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I took it upon myself to Photoshop Mitch's "dark wavy romantic chick flick hetero hair." You're welcome. A picture is worth a thousand words, so this chapter is done now. No? Okay, fine. On with the show.
Wait, before we begin, TELL ME WHEN YOU SEE TYPOS. I'M BEGGING YOU.
Why did I think watching Superfruit and crying was a good idea? Why is this channel even up anymore? Scott and I both have the password, but neither of us have deleted it. Too much time went into it. There are too many perfect moments here to take it down. It's been inactive since a few months before Pentatonix disbanded. We saw the end coming from a long way off, but that didn't make it easy.
I stop halfway through my first episode, Spelling and Superjuice, and go back to Twitter. I log into my main account, hoping my notifications will cheer me up, but everyone's asking me if I saw Scott's single. "I miss you," I type. Who am I kidding? I can't tweet that, not with a Blood Alcohol Count of 0.00. There's more than enough vodka in the house, but I don't drink much anymore, and I never drink alone. I didn't before because I had Scott, and I don't now because I'm afraid. It would be so easy for me to ruin everything I still have.
+ I miss you.
Done. I didn't think I would actually send it. Notifications pour in, favorites and retweets, people tagging Scott, people offering me hugs, people talking like I'm not here, people begging me to notice them, people starting fights about other people assuming I'm talking to Scott, people saying "I miss you too, babe," everything. A message from Scomiche22 catches my eye.
> He doesn't deserve you.
What's that supposed to mean? I'm too good for him, or he's done nothing to deserve what I've put him through? The double entendre is probably all in my head. He's probably just acting out his alter ego regardless of his own feelings, just trying to be nice. Maybe he's genuinely trying to comfort me. If he wants to comfort me, he can do it himself. I dial him again and count nine rings before I'm sent to voicemail. "It's Scott. Leave a message!"
"I miss you." I stay on the line until it cuts me off. It's how it has to be. I shouldn't have let myself forget that.
It's early yet, but the silent siren of exhaustion summons me to sleep. I press my weary soles against the sisyphean steps ascending to my room, bearing my grief before me. I'll rest, and I'll repeat it all tomorrow.
I collapse into my elysian feather bed, and Richard the lion keeps watch from my arms as I shut my eyes. Just as I'm slipping away, my phone pulls me back. "Hey Alexandra," I slur quietly. "What's up, sweetheart?" There's no answer. The connection clicks and goes silent. For all my fame and fortune, I still get calls from heartless robots who hang up for no reason. That's probably what they mean when they say money can't buy happiness. I roll over and fall asleep in seconds. Alex, who is also Scott in my dream, sends me looking for ice cream, but there's only pistachio flavor left, so I buy postage stamps and drop them off at the recording studio in the back room of the supermarket.
--
Acting is an excellent distraction from life, and I'm glad my hours are so long today. I'm sick of my own despondent thoughts. I'm well beyond the point where it's healthy to be a bit sad, and I need to carry on with my life. We start filming at a bakery downtown, and it almost reminds me of Paris. In the afternoon and through sunset, we film on the beach. I wade into the waves and think of Calypso and Odysseus on the other side of the world, in the same ocean. Did Alex love me even then?
I stage whisper sweet nothings into Val's ear. The script is full of sappy things no human would ever say, no matter how infatuated, but with the sun sinking behind me and the ocean trickling down me, it's easy to pretend. I look at her the way Scott used to look at me. He's so in love. I told myself those words were all part of the act. I've seen them before, after all, from countless fans. I'm starting to think Alex was mistaken, though, and it's not Scott's account at all, or maybe that it used to be until Scott changed his username and someone else took it. He said he was from L.A., though, and that he went to all Scott's concerts. Also, he (or she? They? His bio doesn't specify his alter ego's pronouns) loves Finding Nemo too much. What proof is there, though? I didn't see anything only Scott and I know. I need to dig back through old tweets and check, but why should that get me anywhere? I'm careful not to include anything he'd recognize on my fan accounts, and he probably is too.
What I need to do is stop thinking and keep acting. "I'm so in love," I breathe, pushing a strand of Val's hair behind her ear. She smiles with her cheeks and her ears while pursing her lips shyly. I count out three beats, the way I practiced, as I study her face. She's doing what I suggested, telling one story on the surface and another right beneath it. "I can't live without you," I profess, doing my utmost to make it sound less cheesy than it is. She looks up. Her eyes are round and solid blue. Just solid, not piercing like Scott's or shifting like Alex's. After all these years, I still can't decide what color Alex's eyes are. They're different every time I look at them. "I need you. You may not feel the same, but my heart will always beat for you only. I know that now." I really hope they cut at least half of these lines, because I don't know how anyone is going to sit through this whole monologue. "I never knew true happiness until I met you. You're my light. You," I pause for effect, looking at her as if for the first time, "you're everything."
"Then why did you go?" she asks. On the surface, she's concerned, softening her words so they don't cut too deep, and just beneath that, she's hurt, shrinking into herself for protection.
My words are gone. The script says something like, "I had to," but all that passes my lips is a hollow, "Forgive me."
Val continues seamlessly, pulling a line from later in the script. She looks down and answers sadly, "I wish I could." I want to turn away. I want to wade deeper and deeper until I'm walking underwater. Instead, I reach out, and she reaches back, and I realize who called me last night.
