𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 (EDITING)

𝟏𝟔

emerson

A muffled groan slipped through my lips as I bowed my head, the weight of discomfort evident in every heavy breath. The pain, sharp and unrelenting, surged from the wound, pulsating like a relentless ache. The need to disinfect it loomed over me, a task I dreaded but couldn't ignore.

"Florence, it looks pretty awful, doesn't it?" I expressed with a frown as she began applying the new bandage. The discomfort in my tone reflected the ongoing pain I was experiencing.

"It must be hurting a lot," Florence observed sympathetically, her voice tinged with concern as she worked on dressing the wound.

"It does," I confirmed with a wince, the persistent throbbing in my stomach a constant reminder of the agony I was enduring. "It's done." She announced.

As I sat up, a pang of discomfort shot through my abdomen, causing me to wince. We were in Florence's trailer, a temporary haven amidst the bustling filming schedule for "Black Widow." While the crew worked on shooting additional scenes, I found myself confined to the trailer, unable to contribute much due to the sudden onset of pain.

Feeling incapacitated, I remained seated, cradling my abdomen, hoping the discomfort would ebb away. Florence, engrossed in her filming responsibilities, had graciously allowed me to rest in her trailer. I spent the time watching movies, seeking solace in the familiar narratives on screen.

Occasionally, I glanced at the filming process through the trailer window, observing the actors immerse themselves in their roles. It was a fascinating glimpse behind the scenes, witnessing the dedication and artistry involved in bringing a film to life. Yet, my focus shifted back to the movies in front of me, providing a temporary escape from the persistent ache in my abdomen.

Florence's phone abruptly pierced the tranquility of the room with its persistent ringing. Startled, I groaned, my discomfort momentarily intensified by the unexpected noise. Gritting my teeth against the ache in my abdomen, I searched for the phone, following the jarring ringtone until I located it. The screen displayed an unknown caller ID, prompting a furrowed brow of confusion.

Carrying the phone, I stepped out of the trailer in search of Florence. Spotting her nearby, I approached and handed her the phone, still feeling the lingering pain in my abdomen. "It was an unknown caller," I mumbled, my voice reflecting both confusion and discomfort.

Florence glanced at me, her gaze briefly registering gratitude before she focused on the phone screen. With a nod of acknowledgment, she accepted her phone, immediately dialing the unknown number.

As I stood there, a silent observer to the unfolding scene, a myriad of emotions danced across Florence's face. At first, a smile graced her features, swiftly transforming into a frown, then morphing into a perplexed expression. However, what followed was a shift in her demeanor—her countenance shifted into a blend of fear and sadness, a mix of emotions that left me in a state of concern and curiosity.

"I don't understand," Florence's voice carried a note of urgency and concern as she activated the speakerphone, her fingers swiftly navigating through messages on the phone's screen. Her brows knitted together in disbelief at the information unfolding before her.

"This can't happen! You assured me you had found the perfect solution!" Her voice escalated into an exclamation, laced with a tinge of desperation. The situation seemed dire, evident from the distress ringing in her tone.