S I X T E E N

LOS ANGELES, CA

          Sadie wakes me up at ungodly hours of the morning to discuss our following moves.

          Truth be told, I have zero clue on how she's so fresh and radiant this early, especially after a night of drinking and eating carbs, two things she's always been vehemently opposed to, whereas the last thing I want to do right now is have a serious, important conversation about my trauma. I'm too hungover for any of this, feeling like my head is just mere seconds away from exploding, and an uneasy sensation settles in the pit of my stomach.

           I've lived with that feeling for as long as I can remember, so, technically, I should be used to it by now, yet I'm not. I always fall prey to it, especially during more vulnerable periods of my life; I felt it hit me particularly hard when we first landed on LAX, when I all but had a panic attack in public. It's embarrassing to be affected by this even after all these years, even after therapy, and, though I know I shouldn't be ashamed of it, something in my brain disconnects and what I know at a theoretical level doesn't necessarily translate perfectly into practice.

          Hypocrisy, that's what it is. Weakness and hypocrisy.

          "So, I've already been looking into potential auditions for you so we can get back on schedule once we're back in New York," Sadie starts, comfortably tucked into the empty space next to me on my bed, while I turn my back to her and let my eyes flutter closed. If I somehow manage to tune her out, I'll be able to lull myself back to sleep and get some well-deserved rest. "I've focused on roles that are minimally attainable and that you'd be interested in. There's not much variety, to be honest, and we might have to work on your image so executives can see you're capable of playing more than just one type of character, but that's hardly your fault or your responsibility."

          "Thanks for the consideration," I groan, though part of me appreciates her being thoughtful enough to look out for me, especially during the events of the past week, which feels never-ending at this point. It feels like I've lived a dozen lives since the moment I got my mother's original phone call, and none of them have been on a screen. There comes a time in every actress' life when they grow tired of playing the victim, the damsel in distress, but the line separating the victim from a badly written female character who's supposed to be a strong female character is thin. There's barely any balance, and don't get me started on female characters written by men. "What are my options?"

          She lays it on me, as mechanically as she can so I won't have time to properly process the information or let my emotions step in my way. I'm thankful for that, as I feel so sensitive at the moment that I doubt I'd be able to objectively examine these opportunities by myself; with Sadie's aid, it makes it easier to try and move forward with my life.

          Maybe she really is my friend. Huh. Some food for thought, future me.

          There are some promising ideas among Sadie's selection, ones that won't force me to dumb myself down just to appear adequate for the consumption of male directors (like the so-called 'strong female character' who gets beaten, humiliated, and worse on repeat, but it just serves to highlight how strong she is; think Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen and the exploitation of female trauma).

          One that stands out to me is an unnamed project starring opposite Beverly Kean, whose bravery I've always admired ever since she was stuck in a disastrous PR relationship with a man, despite being a) a lesbian and b) engaged to a woman. It was a whole mess, but all innocent parties came out on top afterward. My only hesitation with it lies with my self-doubt and belief that I can't possibly be good enough to share a set with Beverly Kean (it's not even about the whole never meet your idols thing), even when considering my eagerness to succeed and pathological need to prove myself and have my performance seen as believable. We decide to shelve it for now, as I still have time to make a decision.

          Next, there's a musical. I'm horribly tone deaf and Sadie is horribly petty, a woman after my own heart, so I know she only looked at it twice because of Nick. She cackles while I'm busy plotting her demise.

          There's something else at the end, something Sadie doesn't dwell too much on, that catches my eye and speaks to me at a deeper level. She dismisses it when she first mentions it, as it's a barebones script for a short film written by a girl who has just graduated from film school, but said girl is also Guillermo Romero's daughter, and the fun, quirky thing about me is that I'll consume anything Guillermo Romero directs and produces. It's her personal project and my heart aches for what I'm reading, relating to the feelings described on paper, and, though I don't usually do short films, this one hits a bit too close to home.

          I commend her for her bravery, though, as I'm certain it couldn't have been easy to translate all those complicated and contradictory feelings, cognitions, and emotions into words and to have it become this publicized. It's a lot more than what I'm capable of, considering how long I spent without uttering a word about my own trauma, and she just went for it. It's not something to be envious of, especially considering how heavy of a subject it is, but I hate that part of me relates to those experiences in a distant way.

          It reminds me every woman has a similar story featuring various degrees of intensity. Sometimes it's short-lived. Sometimes, it steals years of your life. It takes your whole girlhood away from you.

          "I don't think you should go for that one," Sadie advises me. "She's not even sure she wants to move forward with it. It was her senior project and the only reason why it's even being considered to become an actual short film is her father, who will always be biased."

          "God forbid fathers actually have some faith in their daughters, right?"

          She rolls her eyes. "Girl, stop. That's not what I'm trying to say here."

          "I know. I'm just saying I'd like to give that one a go. If I audition and don't get the part or if she decides she doesn't want to do it anymore, I promise I won't let it get to me."

          I can tell she doesn't fully believe me, but neither of us pursue the subject any further. The good thing about working with Sadie is that we know each other's limits and how far to push one another until we won't budge anymore, which also means we know when to compromise and when to wait until the timing isn't as terrible.

          There's no such thing as optimal timing when it comes to me, a professional avoider of complicated situations, and it explains why I'm all alone in life. Letting people in is complicated, and it's easier to blame it on timing.

          "Also, just for the sake of transparency—and being back to a fully publicist-client relationship for a bit—I spoke with HR earlier today and got them to mail me a few things," Sadie reveals. "It's no big deal and I didn't get into much detail with them, don't worry, but I had to get them to write me an NDA for Michelle. I only said what they absolutely needed to know and highlighted that this is something you absolutely don't want to get out for personal reasons, not because anyone would be seen as accomplices to a crime, or something."

          I'm glad she's clarifying that. I never doubted she would keep the HR team, the bane of my existence, to a need-to-know plane of knowledge, but I also hadn't considered the possibility of Michelle running her mouth until the moment Sadie raised that concern. At least I'm glad there's someone unconditionally looking out for me, both at a personal and at a professional standpoint.

          Still. There's something about this whole situation that makes my blood sizzle and boil in my veins, the paranoia surrounding a possible betrayal by my own sister easily weaving its way into my brain. Minds can be evil, evil things and, even when you think you're in control of your thoughts—you assume you should be, since it's your brain—you still find yourself wincing in agony over the dark stuff that you manage to come up with.

          I don't blame Sadie for planting that idea in my mind, but that train of thought leads me to a place I don't want to be in, a place where I'm second guessing everyone's intentions, including hers, and that's not the person I want to be. Unfortunately, it's the kind of person I have to be most of the time, always so guarded from the world and unable to fully trust someone, and it's as exhausting as it is isolating. It's not the kind of life I imagined for myself when I was younger, but there are many things that have changed about my prospects and myself, including the way I interact with my surroundings, and there have been many crushed dreams along the way.

          "Did you speak to her?" I question, resting my head on her lap. She's thinner than me and bony all over, so it's not exactly the most comfortable of positions, but I have no one else and her fiancé—whose existence was also unknown to me until yesterday—is all the way over in New York, so it's not like she has anyone either. "Michelle?"

          She shifts awkwardly. "Yeah."

          "And?"

          "And what? It was a conversation."

          "How did she take it?"

          "See, this is usually the part where you step in. I take care of the gritty parts of your life and polish them, but you're the one wearing them. I just make them adequate for consumption." I prop myself up on my elbows, throwing her the evilest glare I can muster. "Okay, so, long story short, she's pissed and it's a miracle she didn't start breaking things around the house. I think you can handle it, right?"

          "Sadie . . ."

          She raises her hands by her shoulders, instantly adopting a defensive stance. "Look, I told you I'd talk to her, and I did. I went above and beyond to make sure none of this gets out and, regardless of whether you agree with my methods or not, they're effective. I don't have the time or the patience to deal with her hurt feelings. I'm not here to make her feel better or to ease her guilty conscience."

         "You threatened my little sister with legal action—"

         Her eyes narrow. "I did no such thing. I had her sign an NDA, which explicitly lists the consequences of breaking it. I may or may not have resorted to your mother's tactics." I tilt my head to the side, urging her to elaborate. "Emotional blackmail isn't something I do often and, trust me, it breaks my heart to do it"—no, it doesn't—"but I thought I'd remind her you're her sister and your relationship is dangling dangerously close to the point of no return, so she has to choose between keeping it to herself or risk harming you any further. I'd like to think she'd choose you regardless of the NDA or everything else I said, but . . ."

          I dramatically let out a fake sob, hiding my face behind my hands as I let my head fall back onto my fluffy pillow. I, too, want to believe there's still some good left in Michelle, but she's been all alone here for far too long, and I can't risk another knife being stabbed into my back.

          "Sadie Choi, you're a fucking menace. I hope you know that."

          "The fucking menace gets things done and looks out for you. One day, maybe you'll be thankful." She gracefully slides out of bed, smoothing down the creases on her silk robe. "For what it's worth, Michelle really is your mother's daughter."

          I suppose so, which is what scares me the most.

          Objectively, not everything about my mother is downright terrible, even with my tendency to think exclusively in black or white terms. To her credit, I know she's ambitious and determined, which is something I've inherited from her, and it's brought me this far in life and in my career, even if I don't have the accolades other people do. With Michelle, however, it's different, since she's experienced the worst sides of Mommy all these years, not to mention those of our beloved grandmother.

          At her worst, she's petty and vindictive, allowing her mean streak to run rampant whenever she wanted to hit someone right where it hurt; after all, she's done it to me with no hesitation. It's no wonder she's ended up like this after years of being put on a pedestal by comparison, being the golden child simply because she's not me, the scapegoat, and I'm not expecting anything different coming from a family filled with narcissists.

          Though I love my father and would do anything for him (anything except being honest with him, apparently), I can't deny that he has enabled these toxic behaviors and patterns by choosing to remove himself from the situation and not getting involved. It's not his fault he got cheated on and decided to file for divorce, but that didn't happen overnight, and there were years of emotional turmoil developing under his roof that he made no move to try and stop. While my mother dominates every social situation she finds herself in, he retreats and makes excuses until he's the one being directly affected by them. It protects him, but he should've protected me and Michelle.

          Like Michelle is her mother's daughter, I'm my father's daughter, for better or for worse.

          "I'll talk to Michelle," I tell Sadie, being everything but avoidant. She's standing by the side of my bed, clutching her planner close to her chest. "I think I also need to talk to my father."

⊹˚. ♡

everything i do is for my wife smidorii. i love you forever and ever. 

i would just like to direct your attention to the maui fires and provide you with some helpful links in the inline comments of this paragraph. please try and support how you can (not necessarily through donations if it's something you're not able to do; sharing links and information and showing your love for the families affected is also support).

for gaslighter readers aka my favorite people in the whole world: here's a quick glimpse at penn. it's not technically a spoiler since we know she's a senior in film school. girlie has been through her fair share of trauma, as we also know, and the short film might not necessarily be about what you think it is. ideally, the ending of this book (five chapters from now. can you believe i actually thought i'd finish this during onc) will also coincide with a particular chapter of gaslighter. key word being IDEALLY. i'm not sure what the future holds (lol) and i'll try to make it match like how i want it to, but no promises.

on other news, please excuse how all over the place this chapter is. this week has thrown a wrench in my plans and my life (my cat died) and i've been having a terrible year overall, so.