Page 2 of The Fine Line

---

“What if I don’t belong here?”

Not here. Not anywhere.

“What if…” I clear my throat. “What if I fuck it all up?”

Again. Like I do everything.

“What if they don’t buy it? What if… they see me?”

The real me.

The one they’d never dream of putting in front of a camera?—

FLASH.

I think I’m blind.

I might be deaf too.

Or at least it feels that way as a wall of cameras fires off in my face and dozens of voicesscream my name.

It’s like I’m in one of those movie scenes where the bomb goes off.

Everything slows down.

The light’s too bright.

The sound twists into static—just a high-pitched screech that drills into your skull until it makes your teeth ache.

Your chest tightens.

Your pulse races.

And then?—

It ends.

The scene cuts. The movie moves on.

But I don’t get to move on.

Because this is where I live now.

This isn’t a movie I’m watching.

I’m in the scene—cast against my will as the main character.

I’m in the goddamn explosion.

And the bomb going off is my life.

A voice breaks through suddenly, sharp and clear in the chaos:

“Sutty?”

I spin toward it instinctively.

Except—it’s not real.

---