okay.”

  He tickled me again, and we ended up in a wrestling match in the center of the mattress with the blankets tangling around us.

  “I like you enough for both of us,” he confessed when we were breathing hard.

  His face was incredibly close. His jade eyes were intensely sincere. The rise and fall of his naked torso against my upper body was short-circuiting my system.

  “You don’t have to,” I confided, cupping his cheek with my hand. “I’ve got my part covered.”

  He groaned, burying his face in the side of my neck. “You’re killing me.”

  “I need to take a shower.”

  His head popped up. “Need some help?”

  “No!”

  His chuckle filled the room as he rolled away. “Fine. When you’re ready, come out to the kitchen. I want to introduce you to your new bodyguards.”

  “New bodyguards!” I exclaimed, sitting up. “What happened to the ones I had yesterday?”

  “I fired them.”

  “What?”

  Turning back to the bed, his eyes flashed, the square jaw everyone loved so much hardening. “You nearly got crushed by that sandbag.”

  I gasped. “It was an accident!”

  “That’s why I hired them. They should have had you out of the way before you were hit.”

  “It happened so fast.”

  “Then they should have lifted the bag off instantly.”

  “The director told everyone to stay back... The chain was faulty.”

  “All the more reason for them to intervene!” he yelled.

  I sat back, not wanting to be alarmed by his outburst, but alarmed just the same. Glancing down and tucking my hands into my lap, I went quiet.

  Nick cursed, his weight causing the mattress to dip.

  “I’m gonna yell sometimes. And cuss. And get pissed off. Don’t ever be scared of me. Don’t ever back down. I will do a lot of things... but I will never hurt you.”

  Looking up, I whispered, “You speak like we’re going to be around each other for a long time.”

  “We are.”

  “The movie is almost done filming.”

  His eyebrows rose into his forehead. “You think when the movie is done, we will be too?”

  Confusion and hesitation hit me. Of course I thought that. Didn’t he? What else was I supposed to think. I didn’t have permanent relationships with people, aside from Carson, whom I also held at arm’s length.

  You didn’t hold Nick at arm’s length last night.

  “Okay.” He cajoled, somehow sensing the alarms going off inside me. “Take it easy. We’ll talk about this later.”

  What was there to talk about?

  “Just get ready and come meet the guards, okay?”

  “I don’t need bodyguards.”

  “I need you to have them.”

  Was that supposed to make me relent? It wouldn’t.

  It will.

  “My trainer is waiting,” he said, cupping my head, leaning down to kiss the top.

  When he was gone, I let out a shuddering breath. Reaching up to finger my scars, then staring at the indent his head left in the pillow next to mine, I felt the shift inside me.

  I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I knew nothing between us was going to be the same.

  “Your phone is ringing,” I told Zoey as I pulled the Viper into the production lot.

  Wrinkling her nose, she glanced at me. “It’s yours.”

  Lifting mine up, I showed her the black screen.

  Surprise flashed over her features. “The only one that has my number is Carson and people for work...” Glancing at the screen, she said, “It’s Carson.”

  “You gonna answer it?” I asked, amused.

  Zoey was a conundrum. Wise, obviously, with pain and heartbreak but surprisingly innocent with so much.

  “Carson?” she said, cutting off the ringtone. “I’m in the parking lot.”

  I could hear him erupt into a flurry of words I couldn’t understand. Zoey gasped, her face screwing up into an odd expression.

  “Wait, what?”

  Again, I heard him talking, and Zoey fumbled around for the door handle. “I’m coming right now!”

  “Zoey?” I called as she rushed out of the car. She didn’t answer, so I jumped out and sprinted after her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Something happened,” she said, not slowing her pace.

  The black SUV with the bodyguards pulled up, and I signaled to them to follow.

  The door to the makeup trailer was wide open, the weird atmosphere inside spilling out into the lot.

  “Zoey!” I yelled, grasping her around the upper arm, stopping her from rushing inside.

  “What?” She was exasperated.

  “You can’t just run in there.”

  Yanking her arm free, her eyes glinted. “I have to.”

  Like hell. I caught her again, holding her back until the bodyguards dashed in around her. Only then did I let her go.

  She glared like I was in trouble, but I didn’t care. I’d rather have her mad than in danger.

  “Can I go now?” she snapped.

  “I’ll go first.” I decided and went ahead.

  She muttered something behind my back, but I didn’t hear because the second I stepped inside, all my attention shifted.

  Everyone was standing around Zoey’s section near the back of the trailer. The two bodyguards had their backs turned, diligently checking out the room.

  “What’s going on?” Zoey asked, rushing past me.

  The group of people parted, and her steps faltered. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed, rushing forward.

  The bodyguard closest to her held out an arm, keeping her from walking into the middle of the mess.

  And there was a mess.

  A big one.

  “That’s my stuff!” she cried, pointing over his outstretched arm. “Let me pass.”

  “Let us check it out first, ma’am.”

  She made a sound and spun to me.

  “Give them a second.”

  A strangled noise erupted from her, and she put her back to all of us, looking at Carson. “What happened?”

  “We all came in from set, unlocked the trailer... and found this,” he said, pressing a hand to his lips. “I just can’t even...”

  Zoey turned back to her station. All her supplies, her giant makeup kit... even the smaller box she often carried around was destroyed. It looked like a hurricane had ripped through.

  The rolling cart was turned on its side. Every drawer was pulled out and dumped. Makeup scattered the floor. Mirrors were broken. Powder of all different colors dusted everything.

  A few bottles of foundation were shattered, the thick liquid creating small puddles and splatters everywhere.

  A strangled sound erupted from her as she stared at it all. Pushing past the bodyguard, she fell to her knees next to some of the shattered items and a broken lipstick. “It’s all ruined.”

  Nearby, her smaller kit lay on its side, and she made her way to it, righting the box and opening the lid. There was nothing left. It was all busted and scattered all over the floor.

  Eve
n the chair we all sat in for her to work on us was covered in powder and creams.

  Dropping a cracked lipstick on the floor, Zoey spun to look at Carson and then Laura. “Your stuff? Is it all ruined too?”

  An awkward silence descended. She hadn’t realized.

  “Honey...” Carson began.

  Zoey jumped up, moving around everyone toward Carson’s station. It was untouched. Same with Laura’s. In fact, the entire makeup trailer was in complete order—except for everything Zoey owned.

  She took a moment to digest what she was seeing, then turned back to her destroyed belongings.

  “It’s just me,” she murmured. Her sneakers crunched over some of the broken supplies, and she bent down to pick up a flat iron that had been broken in two. “Someone broke in here and destroyed only my things.”

  “I already called security,” Carson offered, going forward to hold her hand.

  Zoey turned toward her best friend. “This was years of supplies. Cultivated through experience and need.” Carson nodded emphatically. “Thousands of dollars,” she echoed, glancing down at everything. “Some of this was limited edition and can’t be replaced...”

  Carson hugged her. “A makeup artist’s kit is like a limb to the artist. To lose it—”

  “Why?” She interrupted. “Why would someone do this?”

  The heartbreak in her voice made me angry. Seeing her standing with all of her hard work demolished at her feet like this brought out a primal desire to hunt down whoever did this.

  Laura stepped forward. Her usually indifferent or even frosty attitude toward Zoey was subdued. Even she was horrified by this kind of betrayal. “Could it be a fan?”

  Zoey released a strangled sound. “I don’t have any fans.”

  Laura made a face, turning toward me. “I meant one of Nick’s.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you two have been in the headlines a lot. People are angry... Maybe one of your fans is jealous and taking it out on her?”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I motioned to one of the guards. He was at my side in seconds. “Go check all the security footage on the lot. Check the gates. I want to know who did this.”

  He rushed off, and I glanced around at Zoey. She was still staring at the mess.

  “How am I supposed to work?”

  The director, head of security, and a few other key production people rushed in. As everyone looked around, tossed out theories, and pretty much gossiped about the newest set disaster, I watched Zoey.

  Kneeling in the middle of the mess, she began to scoop up some of it, her hands instantly covered.

  Seeing a tube of lipstick she thought survived, she lunged at it, hope sparking in her eyes. I watched her tug off the top and twist the bottom... only for a snapped and smashed nub of product to appear. It slid from her hands and rolled across the floor, bouncing into a broken brush.

  I thought about how she woke up screaming last night. How brave she’d been when she let me look into her face. I thought about her playful mood this morning and then heard her whispered confession float through the back of my head.

  She didn’t deserve this.

  Hadn’t she been through enough?

  Kneeling beside her, I wrapped a hand around hers. She tried to pull back, saying, “My hands are mess,” but I refused to let go.

  What could I say to make this better?

  Nothing. Again, words felt like tokens when action would be more meaningful.

  “Make a list of everything you lost. Get a projected cost of it all too.” I glanced up at her friend. “Carson will help.”

  He nodded enthusiastically.

  “Once it’s done, you can submit it to the producers and get reimbursed.” Spinning around to stand, I faced the director. “The studio will cover this, right? Because it happened on the lot.”

  He looked as if he’d swallowed a case of lemons, but he knew there was only one answer. “Of course. We have insurance for things like this.” He looked at Zoey. “Do what Nick said. Get a list together.”

  “What about work?”

  “We have a packed schedule ‘til we finish.” Someone holding a clipboard spoke up.

  “We can get someone else in here to replace—”

  Zoey gasped.

  “No!” I said at the same time.

  “It’s the reasonable thing to do,” the director refuted.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I spat. “You want to fire her for something she wasn’t responsible for? Punish her—the victim?”

  “Of course not, Nick.”

  “Mr. Preston.” I cut in, my voice unbending.

  The director swallowed.

  “Maybe I should call in Blair.” I pulled out the big guns. “I think this qualifies as harassment in the workplace.”

  “We aren’t the ones harassing her. We are just trying to—” One of the other clipboard holders jumped in.

  The director held up his hand. “No one is getting fired. We can handle this. Zoey, see what you can salvage here, if anything. Then you can take the afternoon to go get the supplies you need for the next few days. Whatever you’re missing, I’m sure some of the other artists here will be happy to share.”

  Carson agreed instantly, and then to my surprise, Laura agreed too.

  “Thank you,” Zoey said, her shoulders slumping with relief.

  “Do it fast,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “We can’t afford any lost time on set.”

  “We’ll step in and handle everything until she gets back,” Carson asserted, tucking his arm around Laura.

  Zoey turned toward the other artists. “Thank you both so much.”

  “Anything for you, girl,” Carson told her.

  “Deal with this,” the director ordered a few staff and then turned to me. “Mr. Preston, I hope this makes you feel better about the working environment here.”

  I wasn’t about to kiss his ass.

  “Thanks for your cooperation.” I agreed.

  “I hope you will concur there is no reason to call in Blair.”

  “I won’t call her,” I said, giving him relief. “But since she’s my mother, there’s no telling when she might drop in.”

  Alarm filled his eyes, but he banked it quickly. “Sure. Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Back to work!” he yelled.

  Yep. I, a grown-ass man, just threatened another grown-ass man with my momma.

  It worked.

  Nobody messed with Blair Preston.

  When most of the crowd went back to their jobs, Zoey sidled up to me. “Who’s Blair?”

  “My mother.”

  Her mouth fell open. I used the opportunity to touch her chin and snap her mouth shut. “Can you cover the cost of all the stuff you lost until they cut you a check?”

  Pursing her lips, I watched her consider. She nodded once. “For the necessities to finish the shoot, I can. I’ll just get the extras later.”

  “Get what you want. I’ll cover it.”

  She made a face. “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can take care of myself.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then this conversation is over.”

  She started to spin away, but I caught the back of her T-shirt, towing her back. “You okay?” I asked against her ear.

  She turned, eyes probing mine. “Do you really think this was one of your fans? The press hasn’t died down at all?”

  I frowned. I hadn’t looked yesterday. Clearly, I should have. I made a mental note to have Callie check in with my manager.

  Wait. Where the hell was Callie? Quickly, I took out my phone and sent her a text.

  Where are you?

  “It’s still a hot topic,” Carson said, coming in with all the info we needed about the press. “There is still a lot of speculation.”

  My phone buzzed with a reply from my wayward assistant. Sorry! Busted pipe in my kitchen. Will be there as soon as the repair guy gets here!
r />   No worries, I texted back.

  Zoey sighed, gazing at all her ruined supplies. I reached for her, but she slipped away. “You should have Carson get you ready for set. You’re going to be late.”

  I wanted to stay with her, but I couldn’t. Rumors were already rampant. I’d basically just threatened the director to protect her. I couldn’t be late to set.

  Before heading off to Carson’s station, I moved up close behind her again. “The bodyguards will drive you. Don’t go anywhere without them. If anything happens, call me.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She assured me, her voice much softer and relenting than I expected.

  “Thank you.”

  Her eyes lifted to mine, a question clearly in her gaze.

  “For not making me worry about you this afternoon.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She assured me.

  She didn’t realize how closely I paid attention to her. If she did, she might have tried to be more convincing.

  I didn’t know what was worse: the heat or the pain.

  It seemed they worked together to make me as miserable as humanly possible. I was losing hope. Likely soon, my fate would match that of the dead body not too far from where I lay.

  The back of my arm hurt so bad that sometimes I would black out. Or perhaps it was the dehydration, hunger, or overheating I was also inflicted with.

  The cause didn’t really matter, because I actually started to enjoy blacking out, because at least then there was nothing.

  I wasn’t sure what his plan was. The more time that passed, the more confused I became. I was weak and grower weaker, not even possessing the energy to mark the passage of time on the wall. Time was irrelevant anyway because time was not on my side.

  Sometimes I would hear the faint ring of a school bell, which made me wonder where I was.

  The long nightgown he forced me to put on stuck to my sweaty legs and tangled around the shackle at my ankle. Pushing up off the grungy floor, a wave of nausea rolled over me. My body heaved, spewing up nothing but making me feel like my soul was being ripped from my spine.

  Collapsing back against the grimy, flaking pool floor, pain made me writhe. The long sleeves on the gown, though cotton, rubbed against the burn he’d inflicted on the back of my arm, and I would nearly black out from the friction.

  Infused with the spirit of anger and hate, I pushed up, gripping the fabric near my shoulder and ripping the seams. Air brushed over the wound when the fabric was gone, and a tear slid over my cheek. I’d rather have this soiled oxygen rub it than the fabric.