Page 67 of Fool's Gold

Pushed, prodded, molded into the star he’s always wanted me to be. Molded right into my mother’s shoes. He always loved her more than me, wanted her when he knew he couldn’t have her, and as the filming reaches its end day, I realize it more than I ever have before.

Marcus stares me down with a critical eye on our five-minute break before filming this final scene again. From head to toe and everywhere in between, but any hint of the lust he used to reserve for me has disappeared.

Somewhere over the last two weeks, and in between his brutally punishing schedule, we all rallied, and his desire for me breathed its final breaths.

The final scene, but one of the first from the script. It’s been ages since I read it from cover to cover. Exhaustion makes it hard to move my arms and legs, makes it even harder to remember my lines.

The more we film, the easier I’ve grasped the dialogue, like the words write themselves inside my mouth, and I need only the light and Belinda’s directions to set them free.

“One more fuck up, and I’ll have us run this scene ten more times to get it right,” Marcus calls out.

It’s not for the others, though; it’s for me.

One of the only things he gives me anymore: constructive criticism.

He’s been spending most nights in his apartment, leaving me in the big house with only the men he hired as silent bodyguards. Which is fine. Whatever threats he once said forced us into hiding must not be an issue anymore if he’s comfortable leaving.

I square my shoulders.

Please, let this be the last time.

I want a break, but I refuse to ask for one and have him taunt me for being weak. If there’s only one more scene to get through before I’m free from him, then I’ll do it, even when the distance is slowly killing me.

Belinda taps her fingers on her knees, staring at the scene in front of her, and I do my best to focus.

The end is so close I can taste it. Then I’ll be out of this cage, able to do whatever I want, and far away from Marcus and the hold he has over me. With time and space, it might not hurt so bad, although I’m guessing the ache will always be there.

“Okay, guys, no more fuckups, as our producer stated.” Belinda accompanies the statement with a grin that shows she’s at the limit of what she can tolerate.

Marcus has been a pain in everyone’s asses.

The scene is a blur of action and words.

I’m not even in my body. I’m somewhere else, lost in my thoughts, going on autopilot. But it must have been enough.

I must have done something right because the sudden thunder of applause brings me back to myself. Marcus stands beside the rest of the directors with his hands slowly beating together, his gaze fixated on something just past me.

“That’s a wrap, folks!” Belinda sinks in her seat. “That’s a goddamn wrap.”

Greg makes a hasty exit the second he’s able to, probably to peel off the oppressive prosthetics he’s had to don when the makeup department insisted they couldn’t cover the bruises without it showing poorly on film.

Marcus disappears soon after, spinning around and stalking into the shadows like he somehow belongs to them.

It’s stupid to follow him. Stupid to confront him about everything and demand answers.

I guess I’m stupid.

My heart beats its way out of my chest and up into my throat when he disappears inside the small office he claimed for himself on set. But he doesn’t close the door, which is basically an open invitation to follow.

“Hey.” I raise my voice to make sure he hears me.

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t stop, only makes his way around to the side of the desk.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Congratulations are in order, Miss Stone,” he replies softly. “You’ve just completed your first major motion picture. If you’d like me to make reservations for you to go out with the rest of the cast to celebrate, then I’ll do so. It’s well deserved.”

The smooth tone and seamless facade are a lie.

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