I’m tired of being controlled by everyone around me because of my fear. I have to be willing to walk away from Hollywood if it means freedom. My dream has been acting—not this bullshit behind the scenes. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
But even as I say the words, anxiety drifts through me. I’d feel better about this if I knew I had Logan by my side to make a stand—to fight Vanessa and the rest of the team and say that we’re going to continue our relationship, no matter what they demand. But he hasn’t replied to me in weeks. It’s possible he broke up with me in his head before Vanessa even made this decision. I’m starting to feel twists of regret. What if I fucked up my entire career over this, and Logan doesn’t even feel the same way anymore? Maybe I’m relying on just a little too much faith.
Logan
Can we talk please?
Please give me a call. We can talk this through.
Remember what we agreed to, in the cabin? We said we would try to work through this.
We said we’d talk things out instead of pushing each other away.
I love you, Logan.
Please call me.
I think about it. But the idea of hearing Matt’s voice and fighting and straining and pushing against the thought that I hurt him is exhausting. It’s better to look at the messages and think—yeah, maybe this is for the best. Trying to change is impossible. He’ll go along with Vanessa’s plan for the promo tour. He’ll break up with me, and I’ll go back to the life I was living before. It’ll probably be harder to get work, now. I’ll probably have to stay in this apartment under my dad’s rule. It is what it is, right?
Another text buzzes. I check my phone from my spot in my bed. I haven’t moved in about a day, since Audrey came.
It’s Briggs. Let’s talk.
It’s almost a comfort, to see his name appear. I know Briggs. I know what to expect with him. Matt had on one of his podcasts, once, about how trauma rewires the brain—makes it feel safer to want what a person already knows, what they’re already familiar with, no matter how much it hurts. I think he was hoping it’d help me.
About what?
Let’s get lunch.
He probably wants to meet with me in public so that people can take photos of us together and the bad press he’s been getting will lay off. Obviously, he didn’t try to rape me if I’m with him. I don’t know. If that’s the story he wants, it’s not a big deal for me to give it to him. I’ve always been good at giving people what they want.
I get out of bed and take a quick shower and throw on some clothes from one of the many piles on my bedroom floor. Shades on to hide the bags under my eyes, keys in my hand. I speed through the city, sunlight too bright. I screech to a stop near the restaurant and park, turning off the engine. A few people recognize me on the sidewalk, stopping to whisper and stare. Nothing I’m not used to. The restaurant has wood-paneled floors and walls and giant booths. It smells like grease and cigar smoke. It’s the seedy type of place I usually only go to at three in the morning after a night of drinking and fucking. Haven’t lived that kind of life in a while now. My days have been so filled with Mattie.
Briggs is already waiting at a table in the corner. He stands when he sees me. Claps a hand on my shoulder. I flinch, and his grin fades when he notices, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
“Glad you came,” he says, sitting back down again.
I sit opposite him without speaking. I’m tense. I usually don’t give a fuck, being around Briggs. He treats me like shit all the time. There were moments when I didn’t want him to hit me as hard as he did, or draw blood when he bit me, or tie me up and fuck me so hard that I would feel sick and my entire body would hurt for days. I told myself I liked the pain. A lot of people like pain, right? Yeah. I thought I was one of them. But I’m realizing now I didn’t enjoy it so much. It felt better to pretend that I wanted someone like Briggs. Only difference between the last night I met with Briggs and all the other nights with him before was that I told him to stop and he didn’t listen. Pretty big difference, I guess.
It’s harder to breathe. I’m starting to leave my body again, and Matt isn’t here to put a hand on my cheek and ask me if I’m still with him. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Maybe I should leave.
“I’m surprised you agreed to meet up,” Briggs says. “We left things off in a pretty shitty place.”
“You claimed I attacked you.”
“You fucking did,” he says. He takes a breath. “But I’ll admit it. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”
Is that how he’s choosing to describe rape? Okay.
“I wanted to apologize in person,” he says.
“And hopefully get a few photos of us together to show we’re back to being friends?”
“You always were a smart one,” he says, grin growing. “But this will help your image, too. People are still pissed at you for fucking me up.” He raises a hand to the waitress. “What do you want? I’m buying.”
We get beers. Neither of us are eating. I guess we both want to get out of here as fast as possible. Maybe that’s just me. Briggs smirks over the rim of his glass as he drinks. His legs are long, so when he leans back in his seat, his knees bump into mine. He doesn’t readjust.
“I was upset you thought I assaulted you.”
“You did assault me.”
“We’ve fucked like that plenty of times before. You never minded.”
“I minded this time.”
“Why?”
I shrug. I know the answer is Matt. I just don’t want to say his name right now.
Briggs picks up on it anyway. “How’s the boyfriend?” he asks.
“We’re breaking up,” I say.
He laughs. “Of course.”
“Matt’s supposed to post something on social tonight.”
Briggs leans closer to me. “I’ll have to keep an eye out, then.”
I’m not attracted to Briggs. Not anymore. Was I ever? His knees start to open mine. I don’t want him to touch me. The thought makes me sick, and feeling his leg press against mine is pulling me out of my body again. I drink more beer. He takes the glass away from my mouth and out of my hand, forcing me to pay attention. That would’ve excited me, once. I would’ve considered him fun.
“Why don’t we help the announcement along, then?”
I squint at him. “What?”
Briggs pulls back again, eyeing me. “We could make a show of it. Like we’ve done before.”
I shrug. The fact that I didn’t say “no” out loud is enough for him. He leans forward and presses his mouth to mine. He pushes his tongue against my lips. My body shuts down. I wonder, distantly, if this is technically assault also. He has to know I’m uncomfortable. That I don’t want him touching me. I remember Matt. Even if we’d kissed a million times before, he always paused and asked me for permission. He was so aware of my constant need for consent that it upset me at first. Annoyed me, that he thought I was someone who had to be treated delicately. Who deserved to be shown so much care.
I pull away, unable to look at Briggs. “I’m going to go.”