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Hi, babes. Before you dive into the chapter, the bold typed conversations are between actors—the script. I hope you don't get confused.
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All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them
~Walt Disney ~
Lia
Sex is incredible, feels fantastic, and utterly consuming, and so is the mind because I can still feel everything Luc and I did by just closing my eyes and summoning the memories of our night together. My limps were tired. I was sore everywhere, but I wouldn't trade last night for anything.
I burrowed deeper into my comforter, smelling our mingled scent while smiling like a looney; I loved sleeping the whole night with him beside me too. I know he woke up early to go to the gym; he always does. I wish I could be as dedicated, but I was lazy, too lazy though I manage about three days of gym per week after breakfast
Lazying in bed while lying on my back, l kicked the comforter off my body, raised my arm on my head with my eyes on the ceiling, blushing even though I was alone at the memory of Luc whispering how good my mouth had felt around his d**k.
I heard footsteps, his. Knowing he would be in at any second, I hurriedly drew the comforter back, covering my whole body, including my face.
Was I ready to face him in broad daylight? Look him in the face knowing he had full knowledge of my deep bodily secrets which included a small mole on the left thigh.
"I can't remember this at fourteen," he had drawled, gently rubbing the tip of his finger around it.
"We didn't have the time to explore each other's bodies. It was over too soon." I replied, running my fingers through his lustrous dark hair.
"But it was good; I remember you came." He added as if I was complaining or saying otherwise.
"We both did." I managed to say a moment before I angled him to kiss him. He hummed, pulling my lower lip, then running his tongue against it. I will never get over how much right it felt to make love or f**k with Luca.
It was like we were both made for each other. He was right; we fit perfectly together.
"I know you're awake." He announced the moment he entered the room. Okay, we were perfect except for one drawback, we knew too much about each other.
Throwing the duvet with my legs, I threw a scowl at him, "what?"
"That is no way to great your lover." He smirked, standing beside me on the right carrying a tray. I could smell coffee, the aroma calmly hitting my nostrils. I breathed in, enjoying the smell. How could I be mad at the man bringing me breakfast in bed? I smiled, sitting up so he could place the tray on my lap. Thank God I wasn't n***d; at some point in the night, I had woken up to go to the washroom, so I was wearing his shirt.
"How do you feel?" he asked in a hoarse voice, leaning over me to put the tray on my lap such that his gaze was directly into mine. He looked concerned, unsure, like he expected me to say I wasn't.
"I'm okay, just a little sore," I whispered, getting lost in his eyes. He nodded, kissing my forehead.
I felt more emotions, some alien, when he kissed me like that. "Have something to eat before you leave...are are you nervous."
I should be, but every time I start panicking, my mind went back to last night, which means I spent more time reliving the night than being nervous about the beginning of my career. I told him so.
He gave me a smug smile, and I couldn't help but smile back at him.
"How do you do it?"
"How do I do what?" I shrugged, "go to work, be with other people after a night like the one we had?"
I know people have s*x every day; ours wasn't unique, but I honestly cannot go five minutes without my brain recalling the memories.
"I have never had a night like what we had."
I narrowed my eyes with displeasure. How dare he lie to me? He had women at his beck and call.
"My s****l relationships have been for release only. Once I had that, I got out of the room almost immediately. But I always made sure my partners experienced the same pleasure."
I gawked at him, still not believing him.
"You've never spent the night with a woman?"
He shook his head.
"Is that the truth?"
"Why the hell would I lie?" He asked with annoyance, walking to lean on the wall. He was in grey sweatpants and a grey beanie which he forcefully removed to leave his hair in disarray my fingers itched to shove them in to straighten it.
"I'm sorry. My point is, I can't stop thinking about us."
His eyes lit up as I knew they would from my confession.
"If it makes you feel any better, I can't stop thinking about you either."
That did make me feel better. "Come on, get up, shower, and tell your brain to remember you've got a job to do."
I nodded vigorously, finishing the last sip of my coffee.
"Thank you for breakfast." I jumped out of bed and picked up the tray to give it back to him. I stood in front of him, holding it while he gazed down at me from his superior height. We stared at each other until I started fidgeting, getting nervous, the butterflies in my stomach swimming at their leisure. "Do I make you nervous?" I asked him. I wanted him to say yes because I didn't want to be the only one craving to be closer to him, touching him, wondering if I make him feel as much as he does me.
"All the time." He replied, taking the tray from me, our hands touching. "Every damn time you're near me. I sometimes swear when we found ourselves alone in a room during the intervening years when we were at crossroads, I would sweat, my hands would tremble, and when I hugged you, I had to fight the urge to smell your hair or cross my eyes at the pleasure I felt from holding you.
"Really?" I purred, getting wet. It's crazy how simple yet beautiful words could make me aroused.
"Did I just make you wet?" The smug in his voice.
"Shut up!" I said, running to the bathroom. I needed to get ready for work. They were recording one of my scenes today.
I heard Luc laughing all the way to the bathroom. He could be smug all he wanted, but tonight, I would make him beg just like he had made me. Two can play this game.
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The set was exactly as we see in the show, not that I expected it to be different. But seeing it made me realize this was real. I was here, in the set of children of blood and oil, about to appear in one of the most-watched shows.
This was not a dream, or a wish. It was my reality.
I watched as Maxwell argued with Trixie, both of their forehead furrowed, the intense in their tone as he accused her of cheating on him at a party the previous night.
“I was drunk!” She shot back with a glare, and then her eyes softened, tears shimmering, looking meek and vulnerable.
“So what? Were you r***d? “There was no empathy, no feeling whatsoever in Maxwell's tone. This was a break up scene, filmed on the class rooftop.
“No, I wasnt,.” Trixie mumbled, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.
“I can't do this anymore, Mon.” Maxwell said, sounding resigned. Mon was Trixie's character's name—Monica Scott.
“Why won't you forgive me? I did, Adam. Remember?
That had him turn so fast that he almost lost his footing.
“No, you did not. You have taken pleasure in reminding me of it every chance you’ve had.”
He fumed, shooting daggers at her.
He was about to walk off when she said, “I will always love you.”
He let out a mirthless laugh, “No you won't. You never loved me to begin with.”
“Cut.”
Cammile's voice shot through the room.
“That was great. Lia, are you ready?”
I nodded nervously, yet determined to do my best.
I held my books tightly to my chest, a black backpack on my back, waiting for Camille's cue. Luca had said my brain would align with the task when I needed it. Now was the time, and all my faculties were with me, forgetting, albeit for now, about one of my most memorable nights.
I could remember everything, though to be honest, it wasn't much. My name is Katerina Cohen. Dope, if you asked me.
“Action,” bellowed Camille. I walked, nervous as if afraid of my shadow; luckily, that was my character; no one would ever know unless I told them I was as nervous as Katerina. Just as I was about to enter the class, Adam came through the door; since we both couldnt fit, we looked at each other, his wounded yet angry eyes glared at me.
“Who the hell are you?” I needed to remember this was acting before I glared back. It was my default settings. To fight back. I wasn't a doormat; I wasn't born or raised to be one. I remembered where I was, that I had to act like a little mouse.
“Katerina,”I mumbled, then added sorry, taking a step back to allow him to go in first. Instead of walking in, he stood by the door, staring down at my bowed head; I swore I could feel his eyes drilling a hole in the back of my head.
“Are you lost?” I raised my eyes to his face, avoiding that hazel gaze.
I shook my head.
You must be. I have never seen you here before.” I bite my lips, trying not to squirm under his intense gaze.
“I'm new.” He did not acknowledge it, but he moved from the door, allowing me to slip in before the teacher came in.
When I sat down next to a bespectacled girl, Anna—she threw me a slight smile. And although it's scripted, it calmed me.
We whisper introductions to each other right before the teacher starts some witty approach to animal farm by George Orwell. It's not what he expects us to read, but he is the provocative literature teacher type, aren't they all? They like to tell their students to think outside the box; what do we believe the author meant when he wrote that?
I've always wanted to say; I don't know. I wasn't there. The clock is ticking, the class is mumbling, laughing at their answers, and anytime now, Adam is about to look at me. He does, and I avert my eyes, blushing as I tuck my hair behind my ear.
“Cut,”
I exhale loudly. Anna laughs, clinging on my hand. I like her, she look easy going, nice, and I thought it would be nice to have a friend.
“That is fantastic, Lia.” I beamed at Camille's compliment, feeling jazzed that she thought it was fantastic. I didn't even get more than one take, unlike the teacher, but he had more lines to remember, so I can't really compare myself to him.
We all walk out of the class, Anna beside me, quiet even though I feel like she wants to tell or ask me something.
“What's on your mind?” I asked her. She boldly looked at me, removed the glasses, and asked me whether I would like to join them for a drink. Maxwell peered, eavesdropping on our conversation, and I wondered why. What could possibly be so interesting that he would like to hear?
I didn't want to. I wanted to rush home back to Luc, but this was an opportunity to get to know my colleagues, and Luc would be home anyway, no matter when I got back. So I agreed.
Together with part of the crew, we went into a bar nearby—a small cozy place with neon lights and smooth jazz—a contradict to the many bars I have been to since I came of age or slightly before. We were all there except Trixie. Didn't she not like to be part of the team? They all looked like nice people, though my dad said friendly people sometimes are a fallacy. Don't get too deep, don't trust strangers. People are inherently selfish. He often says.
I knew that by heart. It's a lesson drummed in us from a young age—trust is only given to the family—the family we build through loyalty, and luckily, in our case, by love too.
Coincidentally, or not, by how he looked at me, I ended up sitting next to Maxwell.
“You have the most darkest eyes I have ever seen. And the white part is so clear it seems as if no dust or tears ever left them reddish.
I'm unsure what to say to that, so I awkwardly smile.
“It's a compliment,” he insisted with a grin.
“Oh,”I laughed, as awkwardly as I had smiled.”
Aksara