My Leading Man | Timothée Chalamet

chapter eighteen

I stumbled onto the sand and fumbled around for my phone. I called Max, asking him to please come pick me up, and everything else went by so fast I could hardly keep up.

Ava and Evan appeared by my side, though I sent them away and headed toward the parking lot. Max came minutes later and I climbed in, never daring once to look back at the beach behind me. He looked at me, concerned, and asked if I was okay. I told him yes, I just wasn't feeling well and needed to go home. His coffee-colored eyes lingered on mine a moment longer, but finally he agreed and drove me back to Dayna's, where I climbed into bed and promptly fell into a thick, dreamless sleep.

-

My alarm went off much too early for filming on Tuesday, and I reluctantly rolled out of bed and pulled on the first thing I saw - a light sweater cardigan over a t-shirt and jean shorts and left without putting any makeup on. That is, until I had a memory flash through my mind of the night before; of Syd and Tim... I couldn't even think it, but I groaned and decided I had to look decent, so I did some light makeup and hair retouching before leaving the room.

The morning was overcast and cool as I walked to the bus stop, carrying a coffee from Dayna's kitchen that helped put me slightly more at ease, if nothing else but for the familiarity it brought. I flopped onto one of the bus seats and closed my eyes, finally getting a chance to breathe.

Which quickly turned out to be a bad idea.

My mind flooded with glimpses of my behavior the night before, and all I could do was massage my temples in regret. I remembered the hurt flashing in Ava's eyes when I asked to be let alone and my insensitivity towards Evan, who were the two most undeserving people of my foolishness. Then there was Max, who picked me up late in the night just to take me home because I was upset, and finally, there was Timothée. His beautiful eyes on me in the beginning of the night, and the horrible ending of him and Syd lip-locked on the beach.

The memory made my throat go dry and my growing anxiety come back with a vengeance, and I took a drink of my coffee.

All this time I'd been fully expecting Timothée to stop liking me at any second, I guessed I just hadn't expected it to happen so fast. It hurt, and I hated myself for that. I liked Max, and now it wasn't fair of me to just be upset that someone - who I'd rejected - had stopped liking me. I just liked the attention. That was it.

The bus pulled up near the set, which was on USC campus again. Today's filming would be short, we only had to film one brief scene here. I walked slowly across campus, when I spotted Timothée walking, just about ten feet away.

My heart stuttered in protest. It was painful seeing him, with his dark curls in disarray across his forehead, his hands stuffed in the pockets of the gray sweatpants he was wearing. I looked forward, hoping he wouldn't see me and we wouldn't have to interact, but no such luck.

"Hey Violet." He said it almost grudgingly, like he didn't want to talk to me either.

Ugh.

I turned and smiled, hoping it was convincing. "Hey. How are you?"

He made a pained face, looking away from me. Uh oh, is he mad at me? "I'm okay. Yesterday..."

I waited for him to continue but he never did. "Yesterday?" I asked and he laughed wryly.

"Nothing. I'm just tired I guess." He was watching the ground again and silence surrounded us. The air around us felt thick and tense. "How are you? Looked like you left early yesterday." He turned to me then, for the first time today. Time seemed to slow as his eyes met mine, but only for a moment before he looked to the ground again.