I have to go out there. Any minute now, I need to get up and face him.
Nathan’s name is in bold lettering on the first page of the screenplay. Mine is in tiny print toward the very end. Mostly on the second to last page. I need to suck it up and prepare myself for the inevitable. I’ve had two days to try to figure out what to do and get a grip.
No one told me who was in this production when I signed up for it. No one warned me that the one person on the face of the earth who hates me was going to be here. Yet I can’t bring myself to turn around and walk away. I keep telling myself it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; that I won’t let him ruin it for me. Or let the past haunt me like it did for years.
But the truth is that I want to see him more than anything else. I never wanted to say goodbye to him, but he shoved me away when I needed him most.
I know he’s here. Now that filming’s begun, I’m well aware of the fact I’m on the same floor as he is. I don’t know if he knows I’m here. He saw me, I’m sure of it. But he hasn’t come searching for me. He hasn’t had me fired either. So maybe that’s a start.
The only thing I really know is that I’m desperate to get one more look at him. I’m desperate to see him in person again and not just in the trailers for movies I refuse to watch. I’m scared to death, but I need to hear him say my name again.
Not enough to leave Lydia’s dressing room, though. Chickenshit is what I am. But at least I haven’t run.
* * *
Ten years ago
March 6
* * *
I want to get up out of this seat before the bell goes off, but I have to wait. Class is over and the sound of everyone packing their geography books and notebooks back into their backpacks along with chatter and laughter surround me. But it’s all just white noise.
My breath comes in shallow pants as I peek over at Nathan and find him staring at me.
I’m quick to rip my eyes away from him and focus on shoving my textbook into my bag. It won’t fit and I find myself shoving it harder and harder and getting more and more pissed off. I know I’m taking out my frustrations on the damn over packed bookbag, but at least it’s an outlet.
I hate him. I hate Nathan for what he said last night. I hate that we’re on-again, off-again. I hate that I gave myself to him. Each thought accompanies a shove until the stupid book is in place and I have to zip up the bag.
I mostly hate him for letting me go so easily. For making it clear that I’m not to him what he is to me. That’s the part I hate the most. I hate I gave so much of myself to him. The bell goes off, and I tear my eyes from the bag then look up to the clock above the door.
Shit. I wanted to be the first out. I wanted to beat him and get away from him. Fuck it. I’ll let him leave first then. I collapse into the seat, leaving the bag on the floor and slipping my thumb under my bra strap that fell down my arm, hiking it back up. Staring straight ahead, I ignore everyone, all of the students filing out and look fixedly at the blackboard. Mr. Jones’ chicken scratch of whatever he was talking about today is still there. I didn’t hear a damn word, not that it matters. All his tests are based on the quizzes in the back of every chapter.
The sounds get softer and softer as the room empties and I try not to watch the door. I won’t watch him leave; I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
The sound of sneakers scuffing against the floor to my left forces me to look. I keep my head down, but I recognize his jeans, his shoes. I know it’s him and it makes my heart sink into the pit of my stomach. I cried all night and I don’t want to cry here. Even if the only person left in this damn room is Mr. Jones.
“You want me to get it?” Nathan asks me and I have to look up, confused by what he means.
“Your bag?” he clarifies and I don’t know how to answer. I can’t keep doing this back and forth. I can’t be friends with an ex. Not the two of us. I love him too much to just be friends.
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. My voice feels raw and I can feel the tears pricking, threatening to spill over.