Media Secret: Hidden Johansson

Day Two Emotioal Damage

The morning started early, the kind of early that made me question if I was cut out for this. The alarm buzzed at 5:30 a.m., and I groaned as I rolled out of bed in the small flat I was renting in Manchester. Alex had been kind enough to help me find the place, a cosy one-bedroom apartment with exposed brick walls and a view of the city that somehow felt both intimate and infinite. It wasn't much, but it was mine for now, and I liked the simplicity of it.

By the time I arrived on set, the crew was already buzzing with activity. The industrial building we were filming in had been transformed overnight into a completely new location. Yesterday, it had been Ethan's apartment, a space cluttered with the remnants of his life falling apart. Today, it was a diner, the kind of place where the coffee is always burnt, and the jukebox hasn't worked in years.

Hailee was already there, sipping on what I assumed was her third coffee of the morning. She waved me over, her energy somehow bright despite the early hour. "Morning, Tom. Ready for another day of emotional chaos?" As she pulled me into a quick hug.

I laughed, though it was a bit dry. "As ready as I'll ever be. What's on the docket today?"

"Big scene," she said, leaning in conspiratorially. "It's where Sam and Ethan have their first real confrontation. You know, where all the unresolved tension bubbles over, and they finally say what they've been holding back."

Ah, yes. That scene. I'd read it a dozen times, but the weight of it still pressed on me. It was one of the pivotal moments in the film, the kind of scene that could make or break the characters' relationship.

Alex appeared then, his usual calm presence grounding me. "Morning, Tom. Morning, Hailee. You two ready to dig in?"

We both nodded, and Alex smiled. "Good. Let's talk through the scene before we start shooting."

We gathered in a quiet corner of the set, the three of us huddled over the script. Alex was meticulous, walking us through every beat of the scene, every subtle shift in emotion.

"This isn't just a fight," he explained. "It's a release. Ethan's been holding everything in—his guilt, his shame. Let's Roll!"

"Action"

The diner felt oppressive, the air thick with the smell of burnt coffee and stale grease. I sat in the booth, staring down at the chipped mug in front of me, my hands wrapped around it like it might ground me. The scene was supposed to feel intimate, raw—a conversation between two people with too much history and not enough closure. But as the words left my mouth, they weren't just Ethan's anymore. They were mine.

"I'm sorry, I haven't got back to you sooner I wasn't ready," I said, my voice low, almost breaking.

Hailee—Sam—sat across from me, her eyes sharp but soft at the edges, like she knew exactly what I was about to say. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "That's not an answer."

I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. It wasn't the script anymore. It was the truth I'd spent years trying to bury.

"I didnt know what else to do okay?" I said, my voice cracking. "I'm trying to figure it out, but every time I think I'm getting somewhere, it all falls apart again. So I left."

Her response hit me like a punch to the gut. "You don't get to make this about you. You think you're the only one who's hurting? I waited and waited!"

The silence in the room was deafening. I could feel every pair of eyes on me, but I didn't care. The weight of her words—my words—settled in my chest, pressing down until it felt like I couldn't breathe.

"Cut," Alex's voice called, shattering the moment.

But I couldn't move. My hands were trembling, still gripping the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping me upright. I wasn't in the diner anymore. I was back there, sitting at the sunny sided cafe with the metal chair benign me as I tapped on the table waiting for her to show.