Method

“He’s nailing it so far, Wes seems pleased.”

“Well, as long as Wes is pleased,” I say with a bite she knows isn’t meant for her.

“Is he drinking? Do you smell booze on him a lot?”

“No, not really.”

“I’m sorry to bother you with this, I’m just worried. Do me a favor, if things get to be too much, call me.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t need you to fucking spy on me,” I hear gruffly muttered from behind me just as I swipe to end the call.

“What is this?” I ask not bothering to defend myself. He looks at the bottle of Oxy that was prescribed to him over a year ago and shrugs.

“I’m playing a heroin addict, that’s heroin in pill form. I only took a few so I could understand the effect. Don’t be such a prude.”

“You don’t do this!” I screech and immediately regret it when his face turns to stone. I press on anyway. “You don’t throw weekend parties and take pills for recreation and you sure as hell don’t forget our anniversary! You aren’t eating, you barely sleep. You mumble through what conversations we do have. I’m worried, Lucas, you’re pushing too hard!”

“That’s not worrying,” he snaps, the accusation in his eyes stinging me to the point I have to look away. “You have no idea what it takes. You don’t have a fucking clue.”

“Sure, I don’t?” I snap incredulously.

“You don’t. And I don’t need to be policed. Your husband is not a drug addict. You need to chill out and stop being so paranoid.”

This time, I glare at him. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“Then don’t check up on me like a mother.”

Cold eyes study me, and before I can think of a reasonable response, he’s grabbing a duffle bag from his closet and stuffing clothes into it.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going to sleep on the set for a while. It’s just easier. I don’t have time for this. Coming back and forth every day is wearing me out.”

“Bullshit.”

Contempt-filled eyes stare back at me. “Why is it bullshit, because it will only make it that much harder for you to keep tabs on me?”

“Because I don’t want you to go!”

He throws the bag against the wall. “Then act like you want me to stay!”

Tears slip and fall down my cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. My husband hates the sight of me crying. The man in front of me could care less. He gives me room to speak, but I have nothing to say. I’m at a loss. I’m supposed to embrace this monster, and all I want is a sign that my husband is still here.

“You haven’t touched me in weeks, Lucas.”

“I’m working,” he says dryly.

“Surely big bad Nikki Rayo occasionally needs his cock attended to?”

“By all means, wife,” he gestures toward his crotch and my stomach rolls.

“Just go,” I say, disgusted. “If you want to go, just fucking go.”

Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I wash my face with cold water. Seconds later, I hear the slam of the front door.