𝐢𝐱.
𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

I've done plenty of video advertisements for D.D. and other smaller clothing brands. So how hard can a music video be, right?

I was mailed a "script" to practice for one of the main scenes. It wasn't hard for me to memorize. It was hard for me to keep a straight face while practicing with Cady. Neither of us has had to read a script like this in a very long time. Especially when the script in its entirety is a brutal argument.

She's one of the most unserious people when it comes to these types of things. Making silly faces at me, or hilarious remarks about certain parts that puts a damper in our practice session.

Though I can't complain.

Without her there I probably would've been overthinking this entire deal—just as I'm doing right now, walking onto set dressed in a set of lingerie underneath a button-up tee (incredibly grateful for the robe that I wrapped tightly around myself in my dressing room before my departure).

Why am I still doing this?

Obviously to get back at Ryan... but how will I know when enough is enough?

Anger begins to boil within me at the thought of him, along with hurt. A couple of weeks—no, several months pretending to be with Derek wouldn't be enough. Not in the slightest.

I also can't help but wonder how much it's affecting him. Seeing me with his new side-pieces "ex". If he cares, feels remorseful, or if he's only interested in feeling other things, like Melody.

He probably hasn't thought about me at all. The man hasn't called or texted yet. He hasn't even viewed any of my stories across all of my socials.

If I'm still this pissed at Ryan that I'm willing to admit that this will never be enough, why do I feel... guilty?

"Ah, perfect timin'!" Exclaims a visibly stressed, red-headed man several inches shorter than myself, presumably southern by his accent, dressed in black from head to toe with a clipboard under his left arm. Either I spaced so badly that I didn't even see him heading my way, or he teleported in front of me. How did I not see him coming? "We were startin' to think you weren't goin' to show! Derek's been askin' 'bout you all worried-like, won't stop pacin' too." The crewman raises his brows suggestively. Relief upon finding me seems to extinguish some of his worry, de-stressing his expression.

"He has?" Worried-like?

He motions me forward in the direction of the building we're supposed to film in today. "I mean, you're thirty minutes late, y'know."

A grimace starts to overtake my features. I suppress it (as best as I can) and manage to smile. "I know. Think he'll forgive me?"

"He has to. That's what boyfriends do." He shoots a wink my way as he turns around, matching my pace with me.

Boyfriend.

The term feels weird. Especially knowing who that word refers to.

As one of the many crew members hired by my "boyfriend" escorts me closer to our impending make-out video shoot, I notice a small familiar white box in his back pocket.

I clear my throat.

"Can I bum a smoke off you?" I ask right as we make it to the door. He looks back at me over his shoulder, and stops, briefly confused until he realizes its contents.

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Relief floods through me. Redhead takes the pack of cigarettes from his jeans, opens it, and hands me a cigarette.

An old friend; a vice I swore off a year and a half ago. Considering what I'm about to put myself through right now, desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Thank you," I pluck it from his grasp, "Light?"

I place the cancer stick between my lips. Flames flicker to life from his bright red lighter on the second try.

Braving the burn, I inhale as soon as he takes the flame away, eager to distract myself from the battle waging inside my head.

"Come right on in when you're finished!" He adds as he opens the door. I catch a glimpse of the set beyond him. Busy crew members hustle about. I find myself searching for a certain someone, though I'm cut short by the closing door. When it finally shuts I exhale a shaky breath.

Maybe I should cut my losses and dip out while I still can.

I mean, it's only been about almost two weeks since the club. Alright. It has been exactly two weeks, but who's counting?

Who am I kidding.

If I quit now my losses will be fairly great, to say the least. I can see the headline now... "Lovers Quarrel, or Vengeful Mirage? Find out why Elara Stewart is a FRAUD and the precise definition of HUMAN TRASH on page seven!"

I inhale a large puff, and I somehow manage not to cough.

From a professional standpoint, being this late will not look good on my part. I'm sure Derek won't mind but others might. Like Redhead's boss, gauging from how overwhelmed he looked moments ago.

Just as I'm about to extinguish the cig along with my prolonged fears of this shoot, the door opens. It swings in my direction, successfully blocking the view of my unwanted visitor.

A rejuvenated Derek emerges with his hair gelled, slick at the sides yet somehow loose. Fresh-faced and clean-shaven as if he just hopped out of the shower only minutes ago. He's wearing a white dress shirt, black slacks, and black leather dress shoes that look like they'd cost me five car payments.

When his eyes meet mine they instantly brighten, dark brown lightening a shade or two. His lips kick up at both corners as he speaks. "There you are. You're late."

With a deep breath I blurt, "I'm usually very punctual." Chocolate eyes dart to the cigarette between my fingers, then back again. "And I usually don't smoke."

"Sure you don't." Heat shoots up the back of my neck at his amused tone. Smug bastard.

I let out a stifled laugh before I take a long drag, wishing I could disintegrate into ash and smoke, and then whisp away through the air without a single word or thought. My head shakes at the notion. The head high from the nicotine makes my vision spin after my head stills. Shit. No wonder why I stopped smoking these things.

After clearing my thoughts of smoggy fumes, I notice Derek's heavy stare. "Do you mind?"

He chuckles. Light, and soft as cashmere. "No." Of course not.

So he's staring at me just to stare. What's with this guy and the constant need for eye contact? At first, it felt flattering but now it's a tad invasive. Not to mention a little intimidating, too. Most people can't keep a gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. Including myself. And yet I find myself so fixated on them; unable to look away. Makes me wonder if he's like this with everyone.

"Good," I say mid-hit. Before I can stub it out for good, Derek perks a brow and motions with his pointer finger for me to hand it to him. I do just that.

"Thanks." He smiles an undeniably dazzling smile (one that almost makes my knees wobble) then places the cig between his lips. Of which my eyes linger a bit too long on. Lips that'll be on mine within the hour...

Embarrassed and now twice as anxious, I whip out my phone from the pocket of my robe to see if I have any important notifications to occupy myself with

There's a text from Cady, as well as a message from Wil asking about upcoming shoot dates for Darling Devils—who's more than eager to get Derek Crimson and I our own shoot. They may be booked, who in their right mind would turn down the chance to work with a man like him? It'd be huge for their new men's collection.

I send Wil a quick response approving and denying certain days. Cady's message simply says:

Cady: Bitch.

Usually, whenever either of us texts the other bitch, it means business. Bitch as in bitch, you won't believe what the fuck just happened.

Knowing my elder sister it could be anything under the impossibly hot, California sun. Nothing is out of bounds. I send a 'spill' her way before tucking my phone back where it came from.

"Weren't you supposed to bring your sister?" Derek asks. When I swivel back around to look at him, I find that he's already looking at me intently.

Stunned by his full attention on me without my knowledge, it takes me a second to recuperate and regain my composure. "She got caught up with work."

Another drag. Then he asks; "What does she do?"

Stop looking at his lips like a freak, Elara.

"She's a writer," I respond.

My skin, a bit too balmy underneath the unrelenting West Coast heat, starts to itch with impatience. Torn between wanting to get this shoot done as soon as possible and booking it back to the safety of my apartment.

"What does she write?"

Hoping to look as composed as possible, I cross my arms. "Journalism mostly."

Derek hums. "Sounds interesting."

"She's working on some sort of exposé book right now. Says it's 'top secret', like she's in the FBI or something. She refuses to tell me what it's about whenever I ask. My sister tells me everything so it must be important." My lips press together to keep myself from rambling any further.

"She's trustworthy then." Derek states as he offers the cigarette back to me. I refuse with a short shake of my head.

"Very. My secrets will die with her."

There's a sparkle in his eye at the mention of any plausible secrets I may be keeping.

"Any of them worth divulging? I'm excellent at keeping secrets."

"Considering your every move gets reported to tabloids, I don't think my secrets would be safe with you."

"On my every move, yes. But not what I say. They only report on what I want them to hear," He flicks the cigarette. "I can be very discreet when mouths are involved." His smile widens. I huff out a breath. So enraptured by his exterior beauty, I'd almost forgotten what resides inside. An insanely high ego.

He extinguishes the cig on the side of the building before tossing it in a trash bin beside the door. All with two swift, oddly attractive movements. Only Derek Crimson can do the simplest most mundane things and make it hotter than it is.

"Speaking of mouths," My breath catches in my throat, terrified of speaking the words on my mind out loud. "About the shoot..."

"What about it?" Suggestive, yet strangely casual.

"I don't think I can do this. Have a nice life, I'm out of here."

Against my better judgment, I don't say that out loud.

Even though it's at the tip of my tongue, ready to shoot out into the open, a response even worse blurts from me instead.

"Shouldn't we—rehearse?" My entire body freezes as soon as the sentence leaves my mouth.

The smirk comes first. Wide, and prominent. Then a deep chuckle. Dark, and laced with utter amusement.

"That—I didn't mean to—that's not what I meant to say." No way am I not able to form an actual fucking sentence right now.

"It isn't?" He raises a brow, simulating confusion.

I purse my lips, respond with a slow, "That's right," and a head shake.

"So you don't want to rehearse?" His brows latch together while feigning confusion.

Kill me now.

"Exactly," Trying to save any semblance of self-regard I have left after embarrassing the shit out of myself, I continue. "What I meant to say was..."

He leans forward after a beat passes, clearly anticipating my response and enjoying this conversation way too much for my liking.

"We're supposed to just wing this scene? I mean, everyone thinks we're dating, but in actuality, we aren't—we haven't even kissed—not that I want to kiss you," I pause. Not purposely, but more so to digest the blatant disbelief now strewn across Derek's stupidly attractive face at my statement.

I clear my throat. "How're we going to convince anyone that we're together if we don't have chemistry? Hypothetically speaking?"

Derek's eyes narrow. Wrong choice of words. Again.

"Who says we don't have chemistry?"

He's seriously fucking with my cognitive functions. That's the only logical explanation for the shit that's been leaving my mouth for the past five minutes.

"I—," My throat constricts, successfully choking the words that are about to spew out in the open.

He moves forward.

A fresh, cedarwood scent with a hint of spice envelops the air when he stops inches away, invading my senses and rendering me motionless. The smell is intoxicating. Derek is intoxicating.

I find myself swaying on my feet towards him instead of away. I should be away. Far away.

If I had any sense I would've shut this down as soon as it gained any sort of traction. Right as the idea formed into words, words spoken by Cady. I should run now, and get out of this while I still can instead of giving into his gravitational pull.

But somewhere within the last two weeks I completely surrendered my moral compass. Which has been tested on multiple occasions. And so far it's done nothing but fail. Repetitively.

Inebriated by the scent of Derek alone, my eyes flutter shut when his hand brushes the bottom of my chin. He tilts my head up ever so slightly. Soft, and delicate. As if tracing a rose petal that's about to relinquish its hold on its stem. Debating whether to let it fall head-first, or leave it to its wilting fate.

When he doesn't move, light greets me, and my eyes flutter open on instinct.

Derek's proximity, lingering touch, and smug smirk snaps me back to the here, and now. I tense and take advantage of his nearness to study his defined features as he speaks.

"I don't think we'll have any problems when it comes to chemistry."

Stupid imaginary rose petals.

The door suddenly swings open to relieve me of my impending answer. A brunette woman with blindingly white highlights in her hair, possibly in her early twenties steps out, dressed similarly to Read-head in all-black attire.

"Ugh, there you—oh," Upon seeing that Derek isn't alone, regretfulness replaces shock. "Sorry to interrupt but we've got a music video to shoot, and Tarri is throwing a fit."

"I'm sure she is," He chuckles. The girl smiles in agreement and slight relief as he sidesteps her, and enters the building, With that, our moment in time is now unfrozen, and reality punches me in the face, hard.

Even if we didn't kiss, we were about to.

Chemistry be damned.

Not in the mood for more unwanted self-inflected embarrassment I follow his lead inside, where the director quickly greets us before waving us off for brief touch-ups before shooting.

You can handle a kiss or two. Correction—a make-out session.

I've been kissed plenty of times. Just think of it as an everyday occurrence. No big deal. There's no need for me to react like this. I'm twenty-four for fucks sake. A grown, recently independent woman, who can handle a heated, extremely passionate scene.

Being a Darling Devil has taught me to embrace sexuality. I've had my fair share of intimate photoshoots in lingerie. What's the difference here?

I'll still be behind a camera. I'll just have to act instead of pose. Pretend this is just another photo shoot.

As the make-up artist rushes me back to set, I can't help but wish Jules were here. She'd know how to talk me down. Or Cady.

Speaking of Cady, and in need of another distraction, I pull my phone out. She still hasn't answered back. Seeing as Derek isn't back from his touch-up, I send a frantic text her way.

Me: Bitch, I'm still pissed
at you for ditching. I'm in
way over my head here.
Me: Text me back!!!!

Bubbles appear.

I could've kissed my phone, held it to my chest, and twirled around the room at the sheer amount of ease her text brought me. Instead, I exhale a sigh of relief and clutch it tighter in my hands as I wait for her response.

Cady: Mom won't stop blowing
up my phone. Says she wants to
talk to us.
Cady: Did you block her or
something? She keeps asking
me why she can't reach you.

I did block her. Right when I got home from that dreadful dinner we had at her house.

Me: Yes I did.
Me: And I don't regret it.

Cady: What should I say?

Me: Nothing. She doesn't
deserve a response.

Cady: But she won't stop
calling.

Me: Here's an easy solution:
Me: Block her too!

Cady: I know I should but...
Cady: Hold on. I really need to
vent this to you. Sending a voice
memo rn.

"Alright everyone, let's get this shoot rolling! Places, Places!" Suddenly, my small little bubble seems to implode, startling me more than I'd like to admit as time continues onward. I must've blocked everything out.

Me: Shit igtg. Shoot is starting.

Cady hid a voice memo from you.

Cady: Had to delete my memo
to type this. I believe in you!!
You got this!
Cady: Also lmk how he kisses
Cady: I need every single juicy,
delicious little detail.
Cady: And you better not hold out
on me Ela!

She's still typing when I tuck my phone into the pocket of my robe before draping it over a canvas folding chair next to another with Derek's name across the back in bold lettering.

With a deep breath, I straighten my poster and push my shoulders back, determined to get this over with in five takes or less. The thought is a stretch but I need something to hold on to keep myself focused.

Derek strides past me then. He pays me no mind, attention directly on the buttons of his shirt. He stops on his mark amid a makeshift bedroom.

I inhale a second deep breath before making my way to my mark at the foot of the bed, the duvet rumpled as if we'd just woken from it.

As soon as the director yells shoot, we start to yell at one another as music begins to play. Derek's voice fills the entirety of the set, accompanied by a sensual instrumental that compliments his vocals perfectly. It's sorrowful, yet incredibly powerful. The rawness behind his words from what I can hear over our false argument, drips with unspent pain.

Within thirty minutes we finish the first half of our scene. We argue a set of three times. The cameramen switch angles as we travel throughout the room during each shot.

"For the final take, I want real aggression. Throw something at him."

At the director's words, I threw a pillow, as well as a pair of shoes used as props one after the other. Derek took it surprisingly well. He doesn't dodge. He lets each item hit its intended target. His head, which the pillow bounced easily off of. Then his chest twice.

For the second half of the fight—we move to the bathroom. I enter, he follows. I try to push him out but he overpowers me, turning me around so my back is flush against the wood before he slams it shut. He closes the space between us even further.

My chest rises and falls with every uneven breath, strands of my hair loose around my face. Our eyes lock before he pulls my dress shirt over my shoulders and above my head, throwing it somewhere on the floor.

We only have to repeat this scene two more times. Each feeling more intimate than the last.

Continuing onward with the final scene of the day about an hour since the start, I finally break from my spell trapped against the door, pushing him away. He parts and stays planted where I left him. I pace the bathroom, looking utterly distraught. Then, I give up and hoist myself onto the counter.

With our argument at a close, we're both left to wallow in the aftermath. The realization of the end of something. A relationship, judging by the lyrics of the song that's been playing—one that's now stuck in my head. It's incredibly catchy.

He makes his way towards me. I turn my head away from him purposely, unable to meet his gaze until a singular knuckle lifts my chin. My head raises, too close to avert my eyes. Both of us lock eyes once again. They stay locked as his head drifts down.

This is it.

"I can't do this again," My plea is a broken whisper. I shake my head, tilting away from his advancing lips. Doing this gives him access to my neck.

Anguish pulls at my features, knowing that this character I'm playing wants nothing to do with him anymore, yet she still feels for him.

"Do what?" His whisper against my skin causes flutters to erupt low in my stomach.

"Us."

Derek's lips brush the crook of my neck.

I can't help the immediate shudder that rolls through me at his touch. Even more so when his hand snakes around my waist, pulling me to the edge of the counter. An unintentional gasp leaves me when he peppers warm kisses in his wake, venturing further until his lips hover a millimeter away from mine.

My breath catches. I don't have time to react. His lips press to mine. Soft, and full, Derek's mouth moves masterfully. Taking his time as he tastes me, and I taste him, each of us savoring our menthol kiss. Acting upon instinct, my hands trail up his shoulders and into his hair, not caring if I dishevel the work of the hairstylists on set.

"More passion!" Calls the director from some distant plain.

All my focus is on this. On the space around and between him and me, and how to close said space.

His grip tightens around me, and the free hand that cups my face begins to move. It glides down my arm, behind my back where his other arm resides, holding me to him.

Albeit fake, fuck if it doesn't feel real.

Derek doesn't pull any stops. Passion oozes from his kiss, passing to my own. I don't hold back either, kissing him with as much fervent enthusiasm. Whether it's due to the director's order I don't care. I let my hands drift from his hair, past his collarbones, down his pecks. I unintentionally break from him to take in the entirety of his very solid, defined chest.

In an instant I remind myself that we have an audience. My eyes flick to his, cheeks warming at the shocked wonderment behind his gaze, possibly mirroring mine.

If I hadn't broken away from him would we still be lost within each other? The thought makes my thighs pull together. Though with Derek in the way, they don't move very far.

"And CUT!" Sharp as a knife, his voice cuts through us, breaking us apart. Derek is the first to part. On the other hand, I can't bring any of my muscles to move.

He turns to leave me entirely but not before flashing that stupid smirk my way as if to say, "I was right."

"Good job everyone! That's a wrap on day one!"

Only one take?

Am I—disappointed?

The feeling twangs through me like a bolt of electricity. Then comes the embarrassment of feeling disappointed.

Did I want another take? Another excuse to...

I hop off of the counter and grab the robe from the chair, disregarding my now frantic thoughts. I can't yearn for another excuse. I just got dumped not even a month ago. I can't afford to get caught up with Derek when I'm still reeling from what Ryan put me through. All for show, remember?

Putting each arm through either sleeve I make my way across the bustling set. Derek looms over the director's shoulder expectantly as they dissect the scene in hushed whispers. As if sensing my approach, Derek's head tilts to the side. He straightens and holds out a hand while motioning me forward.

"Come look, Darling." There's a subtle emphasis on the nickname given to me that has my teeth gritting. I walk, eyeing his hand gingerly while doing so.

I'd rather not take his hand but I don't have a choice. Especially in front of so many people.

I muster a smile that hopefully tells him that our kiss didn't affect me (even though it did, more than I'd ever admit aloud, especially to Derek) and slip my hand into his. He casually puts his arm around me, then pulls me to his side. I ignore yet another wave of flutters in my stomach and heed the monitor playing today's progress.

The director switches between multiple angles. As our kiss continues, the more it convinces me of our chemistry. How real it looks. How Derek was right. It almost feels too intimate to watch.

But the director, as well as the other two unfamiliar crew members that now huddle around us, are eating it up. One even comments on my acting skills. Which, to all present, my experience in the acting field is fairly known. The shows I starred in as a child were popular enough to the point where I still get recognized just for the two shows I was in when I'm out in public. I should take pride in my previous craft, but the time of my life it occupied was not good.

"Love the lighting in this take," Notes a blonde older woman who smells of some sort of strong flowery perfume, dressed in a fairly expensive-looking maroon blouse with heels to match. She must be important since Derek nods in agreement.

"I do too." He replies. As the scene switches, something in Derek switches as well, like he's just realizing something. "Have you two been introduced yet?"

The woman turns to me, eyes a striking shade of aquamarine. As a bright sea of blue clashes with mine—I finally recognize her. We met briefly last week at the previous meeting. Briefly as in she gathered twenty of us into a circle, gave us her name, then proceeded to droll on about the weeks to come.

"This is my manager, Katherine."

"Hello, Elara. Derek's told me so much about you." She winks, showing off her dark eyeshadow that accentuates her eyes. This woman is a force. Conniving, and off-putting, yet I find myself in awe of her presence.

"I'm sure he has," I catch his gaze and hold it, questioning silently if this is his only manager. Seeing as both of our managers negotiated this entire ordeal, I hope she is. He doesn't seem to get the intent behind my flaring gaze. I'm forced to look away, back to his manager with a flaring gaze of her own.

"Have you considered going back into acting? You have such a true talent for it." The way those words fall from her mouth makes me believe she knows the truth. Best to weave my way around it, just to be sure.

"I prefer modeling over acting." Her eyes dance from mine, to where Derek's hand still lingers at my waist, to Derek himself, and back to me.

"Well, if you ever want a foothold back into the world of acting, a friend of mine will be casting for a new film this fall. One of those superhero movies, I'm sure you've heard of it—I think you'd be exactly what he's looking for." I have no idea how I'm supposed to receive that, given all we shot today was an argument and a heated kissing match.

"I'm flattered, Katherine. I'll keep your offer in mind." We exchange amiable smiles with one another.

"I hope so." The director calls to her then, gaining her attention back to the ongoing watch party of our scene.

Derek's grip tightens. I turn to look up at him. "Something's buzzing in your pocket." I almost ask him what he's talking about when I suddenly feel it as if it'd just started no sooner than the moment I realized.

"Oh," I fish for my phone in my pocket. One look at who's calling has me pulling away, "One sec."

I stop about twenty feet from the growing crowd I had escaped from before answering.

"She's driving me up a fucking wall, Ela." Fumes my sister through my phone's speakers.

"A 'hello, how are you?' would've been nice," I joke, clicking my tongue when she doesn't answer, "Who are you talking about?"

"Who else would I be talking about? Do you have short-term memory loss or something?" She speaks in a quiet, strained tone. Whisper yelling at its finest.

Noting how uptight she sounds, I decide to continue joking in hopes of lightening her mood. "Maybe. I mean it wouldn't surprise me. I can't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning—,"

"—Listen to me, Ela. Unblock our mother or I will drive to your current location, break into the set you're on, steal your phone, and do it for you." She states, almost too fast for me to understand.

"If she's bothering you so much why not block her like I told you to?"

Cady groans.

"I did. Ela... she showed up at my house."

"She—what? But she's never been to either of our places," There's a pause. I take the intermission to glance back at the group I left, unintentionally making eye contact with Derek. I'm the first to look away as our silence grows.

"What is it?"

Shuffling.

"Cady?" More subtle noise, then static.

"She's—," I swivel around so my back is facing a particularly nosy set of deep brown eyes. "She's not there still, is she?"

"She's in my living room."

My eyes widen. "The fuck?!" I whisper harshly. This isn't something our mother does. She stays away from us, and our everyday lives until it best suits her and her interest. So why is she over at Cady's?

"I don't know what to do. I mean I do but I'm not sure how or where to start. I snuck back to my room to call you the first chance I got."

"Shit, Cady." Moments like this make me wish I could block someone in person.

"I tried my best to get her to leave. But she kind of apologized? As much as a woman like her can apologize, anyway. I'm not even sure if she's sorry or not. She blurted it out. No, more like word-vomitted. All over me."

Shock renders me practically immobile. "What did she apologize for?"

"Several things. Our dinner being one of them. She said she wanted to make amends. She just stood there so... I invited her in. She's been here for fifteen minutes just talking."

"Am I dreaming right now? Or did you just say our mother is in your living room and has been talking to you, genuinely talking, for fifteen minutes?"

"Pinch yourself and get back to me."

I almost do.

"I don't know what to say. I have so many questions but I don't understand... why?"

"She's sorry I guess. And before you ask, I haven't accepted it. I made sure she knows that," Her voice, less assertive, drops down a level. "Now she wants to talk to you."

"If anything I'm even farther from unblocking her than I was a few minutes ago."

"Ela."

"No, Cady. After everything that was said? Everything she's put us through, then having the audacity to show up after the fact and apologize as if it'll make up for it all?"

"Ela..."

I ignore her. Consumed by a newly lit anger, I let it get the best of me.

"She has no right. She used us and will continue to use us no matter how many apologies she wants to hand out. Why aren't you as upset about this as I am?"

"Because I'm tired of being upset at her. I'm tired of holding so much anger inside all of the time. It eats at me. It doesn't mean that I'm anywhere near forgiveness. I don't think I have it in me to forgive her. I'm only hearing her out. Letting her speak her peace before I go back out and speak my own."

My anger slowly extinguishes. Stale and repugnant on my tongue.

This time I'm the silent one.

Cady sighs. "I'll call you back when she leaves. Then you can decide for yourself if you want to speak to her or not. Maybe it'll be therapeutic in a way. Cathartic. At least that's what I'm hoping for." She says with ambivalence.

"As long as you feel safe enough to confront her. Do what you need to do." Reluctant as I may be, I know she can hold her own. But I still want to be there with her through this. Wishing to be beside her acting as a shoulder to lean on.

"I will. Are you on break now? How's the shoot going?" Just as she asks, the skin on the back of my neck starts to prickle. The feel of someone approaching from behind makes me whirl to find Derek heading my way. All suave and calamitous-like, purpose within each step taken in my direction.

"It's over. Don't change the subject. Please call me when she leaves. Promise me?"

"Only if you promise to tell me everything about your shoot." Cady's just as nosy as he is. They'd be perfect for one another.

"I promise."

"Bye,"

"Bye Cady," I utter, trying not to sound too concerned. The call ends just in time.

"Everything alright?" Derek questions, buttoning the top of his shirt. Still confused, I tuck my phone away.

"Yeah. Just family business." At my statement, he prods further.

"With your sister?"

I nod. "Partially, yes. It's a long story."

"A long story that could be told over dinner?" The suggestion has a melancholic smile take over my features.

"It's not exactly a good conversation to have at dinner."

"Then maybe we could tell other stories? How does this upcoming Monday night sound?"

I jut my bottom lip out and tap my chin with a pointer finger, "I might be free..."

"You will be free." He corrects.

"Don't sound too sure about that."

His arms cross in front of his previously bare chest. Images of my hands splaying across that chest makes my face heat, along with the sensitive area between my thighs.

"I'll just have to book out all of your Monday nights going forward."

"And if I decline?"

"You won't." He says, shrugging.

I don't answer.

Instead, I send him a teasing look and make my way to the nearest exit—glad to have someone capable of distracting me from reality.

Even if it's only for a minute or two.

a/n
heyyyy babess!
listennnn i can explain why this is more than week lateeee
i decided last minute to almost double the length of this chapter (6k words, new sr record!) bc i felt it was missing dialogue. not to mention it just felt short to me, considering how long ive been gone.

hope you're doing well! i've missed you!! <3

i've been struggling w writers block for a while too so that hasn't been helping my upload schedule :(
trying to get back in the groove but life's been crazy lately. soon though, soon (i hope).
chapters may be slow for a while until i beat tf out of this writers block.
just a lil heads up!