Page 105 of Play the Part

“You’re shitting me.”

Too wrapped up in his narcissistic fairyland, Oliver doesn’t pick up on my accusatory tone. Instead, he laughs in excitement, smoothing a hand over his pomaded hair.

“I know, can you believe it?”

He’s too busy figuratively jerking himself off to see me coming. I shove him hard with two flat palms to the chest.

“What the hell?” he barks as he stumbles backward, trying to regain his balance.

“You meanmyscreenplay, asshole?!”

His expression sours instantly, his body turning guarded. “I mean, it was my idea.”

“Your fucking idea,” I repeat in disbelief. “You gave me one tiny plot point! I made it into a story and wrote the whole fucking thing and you know it,” I hiss between clenched teeth.

I feel sick to my stomach, the walls closing in on me.

I can’t fucking believe him. Can’t believe he could stoop so low and do this, let alone think I would celebrate with him. And this time, he can’t hide behind all his previous excuses. He’s clean and sober. He did this with a clear fucking mind.

“I thought you were done with Hollywood. So what’s the harm?” he asks with such snide arrogance that I think I just might be capable of murder tonight.

I stare back at him, completely dumbfounded.

I don’t think I knew it was possible to feel this betrayed. Somehow, this hurts even worse than all the secrets and cheating. It’s as if I’m finally,finally,seeing him for what he truly is.

A piece of shit who will always put himself first.

I take a step back and hold up a finger to him.

“Stay thefuckaway from me.”

I turn on my heels and storm off.

“Oh come on, Connie, don’t be like that,” he says half-heartedly from behind me, then raises his voice so it reaches me down the corridor. “I thought you’d at least be happy for me.”

I don’t bother turning around when I yell back at him.

“I’ll be happy when you choke on your own spit and die!”

42

HUXLEY

Iput a movie on an hour ago, but I don’t think I’ve listened to a single lick of dialogue since it started. I could very well be staring at the wall instead of the TV. I’m considering getting blackout drunk on cheap beer and whiskey just for a semblance of relief from my racing thoughts.

I jump when I hear the door buzzer go off. Sitting upright on the couch, I check the time on my phone. It’s just past nine p.m.; maybe Sophia got cut from work and forgot her keys. Not thinking much of it, I stand up and push the button near the door that opens the front entrance downstairs. I have just enough time to grab another beer from the fridge and sit back down before I hear Sophia knock at the front door.

“It’s open!” I say over my shoulder, my attention now back on the movie.

The door creaks open.

“Hey …”

It’s not Sophia’s voice that I hear next, but Connie’s. I jump from my seat and do a one-eighty to face her.

“Connie? Hey —” I look down, having an odd reflex to fixmyself now, suddenly hyper-aware of my bare chest and sweatpants, then look back up. “I, uh — what are you doing here?”

My question isn’t accusatory. It’s more like a total and complete shock to see Connie standing in my apartment. It feels like my whole body has slowed down, waiting for an answer, rooted in place.

---