the actress & the athlete | sam kerr

nine

it did not take long for the speculation sheva feared to rear its ugly head. within hours of being photographed and the social media interactions between them, the media and fans ran with the narrative that sheva and sam were seeing each other.

which objectively wasn't actually true.

yes they were getting VERY cozy, but by the time the daily mail were printing thinkpieces about the two, they were technically just friends that kissed a lot, maybe shared a bed, perhaps did things together that friends don't usually do, but alas.

sam's friends crowded her, congratulating her in between her attempts to defuse the situation and explain that it's not entirely true. texts from mac and foord flooded into the matilda's group chat about how they both correctly guessed the mystery girl in sam's riddles, teasing her for her disappearance a couple of nights before. sam would often gloat about the girls on her roster, but this felt different, more high-stakes than usual. still, she couldn't help but laugh it off.

sheva on the other hand, was cooped up in her room, waiting for an email invitation for a lengthy PR intervention via zoom that didn't seem to be coming any time soon, but knew it was brewing. as she face planted the bed, margaret poured her a glass of water, attempting to soothe her anxiety, placing it on the table and sitting right beside her.

"it's fine. it's fine. it's not like anything is actually going on." margaret broke the silence to a sheva who let out an amplified groan.

"how are you so oblivious?" sheva muffle screamed into her pillow, knowing that margaret had the most run-ins with her and sam's situationship.

"I guess I just mind my business, but still, who cares?" margaret shrugged. she was the type of girl to love who she loved and do what she wanted with no qualms. sheva desperately wanted to be more like that.

"you're entitled to a personal life. you're not an actress 24/7. remember that." in a rare moment of seriousness, margaret's words comforted sheva.

sheva knew her careless actions in the week would land her in this situation, but she couldn't stop herself. maybe she wanted to try her luck, to see if she could never get caught. maybe she wanted to get caught, and stop living a lie. hours went by, staring at the ceiling, scrutinising herself, trying to think up 5 things she can see, 4 she can smell, 3 she can hear, 2 can smell, 1 she can taste. a crucial therapy tip.

👁
an obnoxious navy blue cushion with gold beaded decoration,
her rose gold ipad, on the hardwood stained floor,
a pile of clothes, in a ball of black and white, kicked by the door,
a script, held together by purple string, on her cluttered dressing table,
a dated friends box set above a vintage wardrobe that had clearly outgrown the smart tv attached to the wall.

✋🏼
a soft waffle blanket, currently draped over her, in a unmistakable coral shade.
her unnecessarily big iphone, in her hand, that awaited a call, an email, anything.
the books above the shelved headboard, begging to be read.
her soft moisturised skin as she held and comforted herself.

👂🏼
the unintelligible conversations either side of the wall from the neighbouring chelsea girls. sheva was sandwiched between sophia and guro, but that fact didn't matter, nobody's room was entirely their own.
the tv, turned low, playing replays of rupauls drag race entirely for sheva's comfort.
the occasional ping of a mundane notification.

👃🏼
if you come into sheva's presence, there is a permanent variation of a tom ford inspired aroma.
sam's chelsea hoodie found a home underneath sheva's chin, she could just smell... her.

👅
besides the peppermint from her everlasting chewing gum obsession, sheva could taste the last kiss she had with the girl she was doting on.