Page 3 of Beyond the Fame

She scoffs. Something she’s been doing to me, and my words, all day long.

“I’m fucking fine.”

She moves to leave, keeping her head turned away from me as she walks by. She’s trying to hide her face. Her tears.

But I saw.

“Wait.” I place a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

She immediately jerks away from my touch.

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

She stares me down, challenging me to make another move. She's putting on a strong front, but I can see she’s worn down, ready to give up.

She's hurting, and she’s about to break.

I can make it better.

“Then I won’t say anything,” I whisper and lift my hand. She flinches and I pause, waiting for her to curse me out again, to slap my hand away. To do anything. Instead, she does nothing—says nothing—but her eyes tell me all I need to know. They plead with me. Beg me.

Make it better.

My calloused fingertips move forward until I’m wiping away the tears falling down her cheeks.

She closes her eyes at my touch. Her reaction to me is intoxicating, and I need more. I pull her against me, burying my fingers in her hair with one hand, and rubbing her back with the other.

For the next five minutes, I let her cry into my chest.

***

I leave Rebecca in the bathroom after she told me she had to fix her makeup and return to the conference room before Shyon and the other two producers.

What am I doing?

I hugged her.

I can’t remember the last time I hugged someone. It’s not something I like to do because of how I grew up. My parents never hugged me. They never showed me affection. Hell, Mylan might have been the first person to ever give me a true ‘I care about you and love you, my friend’ hug. But Mylan Andrews’s love language is also touch and now he forces me into hugs all the time, especially when he’s drinking, high, or in need of attention.

I don’t even hug the women I fuck. They always want to cuddle after sex. I’m a big guy, and I'm sure I’d be great at cuddling, but cuddling, hugs... they’re all too intimate.

Just like emotions, intimacy is messy.

I don’t do it.

Then why did I like hugging her?

I need to shut this down now. Especially since we’re going to be working together.

Rebecca enters the room and sits across from me. She doesn’t say a word, but I can feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to glance up. I don’t. I can’t. If I do, I'll give in to her. This woman makes me want to do things—feel things—I refuse to let myself experience. Not because I can’t, but because I fear what will happen.

Because the first person I let myself care about is losing himself to his demons.

Rebecca leans forward, about to speak, but her lawyer walks in, followed by Shyon and her underlings. Knowing Rebecca won’t say anything with them in the room, I finally look at her. She’s still staring at me, confused and hurt.

The producers resume the negotiations, reiterating their ultimatum: either Rebecca accepts the changes, or they’re done. If that happens, the movie will never get made. After three directors left over quote, “creative differences,” they struggled to find someone who wanted to take on this project.

I was the first director in over a year to show interest.

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