Page 33 of Holy Sinner

I bite my lip and look down at the bag I’m packing. There is so much wrapped up in By The Way that it’s hard to see myself without it. The movie has felt like the culmination of the years that went into the book, the pain and loneliness that forced me to not only write it but to resurrect it from the torn pages my mother left me with.

Publishing it felt like a triumph and it gave me strength to breathe after bearing the weight of my mother’s hatred for so long. She forced me to be small. I swallow hard at the memory of her angry eyes and the way her voice sounded when she ripped the pages from my spiral journals. She tore my book to shreds just like she had done to me my entire life, but she hadn’t won.

The book had made its way into the world and become a bestseller. There is a small part of me that relished knowing she’d seen my book on the shelves of bookstores and seen it on the news. No doubt a tough pill to swallow for a narcissistic monster like my mother. Now, it’s going to be a movie and she’ll have to choke that down too. And the movie…god, the movie feels like it will be the ultimate way to prove to myself that I am not my mother’s daughter. That she has no hold on me. Not anymore.

If the movie succeeds, then so do I.

I know it doesn’t make sense but it does to me. I shove another pair of pants and a hoodie into my bag before I close it and survey the room. It’s midnight. Definitely not much time between now and when we’re meant to be back at the production lot to leave for whatever mystery destination we’re headed to.

The itineraries hadn’t revealed much to us other than details about leaving and flights we would be taking. The rest of the crew are flying commercial but we are going private. The city lights of Seattle draw me closer to the window and I frown when I look out at the city. It’s such a beautiful place, the Pacific Northwest is gorgeous as a whole–but Seattle?

It’s a lovely place that I wish I’d been able to see more of before all of this went off the rails with filming.

“Fuck off. I’m packing it.”

“You don’t need another fucking knife.”

I smile when I hear Rafe and Grant bickering in the next room. The second we left the lot and came home they went into overdrive. Dinner was ordered and my clothes were dumped out and gone through meticulously. The only thing I was really left in charge of was the carry on bag I just finished packing with the essentials. Skincare, makeup, shoes, clothes, all of it was already taken care of by my men.

Now they are packing their own things–at least they had been.

“Fine, then I’m bringing a gun,” Rafe says and I hear Grant groan.

“A gun? Really? Who brings a gun when we can buy one cash when we land.”

“If I don’t get the gun, I get the knife.”

“For fuck’s sake, fine. You want the knife? Here you go.” There’s a clatter and a crash and I know Grant chucked the knife at Rafe. Normally I’d be worried and rush to break them apart but I don’t now. They won’t hurt each other, not at a time like this. They seemed to work together just fine when it came to making sure I was going with them. I narrow my eyes and glare at the open door leading into the living room where my boyfriends are still arguing with one another.

I know I wanted them to get along but at what cost?

My phone goes off before I think anymore about the ramifications of getting my boyfriends to work together might have on my life. I don’t hesitate to pick it up. At this hour it’s only going to be one person.

“Hey,” I answer, already knowing Alana is on the other end of the line.

“Hey, sweetie, you okay? I just heard the news. Which, not cool, Kit. I shouldn’t have gotten a call from Jane about it.”

“Jane called you?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah, she looped me in just now, which I gotta say they’re working her hard for an intern.”

“She’s the assistant director’s assistant,” I say and Alana hums.

“Tomato, potato,” she sighs.

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

Alana ignores me. “Are you packed?”

“Yeah, I’m packed.”

There’s a muffled thud from the next room and then a thump against the wall. “Fucker!”

“Are they fighting again?” Alana asks.

“Yeah.”

“I swear to god, I knew they were crazy. Men cannot be that hot and not be crazy.”

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