And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 19

I KNOW BETTER than anyone about the past. The past is a vapid thing ready to rear it's ugly head and swallow you and the future whole. 

As a result, toss the bones in the casket, burry it deeper than 7ft under the ground in a forest without a map back. After all, everyone's got one that they'd keep buried. 

Which is why it's incredibly uncharacteristic of me to be so transfixed on Harry's past. Is it the fan-girl in me that's dying to know? Or is it the very recent encounter with his ex. 

It's as though Sarah Barbella cast a wicked spell on him. He's barely present. Not a mention of us trying to take that selfie together even though it's why we're stuck here. Maybe, I'd come on too strong the last time but I feel a little affronted that he hasn't even tried to bring it up. Instead, he seems almost lost in thought the whole time.

It's an impulse that drives me to say, "So Priya's having an unofficial cast and crew party tomorrow."

Harry is sitting across me, daydreaming while he eats a baked chicken with vegetables that he cooked for us. His green eyes flicker towards me. "Would it be weird if I don't make an appearance?"

"Let's ask Charles," I say sarcastically. I hadn't even bothered to tell Priscilla because I wasn't keen on going. I'd been hoping... for what? I don't even know but now that it's clear Harry's just thinking about how amazing his ex is, I'm feeling strange and reckless.

"Sure," he says ignoring my sarcasm but from the slant of his lips I know he heard it. He opens his phone and begins to text. "Isn't it pretty last minute?" he asks.

I bite the chicken, the juice oozing out from the warm flesh. "She told everyone last week, I'd just forgotten about it."

Harry frowns at this, "Not very smart on your part."

"And why is that?" I'm itching for a fight. I feel it at the back of my throat. The frustration. The anger. The annoyance with him building up. It's bad enough he's gone out with an ex but he barely brought it up. He didn't even tell me what they spoke about that's gotten him barely present.

Are they dating again?

Am I being fake cheated on?

"Because we need to appear as real as possible in this party. We can't look like we're playing a part and we're not given adequate time to prepare."

"What you mean is that you're not given adequate time to prepare."

He puts the fork down, swallows the bit of chicken and looks at me. Then, he groans and buries his face in his hands in a gesture so uncharacteristic of him that I freeze up in shock. "Exactly," his voice is pained and muffled from behind his hands.

A weird feeling stirs up in my chest. The whole situation throws me completely off guard that I just sit still as though waiting for someone to come out from behind a hidden camera to tell me I'd been pranked.

I waited for a minute, before I put my fork down, and reached over to pull his hands away from his face uncomfortable with this sudden display of unmasked honesty.

"It's not that hard," I say, "pretending to act."

He shakes his head, "It just feels harder in an actual intimate setting."

"The party isn't intimate," I say encouragingly.

He shakes his head, "You don't know the half of it, do you? House parties usually are. They're the breeding grounds of anonymous sources." I'm still touching his hand. I can't believe I'm still touching his hand. I moved it away but he didn't even notice. "If we don't go - it won't look good on you. If we go and fuck up, the world will still think I'm abusive."