Forbidden - Pedro Pascal

Chapter 12: "Is it really you?"

"Great work today girls, I'll see you next week," I took a swig from my water bottle: my headache was still lingering from night, and from teaching in French and attempting to understand some of their thick Parisien accents. I knew I probably looked awful, no makeup and a hastily thrown on outfit, but it felt as if the whole class were gawping at me unnecessarily.

"Excuse me, Miss Lily?"

One of the quieter girls stood behind me, her bag slung on her shoulder. Today she had a slight glimmer in her eye. Her mouth opened lightly to start a sentence and she faltered, her eyes flickering.

"Is everything okay?" I frowned at her odd demeanour.

"I'm having trouble with this extension, would you mind helping me? I just feel like it's making me fall behind," she rubbed her calf with concern.

My heart beat slowed.

"Yeah of course,"

I showed her some simple extensions and then sent her off with some home exercises. As she walked away, her heel turned to spin in my direction once more.

"This is really rude but me and the girls were wondering and I just have to ask- is it really you?"

My heart faltered. "I- is what me?"

She pulled out her phone to a page of news articles. Every single one was a variation of pictures of me and Pedro at the premier, inside of the club and even some of me getting out of his car at the dance studio just a few hours ago.

Oddly enough, a deep sense of shame and embarrassment impacted my stomach, and I had nearly forgotten what the girl asked me.

"I- uhm, yes?" I sensed my eyes grow misty with tears, but there was no point in lying.

Muttering a few excuses to leave, I grabbed my bag and left, wrapping my cardigan closer to me in the chilly evening air of Paris.

As I paced up and down waiting for the Uber back to my apartment, I ached to turn on my phone and read all the articles, but held myself back; it would be too embarrassing in public, and for all I know someone could be hidden in a bush, taking pictures of me as a huge mess. A deep uneasiness rose in my core.

"Hi there, are you waiting for an Uber too?"

I startled as a woman shuffled on the pavement next to me, rubbing her hands together in the cold. She was thin, with a blond blowout bob and prominent cheekbones with a wide smile.

"Um, yeah," I chucked nervously, glancing at her through my peripheral as she craned her neck to look for cars.

She turned slowly to me, and my eyes landed on the notebook she was clasping, her eyes glittering with excitement. My stomach flipped as my brain made the connection and I was transported to the premiere:

"So, is this Pedro's stunning girlfriend we're blessed with tonight?"

I backed away from the disguised reporter and she took a step toward me, cocking her head in confusion and attempting to seem friendly, yet it only made me more scared.

"Would you be perhaps meeting someone special?" She slowly raised her notebook as she realised I recognised her.

"I- I have to go sorry," I blabbered, thankful for the Uber that was pulling up, and ran into the car.

-

Turning my key in the door, I fell into my apartment. Chica greeted me, rubbing herself against my legs and soon after I flopped down onto the couch with a bowl of ramen, and nothing but an oversized t shirt on. Reluctantly, I opened my phone and started to scroll.

Articles flooded the screen, as well as hundreds of messages from friends and distant mutuals asking me for details. I had never considered that this would be so important; sure, Pedro is famous, but how was it this big of a deal?

In a moment of weakness, I opened up my laptop and scoured the internet for his dating history; what shocked me is that there was none, aside from the odd baseless rumour.

I rubbed my face with my hands, reading more articles between my fingers as Chica settled into my lap. The words "controversially young" and "paedophilic" ran over my screen and I paused, filling with rage. As much as all the comments on my appearance and status were hurtful, calling him a pedophile was ridiculous; next week I turn 23.

Panic flooded over me as I realised the effect I could be having on his career, or his life. This wasn't fair. With shaking hands, I picked up the phone and dialled Pedro's number.

"Hey, you ok?"

Tears dripped down my face when I heard his voice and I clutched the phone, closing my eyes.

"Have you seen the stuff they're saying about you?" I replied lowly, wiping my face.

"Uhh, yeah but-"

"Pedro it's not fair them calling you all those things, this could ruin your life. I can't do this with you. I'm sorry, I really am,"

My voice wavered shakily. Holding my breath, I waited for an answer, but he was silent. Slowly I pressed end call and curled up, crying into Chica's fur until I fell asleep.