The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance

I jump in my seat as a hand clasps my shoulder, the seatbelt cutting into my chest and neck at my reaction.

“Sorry, sir. You fell asleep. We’re here.”

Shaking my head, I knock my brain back into place and try to prepare myself for my heart to be broken at Larsen’s confession.

Together we exit the car and approach the small apartment complex near what looks to be a school down the road.

“He’s in 208,” I tell Tommy, reading another text Jeff sent.

We walk up the stairs in unison, and as we advance on his apartment, I can feel the sweat beading along the lines of the palms of my hands.

My fist hovers over the door for a few seconds before I succumb to my need for the truth.

With a whooshing sound, the door opens seconds after my knock and I find a woman standing on the other side with a tense expression. Her appearance is in total contrast to her pinched mouth. A billowy skirt and shirt in a cream color cascade from her shoulders and waist.

“Um, is Larsen here?”

“It’s about time,” the crass woman says as she ushers us inside. “Jeff said that you were on your way. I’m Jessica. She’s in that room there.” I follow where the woman points and walk down the hall, leaving Tommy alone with the stranger.

Standing before the closed door, I take a heaving breath. Even without seeing her I can sense her presence on the other side of the flat wooden surface.

I rap the door with my knuckles using the back of my hand. “Hey, can I come in?”

I wait a few seconds, and when I get no reply, I reach down and twist the knob, the cool metal feeling foreign in my palm. Peering through the crack of the door, I find Larsen lying on the bed, her back facing me.

My feet lead me inside as if I were possessed, an unconscious soul drifting through the barrier.

“Larsen?” I whisper as I approach the opposite side of the room.

I’m surprised by what I find when I reach the right side of the bed. Larsen lays there, her face void of emotion as she stares blankly at the barren wall. Her eyes barely move when she blinks. It reminds me of watching someone shrink into his or her own personal shell.

Seeing her this way has me rethinking the claims crashing in my head. But until I hear her deny them myself, I’ll never know the truth.

Crouching down to her level, her stare never breaks until I reach my hand out and touch her arm. Her entire body jerks at my touch as if I’ve electrocuted her.

It’s both terrifying and awakening all at once.

“Devyn?” she asks in shock at seeing me. “Are you really here?”

“Yeah, I am,” I tell her softly, doing very little to mask my emotions.

Without a moment’s notice, she jack-knifes off the bed and launches herself at me, her arms tightly wrapping around my neck. We’re lost in a sea of our demise and drowning in each other.

I can’t help but return her embrace, my heart won’t let me react any other way. She’s my own personal life raft keeping my head afloat.

For the first time since this morning, I feel like I can catch my breath, feel my lungs expand with each inhale.

Her tears wet my shirt and I can barely make out her garbled words. “Why are they doing this?” A flash of silver on the nightstand catches my eye and I see that a laptop is resting on top. She must have watched the entire video over again.

Against my better judgment, and my heart’s, I pull out of her hold. But I can’t help but reach up and rest my palms on her cheeks, wiping away her tears.

“Larsen, I need to know. . .” My words trail off as I leave the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“I never. . . Devyn, I never said anything. I never did anything. Hell, I didn’t even know that this was going on. Do you think that?

“My gosh, did you not listen to the things they said about me? They literally turned me into a monster and you think that I did the interview they faked?”

“People do crazy things for money and with your uncle’s business-”