Cut to the beat

Conflict (or the lack there of)

Days had passed since that fateful night in their trailer, where their lips had met. Patrick sighed as he sat down in one of the chairs on set, relaxing between takes. Ellen hadn't spoke to a word to him since that night, beyond scripted lines. She ignored him in the trailer, making a plate of food for him occasionally when she felt favorable. He tried to make contact with her ended up keeping his mouth shut after a few minutes of realizing she wouldn't budge. Patrick found it strange, considering she was the one who initiated it, the kiss. The sweet kiss. The soft kiss full of heat. Gentle heat, not a lust, more of a warming desire. Desire. He didn't quite know what to do, seeing that Chris's 'housewarming' party was coming soon. Would he stand in the corner and watch her pick Chris? Pick him? Like there was a choice to be made. It made Patrick's blood surge through him, bubble in anger at the fact a choice had to be made.

"You okay Patrick?" Sandra Oh asked, watching him as he thought. Patrick looked up, caught off guard by her. Sandra and him were close, and he could see the worry reflected in her deep chocolate eyes. She knew a lot more than most people assumed she did. Sandra was a smart one.

"Oh I'm good Sandra. Thanks but I'm good." Patrick repeated his words, thinking if he says it enough then maybe it'll be true. Ellen walked by, placing a chart in the hanging folders. Patrick said nothing, only stared at her. In her light blue scrubs, which were unflattering on the rest of the world but her. They were drawstring and tied tightly around her boyish hips, the fabric hanging off her undershirt, which was very tight underneath. The illusion of large breasts were created, and Patrick wasn't one to mind although he knew reality was a little thinner. Ellen was a true waif, thin and long, if waifs were actually in a home with decent food. She turned, seeing Patrick look strung out.

"You look like crap." Ellen commented, venturing further towards him. She looked into his eyes, seeing the dark bags underneath. Patrick grit his teeth, glaring at her. He could not believe this, now it was her time to magically talk to him.

"You made me look like crap." He replied bitterly, pulling at his messy curls. Ellen looked down, shame crossing her pale face quickly.

"We need to talk. Tonight. After set." She stated, looking into his dark blue eyes. Patrick nodded, closing his eyes.

"We do." He agreed, getting up to restart their scene. With that he left. He couldn't believe he agreed but Ellen had said she would talk to him. Even if she ripped his heart out he couldn't say no. Just to hear her little accent, her sparkling giggle. One more time.
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Night had fallen in the LA skies, when Patrick and Ellen met up outside their trailer. Ellen looked sad, regretful. Obviously doubting herself as she spoke.

"Patrick. I know I froze you out for weeks. I know. It's wrong. I just knew I had to try for Chris. It's you that keeps me from wanting him. So I thought, no Patrick, no need to fight. But it just backfired and made me look like a bitch. I'm sorry Paddy." Ellen explained, her lower tip trembling. Patrick blinked, still furious but understanding.

"Because of what I said about the party. El, you could have told me instead of," Patrick lowered his voice, "kissing me and ignoring me. It felt like a freshmen year blow off okay." He replied, his expression becoming softer.

"Told you what?" A sophisticated posh tone asked from behind Patrick. He gulped.

"Jill. Why didn't you text me you were driving up? I was coming home tonight." He asked, surprised, turning around. Jill put her hands on her hips,

"Mmhmmm." She questioned him, and smiled at Ellen. Ellen waved, holding her car keys up.

"I'm heading home tonight too. Night all," she said, heading off like a jackrabbit caught in headlights. She headed into her car, taking deep breaths. Jill had shown up. Jill almost never came to the set. Jill walked in on their conversation. Did Jill know? Ellen jumped as her phone rang, mid panic attack.