Between You And Me

2~A Liability

“Is it?” I asked solemnly, staring a hole into the tiny droplets in the paper cone. “If you know so much, you understand that I really need this job. I haven’t had this big of a role for two years and no one wants to cast me for anything major. I’m a liability.”

He shook his head, pursing his lips. “No, you are an asset to this production, Ms. Brookshaw.” Standing up, he offered a hand to me. “Come with me. I have someone you need to meet.”

With hesitancy, I slide my hand into his warm palm, feeling the rush of familiarity wash over me again before vanishing. Trust clung to his eyes with unwavering focus as he stared down at me, my legs moving on their own as they stood and followed him out the door. Leading further down the narrow corridor, he paused in front of a door with a sign. Dr. Grace Trevino, On-set Psychiatrist.

“She’s expecting you. Go introduce yourself and return to the casting table.”

A cold emptiness shrouded my palm, removing his hand from mine. With a limp smile, he turned his back and returned to the casting room down the hall while I stayed planted. 

I’d only met with a psychiatrist a few times when I first woke up six years ago, provided by the hospital. Within a month of awakening, dad had already booked an exclusive interview on my experience with ‘The Killer Pastor.’ Against doctor's orders, I forced what I could remember to the surface, fragments of a dark night, a long road, a companion's warm hand in mine, and the eyes of a man preparing to kill us. The rest, dad had informed me. They’d ask about my injuries, about how well I’d known him before, and about Lilah having gone missing after we’d been admitted to the same hospital. 

To this day, I wonder about her: If she’s alright. If she’s found happiness. If she still lives with the haunting memories of that man as I do.

Knock, knock!

“Come in.”

The serene atmosphere toyed at my senses the moment I stepped inside, the room resembling a comfy living room more than an office. Splashes of soft blue and light beige hinted at the wholesomeness she wished to portray while the specks of dark grey and royal gold decor spoke of the sophistication of her clientele. Behind a glass desk in the corner, a thick carpet abruptly stops on cold stone floors, a clear indicator between homeliness and work. 

Dr. Grace Trevino stood from her swiveling chair with a friendly smile, her brown eyes glassed behind rectangular frames and curtained by light brown bangs. “Ms. Brookshaw, I’ve been expecting you,” she greeted, her professional smile unwavering. “I’m Dr. Trevino. I’ll be the on-set psychiatrist for the cast.”

“It’s...nice to meet you,” I greeted hesitantly. She gestured towards the beige chaise lounge for me to take a seat, which I did, feeling a bit nervous. She didn’t want to say it but it hung heavy in the air. Although she stated she’s here for the cast, we both knew she was because of me. Because of my...breakdowns. 

“I don’t mean to keep you here for long, just wanted to meet you in person.” She stepped from behind her desk, fixing her pencil skirt behind strolling to the plush armchair in front of me. “Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Water?”

I shook my head, rolling my shoulders back. Calm down, you’re not being interrogated. “No, thank you.”

Pursing her glossed lips, she nodded. “I just wanted to give you the little introduction I gave the rest of your co-stars. I’m here for anything you may need for the next thirty days of filming from professional support to a friendly chat, especially you, Ms. Brookshaw.”

Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward on the couch, looking directly at her. “Just admit it. You’re here especially for me, because of my very public breakdown.”

She didn’t deny it. Only pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “I am. But most importantly, this place, Hawthorne, is going to bring up a lot of memories—painful memories. I won’t pretend that your life, particularly after...your accident, hasn’t been speculated by the public, including myself. You’re a special case, Daphne. You’re about to step into the shoes of...your friend, revealing things you’ve probably never known about her, or can’t recall about her. You have read your script? Did it invoke any memories?”

Shamefully, I shook my head, my cheeks heating up in embarrassment. This was unprofessional. I’d scanned through what my dad allowed me to glimpse, saying that I needed to go through it one piece at a time. I didn’t understand why this movie, this script, came off differently that he had to read my lines to me instead of me reading the entire story.

But now I know.

“My, um, my dad read my lines to me. I haven’t read the entire script.”

She crossed her legs at the revelation. “Does your father usually read off your lines for you while retaining the entirety of the script from you.”

“No. But this time was different. He said, because it’s been a while since I’d had a part like this, I should let him help me. I didn’t understand what he meant until we got here and I realized…”

“...He didn’t tell you…”

Looking away, focusing on the beams of light protruding through the open blinds, I didn’t have the heart to look at her. “You must think I’m some spoiled brat who can’t do s**t without her daddy.”

“Quite the opposite.” With furrowed brows, I turned back to her. “I think he might be afraid for you because this entire production will be overwhelming.” Will be...not ‘might be’...will be. I gulped at the epiphany of her words. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time, Ms. Brookshaw; your co-stars must be wondering about you. We’ll get a chance to know each other better throughout this production. Just know, I’m available day and night with any concerns you may have.”

Standing to my feet, I shook her hand before taking my leave of the cozy room to the bleak hallway heading towards the room with inquisitive eyes. Memories of school and faces still flicked like fading lights in my mind but I remembered the looks of a room when you arrived late. Followed by gossiping whispers and childish snickering. At a long table sat about ten people, some familiar celebrities and others unfamiliar, but all dressed casually with a gleam of opulence. A table of stars in their own right. A table now staring smugly at me, especially the dark-haired girl with a smug smirk on her face directed at me.  

Caleb Cross cleared his throat, causing the room to quieten. “Ms. Brookshaw, I hope you are feeling better. Please take a seat; they’re labeled.”

Staring along the glossy table, I found my name tag between the smirking girl and a posed woman with platinum blonde hair. I quickly read their labels sitting in front of them, including their roles. The platinum blonde woman, Jolene Terrell, also known as the beauty of Australia, best known for modeling in her youth and now acting. She still radiated youth yet the obvious botox told of her fears of said youth evaporating. She’s playing the role of Mallory…

Melissa.

In a flash, I glimpsed the face of a similar woman with a charming smile that hid wicked intentions from long ago.

Like a prick from a needle to a balloon, the image burst back into reality as I crossed over to take my seat. The dark-haired girl (she dyed it for her role) winced as I sat beside her, whispering to the person beside her. 

“Well, it's obvious who’ll be getting special treatment around here.”

“Of course. Haven’t you seen the video about her?”

Allowing their words to roll off my back, I read her label and winced as well. Rosemarie, called by one name and renowned for her talent on the piano and singing, releasing her first platinum album at sixteen. Three years ago. This would be her first movie role, probably acting role, and she’d be playing Deborah.

Daphne.

The thought of electric blue hair gathered in my mind for a second before fading away. A nauseated waved rocked through my gut, inconclusive if it resided from Rosemaire playing myself or... 

“Now...let’s get started.”