thirteen.

"HONESTLY, YOUR SMILE scares me," Adelaide told Nathan as they walked out of the room and bounded up the stair-steps, stopping at the last rung. "I noticed you smile when you're stressed or scared."

"You finally get it?" Nathan didn't look at Adelaide, glancing instead at the stage where a worn maroon couch was set. Goosebumps flared along his arms. Just one time—just one time without anything drastic happening, that was all he wanted.

"Well, yeah. You smiled when he said he's gonna shoot you if I mess up, then smiled again when a sandbag just about crushed you, then smiled again—"

"Not the best time to remind me."

"Oh . . . Right. I'm sorry," Adelaide mumbled, following Nathan's eyes on stage. "If you can't see well, he's not here right now. Like, he's here but not anywhere we can see."

Nathan nodded and awaited some type of order. Behind his back, he wrung his shaky fingers. Somewhere right now the Director must be glaring at him as if he'd done the unspeakable.

The idea made nerves lurch in Nathan's stomach. Exhaling shakily, he leant the side of his head against the doorframe and closed his eyes. Now the stress wasn't only about performing well—it was about anticipating something happening in the middle of it, or after.

"Nate?" Adelaide's unsure voice made Nathan (more) nervous before she even continued. "You're shaking."

"Am I supposed to feel relaxed?" Nathan snapped, opening his eyes again just to glance at Adelaide with a frown. Calm down, he told himself when he noticed the hostility in this. "I'm scared as hell, I admit."

Adelaide gave him a piteous look rather than an offended one and Nathan appreciated it. He didn't understand himself right now either.

"Go on, my actors," the Director said, "prepare yourselves on stage. I thought you'd know that by now."

Nathan and Adelaide hastened across the stage until they reached the couch, where Adelaide sat. Plopping down towards the other end, Nathan raised his legs off the floor and leant back until his head rested on Adelaide's lap.

He glanced up at Adelaide, and all he could see was her little double-chin. "I'd say this is awkward," Nathan said, "but last time we had to kiss. So I'll just shut up and be thankful."

"Yeah." Adelaide looked over him, in the chords' direction.

"My villain," the Director said. Every muscle in Nathan tensed. The cuts burnt for a second under the gauzes. "I have a quick question, before we start."

Nathan couldn't even hear his own heart crashing in his chest. Queasiness sloshed in his gut. He waited for the question, and it came half a minute later:

"Is the stage big enough for you, my villain? Or are you gonna have another panic attack?"

Then the Director bursted out laughing like a drunk horse. As if Nathan's claustrophobia was a joke. Subconsciously, Nathan clenched his teeth and turned in his place, glancing at the other edge of the stage.

"That's so low you piece of—"

"Nathan!" Adelaide whisper-yelled. She grasped Nathan's arm and forcefully spun him around until his head dropped back on her lap. "What's wrong with you?"

Nathan let out a breath. Then, aloud, he said, "No, my Director. It's great."

The Director snickered. "Good. Because it's not an excuse—mess up and I'll shoot." A short pause, then: "Act Four: Promise a Lie."

As soon as he said the last word, the curtains started pulling apart painstakingly slow. Adelaide put her hand in Nathan's hair, and he faced the ceiling. Just like the stupid script's orders.

Nathan felt Adelaide twist a golden lock around her finger, then rake all five fingers through, as if the fact that his hair was tangled annoyed her and she was trying to comb them.

"I can sleep to this," Nathan mumbled. But not really, or at least not now, with the pressure messing with his senses.

Adelaide gave him a bitter half-smile. "So that's the trick."

Turning his neck to the other side, Nathan found the curtains just about completely open. So he didn't respond and fixed his position again. The nausea creeping in his gut rattled. He almost felt the need to vomit.

"Tell me something beautiful," Adelaide finally started.

Nathan sighed inwardly. Back to this dramatic bullshit. "You. That's something beautiful."

". . . That's it? Last time you recited a poem."

"Last time," Nathan said, "I didn't have a question on my mind. Now I do. Why don't you let me into your house?"

Tense silence—or at least that was what the short pause was described as in the script.

"Because . . ." Adelaide tugged Nathan's hair a bit too hard now. "Because I haven't told anyone about you yet. About us."

Nathan tilted his chin upwards, so that he was looking straight up at her. "You live with someone? Your parents?"

"No . . . Yes. I mean no."

"Are you sure that friend you told me about is just a friend?" Nathan asked. The jackass really was here questioning Luna's loyalty when he was married.

"Yes, Dolion. I promise."

"Okay." Nathan propped his feet up on the armrest. "What do you do in your free time? Why can we barely meet?"

Adelaide's hand froze in Nathan's hair. She frowned. "What's with all the questions today?"

Nathan had to sit up now and he dreaded it. He curved his torso forward, palm flat against the cushion as support, and sat up. Bad idea. Really, really bad idea. It felt like all the blood drained from his head and gathered in his feet. The world . . . swayed for a moment. And Adelaide, why was she so blurry—

Someone squeezed his hand. Logically Adelaide—she must've noticed the hassle going on with Nathan and she was trying to bring him back. When he looked at her, his vision finally cleared again. The blood pressure must've dropped as he'd sat up.

The line. "Nothing, it's just that I want to see you everyday," Nathan quickly said, words almost lost among his breath. "But you're not letting me. You don't even pick up my phone calls sometimes."

"I must've been busy, Dolion." Adelaide's voice carried heavy concern, as if she'd sensed that Nathan wasn't doing well. "With . . . housework. Yeah, housework. But I promise, you're the only man in my life. I wouldn't cheat on you."

Nathan's eyes burnt like fire was set behind them. Mostly because of the strain—shitty eyesight and no glasses to help. It was exhausting. He nodded, hardly, because the nausea intensified with movement.

"You promise me now," Adelaide continued, "promise me that you wouldn't leave me, no matter what. I can't go back to all the sadness, Dolion. You made everything better and I can't live without you."

Nathan nodded. "I promise." In the background, his stomach growled again. The tips of his fingers tingled. "I . . . promise, I'm not gonna . . ."

Adelaide's eyes widened with terror, and she squeezed Nathan's hand harder. Then, without warning, she reached for his cheek and harshly steadied his face in her direction.

This movement—it wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't included in the script. Adelaide scooted in closer. For a second, even through the haze in his head, Nathan thought: the hell are you doing? but he quickly understood again: she was covering him. The Director wouldn't shoot with her so close.

Adelaide half-mouthed and half-whispered: you can do this. Then—back in character—she added loudly, "Yes, Dolion?"

Get your shit together, Nathan thought to himself. He breathed out, long and heavy. Focus. Finally, he looked into the dread in Adelaide's eyes and finished up his sentence:

"I promise I won't leave you, Luna. I promise."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what," Nathan said, this time even managing a deceitful smile. "You're everything I want right now. Why would I leave anyway?"

"Just making sure." Adelaide mirrored Nathan's forced smile. "Because I feel like if . . . if I tell you . . . If I tell you about something . . ."

"Tell me about what?"

"Nothing." Adelaide cupped both sides of Nathan's neck (and boy was that fucking awkward), leaning closer to him. "We're together and that's the most important part, right? Let's enjoy that for now."

Nathan and Adelaide remained tense in their position until the Director said, "End of Act Four." As soon as he shut up, they pulled away from each other—Nathan slowly, though, because he didn't want to dizzy himself more.

Both of them stood, trotted a few steps forward and bowed to the audience. Nathan hardly managed to straighten again without making the universe swim in his eyes.

"You alright?" Adelaide asked, glancing at him. "You looked close to fainting."

Nathan tried breathing techniques. "That's because I am close to fainting."

The Director appeared on the other end of the stage, standing. Doing nothing. Totally not creepy. Then he moved closer, altering his position in a way that had the light angled onto his face. It reflected the insanity, the lust to hurt. Angry again (when the hell wasn't he, anyway?).

Nathan had known better than to be happy that nothing happened during the act. Surely the post-performance violence would make it up for that. As the Director approached, every hair on Nathan's arms stood on end.

The Director looked liked he'd hidden ancient anger in his dark eyes. "You promised her to stay, my villain."

Dolion promised, not me, Nathan wanted to correct him but that was a death wish. He remained put. The Director took another sly step closer.

"Tell me," the Director said, surprisingly calm, "how many times did you break a promise in your life?"

Nathan exhaled. Truthfully, he'd broken promises a couple times, but silly things: promising his mom he'd come home early, promising his sister he wouldn't use her phone charger without permission. Nothing drastic.

"Tell me. And be honest."

"A few times," Nathan finally said, breath catching in his throat. "But nothing drastic."

"Nothing drastic." Lips pursed, the Director nodded in a disgusted way. "Nothing drastic, he says." He looked at Adelaide whilst gesturing elaborately at Nathan. "He thinks it's okay to break promises because it's not drastic."

Nathan couldn't take his eyes off the Director's hand as it adjusted the shotgun shoved in his belt.

"You see"—the Director for some reason kept addressing Adelaide—"every time he speaks, every time he smiles, I know I picked the right villain. This can't be a mistake. I know. I just know."

The Director turned to Nathan. "Show her, my villain. Show her what's inside. Show her your truest self. You think a dimple can distract me from the truth? It can fool my heroine, but it can't fool me."

Clutching Nathan's jaw, the Director forcibly moved him around and shoved his back against the iron chords. With one hand, he kept a constricting grip on Nathan, and with the other he patted around his belt. Nathan couldn't see what exactly he was doing. But his heart thrummed.

Nathan knew the Director had to have been retrieving a weapon, but still, his lungs stopped functioning the moment he saw a knife in the Director's hand. Knife, not shotgun. What a pretty change.

"Relax," the Director mumbled. "No need to worry. I'm just going to show my heroine your dirty, dirty blood. Hopefully she'll stop being naive and believe me."

Blood. Knife. Creeping aura of pain. The bile almost reached Nathan's mouth. His heart pounded, then failed. Pounded, then failed. Then steadied on a fast rate.

"You don't need to show her," Nathan tried, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "I admit. My blood's filthy, just like you say. No need to prove it if it's a fact."

"H-He's right." Adelaide took a tiny step forward. "I know he's a bastard. You don't have to show me. I know."

It felt like Nathan's blood had turned into ice as the Director rolled Nathan's sleeve up, exposing his arm. Then, slowly, he led the knife along his skin. Goosebumps trailed behind it.

"Look," the Director slashed a wound along his arm and Nathan subconsciously bit his lip, trying desperately to contain a cry. Adelaide made a distressed noise. Dipping a finger in the trickling blood, the Director held it up before Nathan's face then shoved it against his lips. "Do you taste it, my villain? Can you taste your filth! The deceit!"

"Yeah," Nathan quickly coaxed, spluttering out his own blood. Just go along, he thought. At this point, Nathan knew even cajoling wouldn't stop the Director. But opposing would make it thirty-five times worse. His voice trembled. "I can taste it. You're always right."

"And he has the audacity to admit! He has the audacity to admit!" The Director's eyes could've had literal flames in them. The outrage in his vicious snarl told Nathan he shouldn't be surprised if he punched him now (or again).

And he did, then grasped him by the shoulder and shoved him aside. Nathan toppled onto the floor on his back. The dizziness magnified by a thousand. For a second, he felt like he was swaying between consciousness and unconsciousness. Somewhere in the seams stitching both together.

Then a heavy weight crashed over his chest—an entire psycho sitting atop him, straddling his waist, holding onto his clothes. Nathan's breath hitched, knees curving. His ribs felt like they could crack any moment.

"Why!" the Director shouted, and if Nathan wasn't hallucinating, his eyes were glossy. Tearful. "Why, my villain, why do you have to lie? What has she ever done to you!"

Adelaide couldn't be heard anymore, as if she'd moved away during the commotion. Nathan wanted to turn his head but the Director gripped his jaw again and stabilized him. With the other hand, he rolled up Nathan's other sleeve. A glint of metal dipping towards his arm—that was all Nathan could see through his blearing vision.

Faint, Nathan told himself. Faint before I feel this. But no—now his body was wide-alert, each and every nerve saw-edged until the knife touched his flesh. And this time, this time it didn't just cut; it peeled off his skin like an orange.

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

Nathan screamed. He tried not to, but he did. His entire body jolted, feet desperately digging into the planks. Torturously slow, the blade peeled off more skin. Then he felt the weight shift, fabric covering his shin rolling up, and then the knife was there too. His cries loudened.

The Director was looking towards the stage now (not even at Adelaide), shouting with bloodlust in his voice: "Look, my audience! Look! He's paying for what he did, for what he'll do! Villains will always suffer, always."

Midst the terror, Nathan wished his dad could hear him. It'd break his heart, but maybe he'd save him. Maybe he'd stop this grueling pain and tell him: I'm here, son. I won't let him touch you anymore. He wished his dog could sniff him out all the way from America, barge in and bite off the Director's hand.

None of that could happen now though, so Nathan resigned to the pain. Let it fester and ache and burn. The lightheadedness clouded him now.

Nathan couldn't even see anymore, like his vision was closing in on him. Like walls collapsing. The weight atop him lifted, turned away, then the Director said:

"My heroine! What do you think you're doing?"

"N-Nothing!"

Nathan heard muffled noises, coming from the audience's side, not from Adelaide's. He tried turning over, towards the chords, and he managed. But he saw nothing. Suddenly, it was as if someone turned down the world's volume—his ears must've clogged. The bickering between Adelaide and the Director turned into annoying static.

Still, Nathan caught a word. Someone barely whimpering a word. Barely managing to splutter out, "Nate, s—"

Nathan's heart quivered. He propped himself on his elbow, barely managing, and tried squinting in the voice's direction. Was he hallucinating? But then the Director caught his arm and pulled him up far too fast, almost in a panicky mannerism.

"I told you don't look there!"

The world swayed again one last time. Nathan crashed against the Director, unconscious.

_________

a/n: What do you think happened with nate? Theories, thoughts, feedback of any type are always appreciated!

tysm for reading/voting/commenting <3