Breaking Him

He grew serious again, his eyes, then his fingers going to trace softly over my injured cheek.  “We need to get you home and put some ice on this.”

I made a face.  “It’s nothing.  Stop making a big deal of it.”

But he didn’t listen.  Instead he leaned forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss on the tender flesh.

When he straightened, I took a deep breath.  I’d been struggling not to say anything sappy to him, but I just couldn’t hold it in.

I squeezed his hand really hard, looked down at my feet, and said, “I love you,” for the very first time in my life.

He squeezed my hand back.  “Love you, too.”  His voice was quiet, but he hadn’t hesitated.

I swear I didn’t stop smiling for three entire days.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Unless life also gives you water and sugar, your lemonade will suck.”

~A realist

PRESENT

We arrived at LAX before noon, with four days off looming ahead of us.  I was the only one on our crew that wasn’t happy about that.

The day was sunny and fresh to an unwholesome degree when combined with my mood.  I didn’t need a nice day.  I longed for a dark and dreary one.  I wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there.  A hole dark enough to wipe my mind clean of the night before.

Why had I done that to myself?

Why did I always do that to myself?

Because Dante.  The Bastard.

We got home early enough that it gave us only two choices.  Take a nap, or keep going.  Any activity that consisted of sitting would wipe you out after a full day of work finished at eleven in the morning.

The four of us shared a sprawling apartment in a somewhat affordable area of town (if you had enough roommates) that had just converted some old warehouses into decent living spaces.  We each had our own bedrooms, spaced far enough apart that none of us felt stifled, but shared a living area that was big enough for a hell of a party when the mood hit us, and it often did.

We’d been roomies for nearly a year, and surprisingly I had very little complaints on the arrangement.  I’d thought for sure at the beginning that it was a horrible idea.  It had all been Leona’s idea, and I’d gone along with it because it would save me money.  She’d met these two young sweet girls in her flight attendant class and they’d hit it off.

Like us, and what felt like most of the women in L.A.¸ they were aspiring model/actresses.

I saw it as points against them.  Stubborn woman that I am, I’d refused to even meet them at first.   Leona was one of my first truly close female friends, and to be honest, I felt possessive of her.  What if she found some new friend she liked more?  What if I didn’t like these women, and she chose them over me?

But it was around that time Leona had found this apartment, and we needed two more to make the rent, and so she’d talked me into giving them a shot.  The first time I met them, I disliked them on principle.  They were too young, too gorgeous, too bright-eyed and optimistic.  Too sweet and undamaged.

But, like Leona, they’d grown on me.

I’d been conflicted about it in the beginning.  They were literally my direct competition.  We’d be auditioning for some of the same roles.  It was inevitable.

In spite of myself though, over time I’d gotten over it.  For one simple reason.  I liked them.  They became my friends.

Even now, a year later, I tried to picture how I’d feel if one of them got a part I wanted.  Any of them.  Demi, Farrah, or even Leona.  I’d hate their guts, I told myself.  I’d feel betrayed, I reasoned.  I’d been working for this longer.  I wanted it more.  There were no friends in show business, I told myself sternly.

But if I were being honest with myself there was a good chance I’d be happy for them.  I might even be thrilled for them.  Because I’d come to care for them and wanted great things for them.  Because they were my friends.

What the hell had these damn girls done to me?  When had I gone soft?

I’d surrounded myself with nice people.  Apparently the condition was contagious.

Fuck me.  I’d always been taught that kindness was a close cousin to weakness, so it didn’t settle easy on me.  I doubted I’d ever let it.

I told myself they were the exception.  I was otherwise still hard as nails.

Leona went out with her new ‘boyfriend’ for the day.  I tried not to roll my eyes when she referred to him as such.  They’d been dating a very short time, and she didn’t know him well enough to give him that title, and also he was a pilot, and therefore untrustworthy, but I kept that to myself.  She seemed happy, and I did enough of my own bubble bursting.  I didn’t need to do the same to her.  Not everyone had to be as miserable as I was.  Maybe she’d found herself the one faithful pilot on the planet.  My cynical mind couldn’t fathom it, but I hoped for her sake that I was wrong and she was right.

Demi decided to crash for the day, and Farrah took off shopping with some friends.

Normally I was down to shop in a big way, but my mood was too dark even for retail therapy.  I was not fit company for anyone today, let alone someone I actually liked.  I might inflict this extra sharp version of myself on my worst enemy if I were forced to, but certainly not a friend.

I did the only thing post-therapy me could do when fuming with impotent rage.

There was no real way to vent it.  No way to make it actually go away.