Page 99 of Method Acting

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Jimmy said. “He came to find me, said he needed me to let him into the house. The door was locked and you wouldn’t answer your phone.”

He huffed.

Jimmy stood up and gave me an apologetic shrug. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Chase mumbled, still hiding in his blankets.

“Well, you’re going to,” I said. “Are you done being dramatic yet?”

“No.” Then he shot up, pushed the blankets away, and glared at me. “You said I tried to drown myself and that I’m not a good actor.”

Christ. He was such a child.

I sighed and sat down on his bed. “I’m sorry I said that. I was mad.”

“You were mad? What reason do you possibly have to be mad at me? I’m the victim here.”

I tried not to get mad again, but gawd, he didn’t make it easy.

I used my best speaking-to-a-child voice. “Why are you the victim?”

“Because,” he said, then he threw himself back down and pulled the blankets back up over his face. “Because I am. Because you said I wasn’t a good actor.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

It one hundred percent was not.

“And because of that fucked-up footage from last night,” he added. “And you saw it and you heard what he said, and then you couldn’t even look at me.”

“Chase,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice catching.

I pulled the bed covers away from his face so I could see his eyes. His sad and teary eyes. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was Jimmy who said it.”

He sighed, his whole face a mask of sadness. “This really sucks.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. If I’d make it worse or better, but it needed to be said.

“Separating feelings,” I began. “It’s confusing. Method acting is hard. Being our characters every minute of the day was a huge ask.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Feeling anything is terrible,” he said. “I’m never feeling anything again.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep.”

I dug a finger into his ribs.

“Ow.”

“You felt that.”

“I hate you.”

“Hate is also a feeling.”

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