The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance

I hadn’t been tired when I got home, but now I can barely walk from the kitchen to my bedroom. My shoulders clang into the walls as I pass through the hallway. My body collapses onto my bed, the burden I’m weighted with feeling arduous on my shoulders.

Instead of a visit from the sandman, I watch horrific images of my accident flash through my dreams. But instead of my face, Devyn’s takes my place.

I wake in a cold sweat, shivers wracking my body. I have to peel away my sticky clothes from my skin. During the darkest part of the night, I step into the shower to rid myself of the dreams. The warm water does little to heat my skin.

Naked and wet from the shower, I tuck myself under a clean set of sheets, covering my head with the duvet as if hiding from the boogeyman. But the nightmare lives in my head as the images continue to flit shot for shot, picking up where they left off.

There is only one way these are going to stop. And for the same reason Tessa showed up here today, I would hate myself if I didn’t try to

help.

Blindly I pack a bag, no idea what I toss inside, and slip on an olive green T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

I’m standing in the hallway across from the door of the rental leaning against the wall. In the off chance that she’s sleeping, I don’t want to risk waking her up. I’m the opposite, my mind won’t turn off, so I have nothing else to do but wait.

An art I’ve perfected.

~

“Once we get to the track, I’m going to have to leave you to find Devyn. I’m not going to bring him to you until after, but I am going to tell him that you’re here. I’m hoping that it will give him enough focus on getting it done correctly in one take.

“It may take me a little while to get back to you. You should know that they are going to film some crash scenes today as well. This wasn’t planned, but because of the tight schedule and the track rental, it was the best thing to stay on budget.

“If it gets to be too much, you can head back here to Craft services.”

Nodding, I make sure to clarify, “Devyn is going first?”

“Yes, they want the track clean of debris as a precaution.”

Her phone rings in her hand and she glances down quickly before looking back up at me. “Okay, it’s time. I’ll be back soon. Don’t look so scared.”

Standing under the oversized tent with tables filled to the brim with all kinds of food, people milling about talking to each other, I couldn’t feel more alone.

Apprehensively I try to blend in; walking over to the table filled with cookies, I grab two. I capture a few knowing looks. Eyes that have seen my darkest secrets plastered on a screen. Eyes that question everyone’s fascination. Eyes laced with confusion.

I can’t regret coming here, though. If only to help Devyn perfect this new challenge before him. I’m not here for myself, a glimpse of him would be enough for me.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” the sultry voice purrs next to me, the exotic accent shimmying across my skin with the roll of her Rs. Turning my head, mouth filled with a biteful of cookie, I take in Elena in her full force.

She’s more gorgeous than I imagined, embodying the supermodel status that she’s been given. Beside her, a tepid man stands with a clipboard clasped close to his chest, his dapper wireframes perched ever so delicately on his nose, as if it’s more of a fashion statement than a necessity.

Though it’s a struggle, I manage to swallow the cookie in my dried up mouth.

Without downcasting my eyes, I hold out my right hand to shake hers, but then quickly extend the left and tuck the right behind my back. I blush at the thought of having a supermodel shake my scarred hand. I imagine that she goes running for the Hollywood Hills. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Elena.”

In a move that will possibly stay with me the rest of my existence, the model towering above me leans closer. I’m afraid I’ve offended her by even speaking in her presence. But her left arm snakes down my right, traveling the same path as my scars until she reaches my hand. The move is both intimate and intrusive.

Elena brings my arm from behind my back, circling my waist until my hand meets her own right hand.

Her lips are pressing against my lobe, and for a moment, I’m frozen in place until her delicate words seep into my ear. “My sister has contracture scars from spilling a pot of boiling water. Your wounds do not repulse me. I am happy to shake your hand.”

The statuesque woman brings me almost to tears, but I recover as a person bumps into me from behind.

“Ah. . .thank you,” I say, telling the complete truth. Perhaps there is more to Elena than any of us know.

She finally releases my hand and I return to a normal stance, as normal as I can be in this instance.

“I am sorry to have to leave so quickly. I would have loved to chat some. I just came to grab a snack.”