Rouse Me

by Crystal Kaswell

  But Ryan gets more suspicious, and by the fourth week of this, I can barely manage to elude him. I only see Luke one morning and it's only for an hour. Only for a long hug and a few stolen sips of his Earl Grey.

  Thursday is painful. Friday is agony. All day, I think of nothing but Luke.

  Late in the afternoon, an office PA taps me on the shoulder. “Laurie wants to talk to you. I okayed it with the director. You're not in the next scene. You should have two hours.”

  I nod and walk down the hall. Laurie is in my dressing room, giant smile plastered on her tired face. She sits across from Luke. He's all out in a suit and tie, his hair combed back, his eyes bright and brilliant.

  “Your lawyer wants to talk to you,” she says.

  “I can see that.”

  “Interesting that you need a divorce lawyer when you aren't even married.”

  Laurie gapes at Luke. She throws me a “you-go-girl” look. “Remember, the walls are thin here and everyone loves to gossip.”

  “Especially you,” I say.

  “I guess you better fill me in on the details this weekend. Or who knows what rumors I might believe,” she says.

  “Are we hiking this weekend?”

  “Fine,” she says. “The second my shoes touch dirt. And I want good details. Juicy details.”

  Luke smirks. “Thanks, Laurie.”

  “Naomi's scene should take about two hours. But it could be as quick as 90 minutes. And if your makeup sweats off, you're coming up with your own excuse.”

  “I will,” I say.

  Laurie opens the door. “Monday's revisions are on your dresser.” She waves to one of the crew members and shuts the door behind her.

  “Strange woman,” Luke says.

  “You should see her when she's drunk.”

  I sit next to him on the couch, my hands trailing along his neck.

  “Not right now,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

  “After,” I say. “Please.”

  My body hums just from being near him. I need him touching me, everywhere, all the time. I unzip my top, slide onto Luke's lap, and straddle him. My lips press against his as I bring his hands to my breasts.

  He gives in, for a moment, his lips on my lips, his hands on my skin. Then, he pulls away. “Alyssa, this is important,” he says.

  “Please,” I say. “I need to fuck you.”

  “I'm not sure how to say no to that,” he says. I press my lips into his and he melts into me, his tongue in my mouth, his fingertips on my nipples, the hardness in his slacks pressing against me.

  And I lose myself in his touch as he unzips his pants and slips inside me.

  Chapter 30

  I watch as Luke dresses. He buttons his shirt slowly. He adjusts his tie over and over.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I've been putting off this conversation.”

  I don't like the sound of that.

  “I've been telling myself it can wait. That I'm not crazy about you. That my lack of sleep and the nauseous feeling in my stomach is from something else. Something besides this affair,” he says.

  “Oh.”

  “I'm so happy when I'm with you. So fucking happy. I told you, Alyssa. You make me feel alive. I've never felt like that before.”

  “Even with Samantha?”

  “Even in the beginning, when everything felt magical.”

  “You're happy. I'm happy. The end.”

  “Alyssa—”

  “You keep telling me this isn't complicated,” I say.

  “I feel sick whenever you leave. I try to focus on my work, but everything is Lawrence and Knight. Then I see Ryan's smug little face and I think I'm going to hurl. I daydream about wiping that smug look off his face with my fists. I've never hit anyone, but I could try. I want him to hurt. I want him to hurt as badly as I hurt knowing you'd rather be with him.”

  “That's not true,” I say.

  “I'm your second choice.”

  “No, you're not.”

  “You're with him. You go to his home every night. You share a fucking checking account.”

  “But…”

  “I can't keep sneaking around. I can't keep waiting for the scraps you're throwing at me.”

  “I wake up at 5 A.M. to see you. If that's a scrap—”

  “It's the only time you can get away with it,” he says.

  “But…”

  “I know it's hard. Half of me wants to wait around for you forever, just for the slim chance you'll wake up and realize you'd rather be with me. But I've waited for a woman who didn't love me before, and I learned my lesson.”

  “Who says I don't love you?”

  “Please don't say the words. It will only make this harder.”

  I meet his gaze. God, those eyes, full of unspeakable pain. Did I really do that to him? Does he really care about me that much? Or is it something else, someone else, some penance for past mistakes?

  “So that's it? You're, you're…” I can barely think it, much less say it.

  I feel a pang in my chest. This can't really be happening. Not here, in my dressing room, in between scenes. Not now, not on a Friday. Not when I have to spend the weekend with Ryan. Not when I have to come up for an excuse for why I'm sulking in my bedroom. Not now. Please. Not now. Just a few more weeks. A few more days. A few more hours even.

  I look at the floor. A stupid blue carpet, hard and uncomfortable. I press my nail into my thumb until it leaves a mark. It is so quiet and it feels like a million years have passed.

  I look back at Luke. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “Either I break up with you or you break up with Ryan.”

  “Right now? I can't exactly end it with a text.”

  “Then tonight, when you get home. Before you come up with another excuse.”

  “But…”

  “You know how you feel. Either you love me or you love him. Either you want me or you want him. You don't get to keep having it both ways.”

  “But…”

  “Call him right now. Leave a message on his stupid voicemail. I can wait here if you want. I can wait here until you finish work and we can go away for the weekend. We can go anywhere. I don't care. But you need to tell me now. You need to do it today.”

  “I have to get back to work,” I say.

  “It's only been an hour,” he says.

  “Am I supposed to make this decision right now?”

  “You've already made it. This is your chance to reconsider.”

  “That's not fair,” I say. “I haven't even known you for two months. How am I supposed to tear apart my whole life for something that probably won't work out?”

  “You know how you feel about him. You know how you feel about me. That's all you need,” he says. “Tell me you're going to break up with him. Tell me you're choosing me.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I want to say those words. I want to tell Luke I choose him. I want to tell Luke I'll leave Ryan. I want to run away with Luke, and have our weekend together.

  But I can't. I can't risk falling apart again. And how will I survive without Ryan holding me together?

  “Give me more time,” I say.

  “I have to do this now. Or I'll never do it.”

  “So never do it.”

  “You can't sneak around forever,” he says.

  “But I lo—”

  “Don't say it.”

  “Please. I need more time.”

  “I can't do this,” Luke says. “Call me if you end things. Or if you need help ending things. If you're afraid of what he might do when you tell him you're ending things. Or if you need help burying the body.”

  “What if I need you?”

  “I don't want you to hurt yourself, but I can't be there for you like that anymore. Not unless I get all of you.”

  “But I need you,” I say.

  “I need you, too. But not like this,” he says.r />
  “So, what, if I don't leave him, is this the last time I'll see you?”

  “I'm sure we'll see each other around.”

  “That's not what I mean,” I say.

  “Yeah, it's the last time.”

  My throat cracks. I suppress a sob. Luke puts his arms around me and I bury my head in his chest.

  “Please. I can do it soon. But I'm not ready,” I say, and I feel his arms hold me tighter.

  “Then do it soon. But don't expect me to wait for you.”

  I squeeze Luke tighter. This can't be the last time I hold him. This can't be the last time I kiss him. This can't be the last time I see him.

  But what can I do? Break up with Ryan? That would never work. I'm not strong enough to survive without him.

  I feel Luke's grasp slip. His arms pull away from me. His eyes connect with mine, so dark and full of pain.

  “Don't worry. You'll be relieved I'm out of your hair. You'll be relieved I can't force you to make any more promises.”

  I shake my head.

  “You can do it right now. You can call him right now,” Luke says.

  Again, I shake my head. I wish I could. I really, really wish I could.

  “Yeah, that's what I figured. Well, good luck. I hope he's worth it.” Luke offers his hand to shake. I take it, my grip weak, my palm sweaty. He pulls his hand back and runs it through his hair.

  “I'm really going to miss you,” he says and he reaches for the door. And, just like that, the door closes behind him, and he is gone, and I am empty.

  And, for the first time in weeks, I am desperate to fill myself with anything.

  ***

  I stand across from Naomi, blinding light shining in my eyes. The director insisted on the placement of the light, apathetic to the fact it makes it impossible to concentrate. It is my line, but I can't recall what I am supposed to say. Some fight between Marie Jane and her sister. Some attack on Marie Jane. Something to play big and loud, with the sort of faux outrage Marie Jane loves.

  But, when I open my mouth, a sob escapes. I try to roll with it. I try to play it off as one of Marie Jane's fake crying fits. I try to play it off as a fake crying fit turning into a real crying fit. Naomi marches through her lines, even as my sobs get louder and louder. Tears run down my cheeks, falling off my chin and landing on my chest. We finish our lines.

  The director calls the scene. “Really interesting energy. Maybe we can try something a little more fun,” he says.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say to no one in particular. “Give me a minute?”

  The director nods. Used to dealing with temperamental actors, no doubt. I run to the nearest bathroom, passing Laurie in the hallway. I wipe off my tears, wiping away half of my makeup with them. I try to smile. Not even close. I aim for anything but the miserable expression on my face. Closer, but not close enough.

  I splash cool water on my face. I try to breathe. I can't feel this yet. I can't admit it yet. I need to finish the day. I need to go home, and get through dinner with Ryan, and lock myself in my room and cry. I need to take tonight, to feel this, to grieve, to hurt, but I have to wait until tonight. I have to wait until I am safe, in the spare room, alone, with nothing but the ocean view to console me. No one can know how much this hurts. Not Naomi. Not the stupid director. And certainly not Ryan.

  The door opens. I clear my throat and splash more water on my face. I look up into the mirror and see Laurie standing next to me. Fuck, my eyes are red. My makeup is a mess. I'm a mess.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, just allergies,” I say.

  “You don't have to lie to me,” Laurie says. “But you do have to get back out there. We have two scenes until we wrap. This one is hard. The next is easy. In four hours, you'll be out of here. You can go home. You can go somewhere else. Hell, you can drink yourself stupid in my office if you want. But you have to make it through those four hours. Okay?”

  “I'm fine,” I say.

  “You're a bad liar,” Laurie says. “We're friends, even if I'm technically your boss. But, as your boss, I need you to get back out there and turn on that Marie Jane charm.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “But we can talk later if you want.”

  “Yeah maybe,” I say. She dries my makeup with a paper towel. It's not a total mess.

  “I'll call your girl for a touch up.”

  Laurie walks me back to set, and I shove the hurt as deep as it will go. I don't have to feel this. I don't have to feel anything if I don't want to.

  By the time my makeup is finished, I am a blank slate, ready to lose myself in my lines and my character. Ready to lose myself forever.

  Chapter 31

  I don't go home. I go to the beach. It's freezing and the breeze is strong, much too strong for my jeans and T-shirt. But I deserve the goose bumps on my forearms. I slip out of my shoes and press my feet into the rough sand. I've been on this stupid beach so many times by myself, but it's never felt like this. I was always here to avoid my endless hours of solitude. I was always here to wait out the long stretch of time between Ryan leaving for work and Ryan coming home.

  Things between us used to be better. Ryan was never sweet and gentle, but he was always supportive. He cared about me. And I cared about him. It wasn't love and it wasn't passionate, but it was something.

  Look at me. Trying to blame Ryan for what I've done. Trying to blame Ryan for Luke leaving. God, they must both think I'm pathetic. Too weak to stay. Too weak to leave. Too weak to do anything but slip into my comfortable routine.

  I am a coward. Luke knows it. That's why he…that's why he…Jesus. I can't think it. I can't let myself think it yet. I have to go home. I have to get through tonight, and maybe the weekend, and maybe the next week. And, maybe, if I get through enough weeks, I won't hurt anymore.

  Maybe.

  I'm stuck with Ryan. But I can't blame Luke, can I? Not when I am the one too weak and pathetic to leave Ryan. Maybe I can go back to Ryan tonight. Maybe things can go back to normal, how they used to be, when we had fun and did things besides sitting in the apartment.

  The waves get louder. Mist hits my face. I dip my toes into the water and it's so fucking cold. But I deserve it. I deserve the cold. I unzip my jeans, throw them onto the sand, and take another step into the water. Fuck. It's so, so cold. I can barely feel my feet. But I take another step.

  The water rises to my waist. I try to go further. I try to keep walking. I need to feel the pain I've caused. I need to hurt.

  But, I'm still a coward.

  I slink back to the car, shivering all the way.

  ***

  Ryan is waiting for me at home. He sits at the kitchen table, still in his suit, going over a stack of papers. He wears a wounded look, but what else can I expect? I've ignored him the last few weeks. I've ignored everything except for work and Luke.

  “Are you going to eat dinner with me today?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “I'm starving. I had no time for a snack.”

  “Order something. I don't feel like cooking.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, trying to soften my tone. Ryan glances at me, his poker face fading for just a second.

  “Whatever you're having,” he says. “I have a lot of work. If you're going to disappear into the spare room, do it now.”

  “I want to sit with you,” I say. “I miss you.” It's mostly true. I miss the old Ryan. The Ryan who looked out for me.

  “And to what do I owe this honor?” he asks, his eyes on his paper, his tone sharp.

  “I said I miss you.”

  “I heard you.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask. It's a stupid question. Luke would answer with some sarcastic one-liner, and I'd try not to smile.

  I order delivery from my phone. Ryan looks up from his paper, his expression unreadable. “Why don't you read or watch TV? I don't want you staring at me like that.”

  I nod, and ignore another pang in my chest. I find my Kindle, sit
on the couch, and read the same page 30 times. Ryan scribbles on the paper, his fingers digging into his pen, his breath steady. It's so quiet I can hear the slightest movement of his pen. The slightest change in his breathing.

  I try to lose myself in the page, but I can't get past the first sentence. Something about a girl and a boy, something fun and easy, not yet ruined by the girl's stupidity.

  Our delivery arrives and we eat in silence. I shouldn't expect better. I've been ignoring Ryan for two weeks. Why would he give me the time of day now? He already gives me so much more than I deserve.

  We were never great, but we worked. I needed Ryan, and he liked being needed. He liked taking care of me. I was safe. I was protected. I had everything I needed to be healthy.

  “It's been a while since we've had dinner together,” Ryan says.

  “I'll be home for dinner from now on.”

  “Is that a consolation?” he asks.

  “Please, Ryan.”

  “When are you going to tell me what really happened?”

  “Later. I'm exhausted.”

  “Are you here by choice or did he finally get tired of you?”

  “Ryan.”

  “You don't get to cheat and decide not to talk about it,” he says.

  “What's there to talk about?” I ask. “You've known this was going on. You've said as much half a dozen times. If you wanted to end things, or scold me, you'd have done it by now.”

  “You're a smart girl, so you know I'm serious when I tell you not to lie to me again.”

  “Fine.”

  “Because if you lie to me, this is over. All of this. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Did he dump you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “No,” I say. “I chose you.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “I need you.”