Chapter 5
Harlow
I’m just going to tell him, “Hi.” Or maybe just look at him from afar. Either way, it’s day three and I’m making progress. We both know we’re tiptoeing around each other’s existence. And there’s no point to that.
The steam from the coffee billows into my face as I blow across the top. It’s smooth and delicious as it goes down, but I hardly taste it. My eyes are straight ahead as I hide in the shadows just off set.
It’s been ten years. Not long enough for the memories to fade, but hopefully long enough to be cordial.
I close the pamphlet in my hands as well, letting my finger running along the edge of the thick manuscript. Night Fire. That’s the title it has on the top of the script anyway, but that doesn’t mean it’s what the show will actually be titled.
“Action,” Stevens calls out from his chair and I can barely see him, the lights are so dim. The studio lights are high up, and all directed on the stage that’s been set up to look like an office. An expensive one at that. The floors are made to look like real wood when they’re only linoleum, but the furniture is solid and expensive, most of it a deep rich brown and the little odds and ends, like the scattered papers and a mug on the desk, with books and awards on the bookshelf to make it seem as though the office space is truly lived in. It gives personality to Robby’s office.
Nathan’s character is nothing like him at all. I avert my eyes and stare into the dark brown coffee. It needs more creamer. I swallow thickly and try to stop my train of thought.
I don’t know who Nathan is anymore. It’s possible I never really did know him.
The sound of the door shutting on set makes me focus again on the stage set ahead of me. Nathan’s eyes slowly lift, his fingers softly closing a book as he lets his eyes drift up and then back down to Julie, or I should say Miranda, Julie’s character.
“Robby, are you hiding from me?” she asks coyly, walking across the set and my eyes instinctually move to the cameras that follow her, ever so smoothly.
She’s a seductress and is damn good at it. The red dress clings to her hips as she walks and the same red color is painted on her lips.
“Robby, please,” she purrs, leaning over the desk and giving him just a peek of her cleavage. I’ve watched her shows before and this role is different from anything else she’s done. “We’ve known each other for how long?” she asks him, her perfectly plucked brow arching as she moves to sit on the edge of the desk.
This is a form of torture I think. Watching Nathan and Julie act out this scene together.
I haven’t watched a single one of his movies and I didn’t ever intend to, but now I’m curious.
Nathan’s expression is stiff, uncomfortable even. The papers rustle in my hands as I look down to read the scene again.
I flip the page over as quietly as I can and then peek up at Stevens who looks pissed.
There’s no way around it; Nathan’s doing a shitty job. He isn’t showing any interest in Miranda, Julie’s character, in the least. Which is not what’s written in the script at all.
“Cut!” Director Stevens yells out and it’s the first time in days that I’ve heard his voice ring out with such frustration-laced authority. I’ve heard rumors about him, whispers in the industry about his interactions with actors being a bit hostile and demanding. It looks like I’m about to get a real-life portrayal of exactly what they mean, but it makes me sick to my stomach, because I’m certain it’ll be directed at Nathan.
The tension and disappointment in the air are palpable as the lights slowly get brighter and the onlookers, like me, begin to make faint noises while they shift their feet, flip through pages and whisper to their neighbors.
“You need to bring this scene to life. The emotion. There’s passion between them.” Director Stevens is calling out to Nathan and I watch as he nods his head repeatedly, but he doesn’t stop looking at me.
My heart races and I can’t breathe. Stop looking, Nathan. But it’s not just his eyes anymore. The longer he stares at me the more everyone else notices. I’m caught in their questioning stares and the only thing I can think is that I need to get out of here.
“Oh, that’s why.” I hear Julie say as she turns on her heels and walks back to the faux door. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and then looks back at me. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. “She shouldn’t be here if she’s distracting him.”
I didn’t do anything. I look everywhere except at her and Nathan, but all eyes are on me. Onlookers glance between Nathan, Julie, and then me.
My breath is caught in my throat as I lower the papers in my hand. I wish I could run. All of this attention is solely because he won’t stop staring.
I didn’t make a noise. I didn’t try to do a damn thing to distract him or anyone else. My teeth sink into my bottom lip and I keep my eyes on the ground, but I have to lift them. I can feel his dark eyes on me and when I raise them, sure enough, he’s still focused on me. Not just a look but a blatant stare that pierces through me, like a thin dagger meant to hold me perfectly still and threaten my very life.
The murmurs get louder and I know they’re whispering about Nathan and me. Do they know something I don’t?
“Stop it,” I mouth the words to Nathan. It takes everything in me to do it. To even acknowledge that I can see him and he can see me. But he merely shakes his head slowly. Just once, but it’s enough to let me know that he doesn’t care about the awkward situation he’s putting me in.
I try to turn away, ripping my eyes from Nathan’s gaze, but it only leaves me caught in another. The director’s. Stevens is staring straight at me and I only turn for a moment to see Nathan running his hands through his hair in frustration. He’s no longer looking at me, his back is turned, but that fact only makes the sickness churn more and more in my stomach.
“You.” The loud voice is directed at me and it makes my body jump. Director Stevens points directly at me, his voice bellowing in the confines of the set, “Get off the set!”
Chapter 6
Nathan
Ten Years Ago
May 1st
She can’t make up her mind.
One day Hally loves me and I feel it. Down to the very core of who I am. And then I do something, like say the wrong thing, and all of a sudden I don’t appreciate her or whatever the hell she’s saying when she yells at me.
I don’t know how to react or handle her. All it does is turn me on if I’m honest with myself. I hate the outcome though. It’s easy for her to say things that hurt. Just as easy as it is for her to say the words that make me feel like I’m worth something to her.
She’ll say she’s sorry. She’ll say she doesn’t mean it.
She does all the talking and that’s the problem.
I sit in my car outside my house and think about the fight over and over. I know I could have just said I was sorry and I don’t want to see her upset. That would have made her pause at least. That’s my problem though, my dad made sure I learned not to speak up when I’m being yelled at.
The heat from outside is already leaking into the car, so I pull the keys out and make my way to 2204 Winston Street. I ignore everyone else as I get out of the car and walk inside. The steps are old, made of rough stone and uneven. I’ve fallen down them a few times as a kid, and they’re the reason for the scar on my upper thigh.
I’m quiet when I walk in, listening to the sound of the TV playing in the living room. Taking a quick look in, I see Ma passed out in front of it. I don’t know if she has night shift tonight or not, but I don’t wake her up, I never do.
Not unless I want the shit beat out of me.
I thought Dad was bad until he split, but that’s when Mom just took his place. Before I turn to go up the stairs, I see the bottles lined up on the table in the kitchen. The pizza box is there from last night, open and empty, so at least I know she ate. Even though it looks like she had an entire case of beer along with it.
The old wood
en stairs creak as I make my way up, two steps at a time. The higher I get, the hotter it gets, like stagnant heat.
I don’t know why I even came home this early.
My book bag smacks against the wall of my bedroom, right next to the nightstand, which is next to my bed which together comprise the only furniture in the room. Even with the fan still going, it’s hot as hell in my room.
If Hally hadn’t snapped, I’d be with her. It’s fucked up that I miss her; I know I can’t keep her. Maybe one day if I come back to this town, like years from now, when I have a chance to do something with my life. Maybe then I could come get her and hold onto her.
But she’d still get pissed, and I still won’t know how to say the right things.
I used to wonder if it was my fault that I didn’t get along with my mother. I thought maybe it was the same as it was with Hally. That I just didn’t know how to do the right thing. I tried though.
I swear I did. I thought maybe there was a silent truce between us, an unspoken love. My mother went through phases, with the drugs, the boyfriends. Whatever it was, I was quiet and stayed out of it, unless she needed me.
She kicked me out when I stopped her fuck-of-the-week boy toy from beating the shit out of her. He wasn’t the first to smack her around. Just like Dad used to.
She didn’t even give me clothes, nothing. Just kicked me out and then let him beat the shit out of me on the street. It was only days after what happened to Hally. It was my fault for reacting I think. But I couldn’t let him pull her hair and smack her like he was.
For months I tried to go back home, I didn’t have a place to stay and just moved from friend to friends’ houses looking for a place to crash. I thought when he left, things would go back to what they were for me and my mom.
But I was eighteen, almost out of high school and therefore, not her problem anymore. Or so she told me.
Hally
Ten Years Ago.
May 1st
“Why aren’t you eating?” Mom asks me again as I push around the mashed potatoes on my plate. My silverware clinks on the ceramic plate as I set it down.
“I’m just not hungry,” I lie.
I can’t stop thinking about the fight I got into with Nathan and whether or not he’ll still love me tomorrow.
It wasn’t supposed to turn into what it did. I wish Nathan would just care. I don’t even know what we were fighting over. It doesn’t matter. I hate talking to a wall. I hate it when he doesn’t listen and the problem isn’t fixed.
I can’t just go on pretending like everything’s okay.
My throat starts to close and I try to swallow but I can’t. I’m quick to reach for my glass of water and take a large gulp. I ignore my mother’s eyes on me, assessing, worrying.
Maybe I should tell her. Maybe she would know what to do.
“Is something wrong?” my mom asks and my dad elbows her. The table is a square, but my father sits at the spot that faces the front window in the dining room, so I still think of it as the end.
I eye the two of them as they share a glance.
“You can talk to me about anything, you know that,” my mom says.
My dad keeps his eyes on the plate in front of him as he cuts up the pork chop and takes a bite. I’ve always appreciated how Dad lets me have time to myself. Mom’s the opposite.
“I know,” I tell my mom and scoop up a bit of the potatoes, but I just end up putting the fork down.
If Nathan didn’t live where he did, I could just walk to his house. I don’t have a car though, and he’d be pissed if I walked there to see him. And it’s freezing outside. I did once, and it’s the only fight we’ve gotten into where I was scared to talk back to him. He never yelled at me like that before.
It’s because he loved me enough to want me safe. And that only makes me want to go to him even more.
I love him, more than anything and I wish we didn’t fight. I don’t know why we push each other like we do. We need it to stop, but I don’t know how.
Tears prick my eyes and I push my chair back from the table. “May I please be excused?” I ask, knowing I’m upsetting my mom by not talking to her.
“Baby,” my mom says at the same time that Dad tells me to go ahead and leave.
The table shakes slightly as I get up and don’t say another word, taking the escape Dad gave me.
I head straight to my room, wanting to sleep this night off until I can see Nathan tomorrow and try to make it right.
“Let her be. She’s a teenager,” I hear my dad say as I climb the stairs, holding on to the etched wood banister as I go.
My parents met when they were kids, but I don’t think they’d understand. I don’t even think they’d approve. So I don’t tell them anything and maybe that was a mistake.
I never did tell my family that I’d fallen in love only to have my heart shredded in a way that’s unimaginable. I think my mom knew though. She could always tell when something was wrong. Maybe that’s why she hovered so much my senior year. Maybe it’s why she wants me to stay close. I’m her baby and I always will be.
Some things I can’t share with her though.
It’s a story that’s just meant for Nathan and me.
I wish I knew how to talk to him back then. I wish I was smarter and knew what he needed without relying on him to tell me.
Things could have turned out so much differently if we’d only knew how to handle each other. But we came from different worlds and that’s something we couldn’t help.
Chapter 7
Nathan
My eyes look back at me from the mirror which is in the dead center of my dressing room. I haven’t noticed how red they are; I haven’t noticed the bags.
Three days of wasted photography and threats of being pulled. Three days of Mark begging me to tell him what’s wrong, so he can fix it before I’m fired.
Three days of me feeling like I’m 19 again. Because I’m avoiding her. I’m a fucking coward for doing it, but I know she’ll break me. She’ll bring me back to the exact thing I’ve been running from.
It was so easy to just live when I didn’t have a reminder of my past.
“You want to do something fun?” she asked me. She always asked me that. There was a sparkle in her eyes when she did it too. Like she knew she’d get me into trouble. I could just see her whispering it off the set. I could see her luring me back to what we used to be and how she used to look at me. That desire in her eyes was the most addicting thing I’ve ever seen, ever felt. The taste of her lips and the feel of her curves as she moaned into my mouth is something I’ll never have enough of. It’ll be that question that pushes me to take my last breath.
September 17th
“Want to do something fun?” she asks as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Her backpack shifts on her shoulder and she scoots it up as the bell rings again. The third and final bell.
Everyone’s on their way out. The hallways are crowded and occasionally someone brushes against Harlow. She sways easily, seemingly not to notice. But I notice and it pisses me off. There’s plenty of room to go around her. And I hate that they’re distracting her in the least.
“What do you think?” she asks me and my gaze is drawn back to her.
Her eyes are the lightest shade of blue I think I’ve ever seen but there’s a sparkle in them, it reflects back at me as I stare at her. I let it last too, not saying a word and just letting her flirtatious suggestion hang in the air between us. It makes the tension grow and I live for that. For weeks she’s been pushing me, asking little questions she already knows the answers to, just to say something to me.
She’s playing with fire; she already knows that. But what she doesn’t know is how damaging she’d be to me. The things I want to do to her and the depths I’d go to have her to myself. I’m no good for her, that’s nothing new. But I want to make her mine and she can’t know that; if she did she’d be happy to let us burn together.
“The bell rang,” I tell h
er just to say something and get my mind off her.
“I heard,” she says as I start walking to the exit. She follows me, refusing to take the hint. “So, let’s go do something.”
Everything in me is screaming at me to just tell her to go home.
“I’m just going home,” I tell her and watch as the disappointment temporarily dulls the brightness of her eyes. But she’s not the type of girl to take no for an answer.
“Are you walking?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her and shut my locker,
She’s quick to respond, “I’ll walk with you.”
With that, I spin the combination on my lock and hang my book bag over one shoulder. She looks up at me with those sweet eyes as she twists her hair around her finger like she’s won. She knew I couldn’t tell her no. She’s my weakness.
“We can do whatever you want,” she offers with a shrug that lifts her tank top up, exposing a bit of skin on her hip. She’s quick to pull it down and cover herself back up and that alone is enough to make my fingers itch to touch her there.
“I think your idea of fun and mine are different, Harlow.” She flinches at her name and I almost think I’ve fucked up somehow, but I know that’s her name. I’ve whispered it over and over alone in bed.
She wrinkles her nose, “I don’t like it when you do that.”
“Do what?” I ask her.
“When you call me Harlow.”
“It’s your name, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. It just sounds weird with you saying it,” she answers me, continuing to follow me as I walk past two groups of kids that are clogging up the entrance to the school. I walk down three steps and although I felt her hold onto my backpack as I shifted through the people, I don’t feel her anymore. I almost spin around to see if she’s still with me, but the second I cave into temptation, I feel her soft hand brush against mine. It’s like a spark of heat, a stroke of warmth and recognition flowing through me. I have to grip the straps at my shoulders to keep from taking her hand in mine.
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