“You know what I mean,” she says. “Do you want me, or do you just want to fuck and smile for the cameras?” she says again and then adds, “You didn’t answer me.” She scoffs and then looks at the ceiling. “I guess that should tell me the answer right there.” She’s trying to play it off like she’s foolish, but the pain causes her eyes to go glossy with tears.
How could she even question that? “I want you,” I tell her simply. Hoping she’ll drop the entire conversation and this agenda to end what’s between us.
“So you really want to be with me?” she asks me like she doesn’t believe me.
“Yes!” I yell louder than I should. If anyone is just outside the door, I know they can hear. I lower my voice. “Of course I want you.” The words leave my lips and they’re the truest and purest I’ve ever spoken.
“Then why didn’t you say that? Why not just tell the truth?”
“What truth?” I ask her, bewildered.
“Today!” she yells, not caring in the least about anyone listening. “You could have told them we were together. You could have told them anything but instead, you just left me there … alone.”
“Where the hell are you getting this from?” I don’t understand why this is even a conversation between us. I can’t stand it. I ask the one question that matters. The one we should be discussing. “What are you afraid of, Hally?” I yell it out so loud it burns my throat, making it feel raw and dry.
“Of you,” she says so low I almost don’t hear her, her shoulders hunching slightly as her composure crumbles.
My body’s still, in disbelief.
“Because you’re going to hurt me,” she says and slowly I regain my sense of control. I would never hurt her in any way. Ever. She has to know that. This is just bullshit she’s spewing to push me away.
“I would never-”
“You left me,” she whispers. “And it still hurts.”
“I didn’t ever want to hurt you,” I tell her. “You have to know that.”
“I don’t know that,” she tells me, her eyes brimming with sincerity. “I needed someone,” she whispers her choked words. “I still need someone.”
“I’m right here, you can tell me anything,” I say and my words are desperate. “Whatever you need to tell me, I’m here.”
Tears leak down her cheeks and she wipes them away angrily. Like she’s ashamed to have them show. “I don’t know what to say; I don’t know what I need.” She shakes her head chaotically and I pray she just gives me something I can work with. A single thread to hold onto.
“Just tell me what’s on your mind.”
“What if it’s just too late?” she asks me, not quite a question and more of an accusation. One well earned on my part.
“It’s not,” I tell her with complete sincerity. I can’t turn back time, but it can’t be too late. Every moment I have to live is a moment I can try to make it right. I just don’t know how.
“What happens after filming is over?” she asks me. “That’s a question,” she says like she has me cornered. I could play dumb and avoid the conversation, or bring up the fact that we’ll both be asked back next year so long as the ratings are what they should be. But I know what she’s referring to and I don’t have an answer for her.
“I don’t know, Hally.” I’m slow with my words, careful. My head is spinning and I don’t know what she wants to hear.
“I need something, Nathan.” My mouth hangs open a moment and then I slam it shut.
I almost ask her what she wants, because I’d give it to her, whatever it is. But she doesn’t give me the chance.
“I loved you,” she says with pain as if it’s a sin to say the words.
Loved. As in past tense.
My blood goes cold and I wait for whatever she’s going to say next. How she’ll throw it in my face that I never loved her back. I know it’s coming. I’ll take it. I swallow the lump in my throat, staring back at her and waiting for the assault.
She can berate me, hate me, blame me—whatever she needs, so long as she doesn’t leave.
As if she’s heard my thoughts, as if knowing what would hurt me most, she pulls herself together enough to look me in the eyes.
“I have to go,” Hally utters hurriedly, stepping around me and my first instinct is to cage her in. One palm against the wall and her chest to mine, I do it.