Page 79 of Steamy on Set

I read the first few messages as he tried to seek me out in the party. When he saw I wasn’t responding, that’s when he hadstarted to call. The next five are just requests to call him so that he could explain. It goes on like that, interlaced with the wordsI love youstated over and over again. Looking through the texts, I hope that in at least one he asserted that nothing happened.

I want him to call me crazy and send laughing emojis at my reaction. When all I see are requests for us to speak, a pit opens up in my stomach. I move on to phone calls, opening my voicemail app, I let them play one by one. At first they are also just requests to call him, but as I reach the fifth one, they grow in length.

“I don’t know if you’re going to talk to me, but please, if you hear this, know that I didn’t touch her. Please just call me back.”

What does that mean that he didn’t touch her? It could be as simple as an admission that nothing happened, or a coy explanation that he didn’t reciprocate whatever she did to him. It isn’t enough. The last message he left me is the longest, he filled the full three minutes the line gives.

“Farrah, I need you to hear me out. I have been going over the night, and I can see how you took it the way you did, but it is not what you think. I’m in San Francisco. After showing up at your door for the last few days, I realized you weren’t there. Please just meet up with me. I love you.”

He is here. He has come in search of me all the way to my home. He knows me well enough to know where I would go.

I hang up the line feeling unsteady. All I need to do is text him and he will be here. I can finally get answers. I take a deep breath, and respond to his messages.

I never know what to wear when it comes to this man. The only time in my life where I am at a loss for how to dress is when I know I’m going to come face to face with Errol. The same can be said now, as I wait for him to show up. Hopping in the shower, I quickly wet my hair, letting the curls come through. Deciding to put on water-proof makeup in case I cry, all that is left is picking my outfit.

Practicality called for me to choose pajamas and be comfortable. But if this is possibly the last time I’m going to see him, I want to leave an impression. Choosing tan wide length plaid pants with open sides, I pair it with a brown corset and gold jewelry. Now all I can do is wait. I sit on the couch, fingers nervously drumming out a beat that matches my heart. My taps are frantic as I try not to check my phone for the time.

We agreed on 2 p.m. so my parents would be at work. The last time I looked it was 1:50, meaning he should be here any minute. I just need to focus on what I’m going to say. I deserve to know the truth, and at the end of this I will.

When the knock echoes through the house, my fingers stop in perfect unison with my breathing. I walk to the door counting the seconds until I open it and am face to face with him again.You can do this. I repeat the sentiment until part of me starts to believe it. I finally inhale when I open the door and see him standing there.

Bags sit heavy under his eyes, like sleep has evaded him for days. He is in his usual t-shirt and jeans, but both are more wrinkled than normal. His locs are pulled from his face, letting me see the look of worry clear in his eyes. I step to the side and let him in, ignoring my urge to grab him.

The same thought seems to pass through his mind, his arms coming up to reach for me. Seeing my face shift, he drops them back to his side, stepping in until he reaches the living room. My palms are sweating as I close the door, causing my hand to slipoff the handle. I turn to face him, gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch.

Not joining him, I sit on the edge of the arm-chair, unable to comfortably shift into the seat. His full lips twist into a frown when he sees I’m not coming to sit next to him. He looks me up and down as I do the same to him, taking him in.

“Hi,” I say, when the pain at just looking at him becomes too much.

“Hi.” He leans forward, placing his hands on his knees. We have come this far to have this conversation, but both of us go quiet. It seems like neither one is eager to dive into the painful talk that might be the end of us. I feel myself bristle at the idea of never seeing his face again. Never witnessing those dimples being directed at me. I can’t stand the thought that I fell for him just to hit the cold ground of infidelity. I don’t want to know if this is true, but I have to.

“So,” I try to open up the conversation.

He shakes his head a sardonic smirk curling his lip.

“Only you would make me chase you to an entirely different city.” Deciding to start us off on the foot of an argument, he remarks on my choice like it’s a character flaw.

Anger bubbles up my chest. “Was I supposed to stay and wait for you to show up at my door?”

“Yes.” He stands, throwing his arms in the air. “You were supposed to let me explain myself.”

I stand too, not liking the idea of him looking down on me. Having come to the same conclusion a day ago, I shouldn’t be disagreeing with him on this, but hurt is getting the better of me.

“There should be nothing for you to have to explain.” I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to keep the tears from coming.

“Farrah.” He says my name with all the weight of his resignation. Stepping around the coffee table, he tries to pull me into his arms.

I move out of the way, crossing mine so that he doesn’t try again.

“You wanted to explain yourself, so do it. Here’s your chance.”

He sighs long and heavy, moving back to sit on the couch. I sit as well, placing my shaking hands on my legs.

“When Mira showed up to the party, I looked at it as my chance to talk to her. Try to convince her not to tell everyone yet. I invited her to speak alone in my room.” Sighing again, he looks down at the floor. “In hindsight, that was a bad idea. At first it was fine, we were talking about what I wanted, and she was agreeing, but then she tried to kiss me.”

This is the part I knew would come. The details about all the ways he betrayed me.

We have barely gotten started, and already the tears are coming. I don’t know if I need all the particulars, but nothing in me is stopping him from going on. Like a masochist, I await the pain his words will cause when they slice into me. It will only add to the bruises and cuts that litter my body from him not catching me when I fell. I sit up and ready myself to hear the sordid facts of his disloyalty.

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