Just a Movie

Broken and Ready

He stares at me, disbelief on his face. 

"Trying to scare me isn't going to change my mind," he says.

"I'm not trying to scare you!" I cry, desperately wanting him to understand this is real.  "In the film, at the end of the fight, you get shot, and you die."

He searches my face for any sign of dishonesty, perhaps a fragment of a smile that says I'm only kidding.  But he can't find it, because it doesn't exist.  All of this, what's about to happen, is real.  He sighs heavily, shaking his head. 

"Betty, if I die, I die.  I don't care.  I'm sick of Tenner and his goons always getting in the way.  I'm sick of always wondering if he's gonna show up, if one of us is gonna get it.  It's going to end."

"Please," I beg, tears in my eyes, and I grasp his hand.  "Don't go.  I care about you Roy." 

He doesn't believe me, does he?  He's not even holding my hand.  It's just limp in mine.  He seems so far away, and there's a hint of sadness in his eyes. 

"Wow," he scoffs.  "You called me Roy."

His hand slips out of mine, and he leaves.  I'm pretty sure my heart smashed on the floor, and there's no way I can find all the pieces.  I just got a taste of my own medicine, only, it feels like someone took a bottle of poison and shoved it down my throat, eroding my insides.  Why did I have to say that back in the cave?  'You said my name', really?  I clench my fists, lowering my head.  It's over now.  I turn to the bar and take a seat on a stool, the bartender looking at me as he wipes down a glass.  I sniffle. 

"Give me the hardest drink you got," I order, a tear falling onto the counter.  

He approaches me, concerned. 

"Miss, I'm not sure if that's--"

"To hell with good ideas!" I shout.  "Just give me the drink.  It's just a movie anyway."

He pours me a glass of whiskey, obviously not liking it as he slowly hands it to me.  I kick my head back and down the drink, and I refuse to cough as it burns my throat.  I take a deep breath and motion for another fill.  This is definitely not the strongest in the world, but it'll have to do.  It's not like these people really know their liquor yet anyway.  I finish the second glass just as quickly as my first, and before I know it, I have the bottle to keep me company.  

"This never should've happened in the second place," I slur, trying to keep my balance on the stool.  "I should be home working on an assignment for college, but here I am!"

I reach for the bottle, almost knocking it over with my hand, but I manage to grab it with my fingers.  I turn the bottle upside down, but it barely drips out.  

"Bartender!" I call.  "I think it's empty."

  "I think you've had far more than enough," he counters, and takes the bottle away from me. 

I frown. 

"Aw, I wanted to keep that.  As a memento for when I go back."  I lean forward as he stares at me with frustration as he tries to hold it in.  "You see, I'm not from here.  This is a movie."  I point at him, then other men and women in the room.  "You're a character, you're a character.  You're all characters in my favorite film!"  My face crumples as tears pour down, and I sob.  "But now, I think it's a nightmare.  He doesn't love me anymore!"

I get up on my feet, struggling to stay up right and balanced as I twirl around.  Why is everything spinning?  Eh, oh well. 

"But you know what?  I don't care," I yell out, all eyes on me.  "If he wants to hate me, then he can go ahead.  Because I'm leaving, and none of this is real anyway!"