~~~~~
"You gon' have to do more than just--" Thud thud.
"You gon' have to do less when you--" Thud thud.
"Lil mama, you know I...--" Thud thud thud.
The chain of the punching bag creaks under the pressure of my throws, drowning out half of the lyrics of the song blasting through my speakers. Part of me is happy with the fact that through filming and training, I've gotten stronger, but the other half of me is still stuck back home, a small girl who had no idea that she would ever have this strength or have the ability to play such a large role in such a large franchise.
But Teresa's supposed to be strong, and since I have had to play her for the past months, I am too.
I knowingly missed my flight back home. Well, then, I think to myself, you didn't really miss it - you skipped it. A mirthless laugh falls from my lips as I bounce on the balls of my feet, shifting position in front of the punching bag.
You're too stressed to make good jokes right now, y/n. Try after the premiere.
I lean forward, throwing my body into a strong punch to the side of the bag. The chain creaks again, loudly, but there is also the unmistakable sound of the door opening, then clicking shut as someone steps inside. I glance at the mirrored wall in front of me, and watch as Thomas enters silently, crossing his arms as he shuts the door.
I let myself throw a few more punches before pausing, wiping the sweat from my hairline. "Why aren't you on a plane right now?" I ask, not turning, rather watching him through the mirror.
"There was still one person left unaccounted for." He responds, leaning against the wall next to the door and eyeing me.
"Hm." I murmur, looking back to the punching bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Thomas stand up straight, walking over to me. He takes a few long strides, stepping behind the bag. He eyes me down, and I raise an eyebrow. "Don't think I won't hit it."
He simply cocks an eyebrow in response, and I take it as a cue to drive my fist firmly into the centre of the bag. His eyes widen as the air knocks out of him, and I hear a gasped 'fuck' as he pulls back, rubbing at his ribs. "I thought you were joking," he says, catching his breath.
"I can't seem to make a good joke right now," I murmur, mainly to myself as I look down, playing with the wrappings around my hands.
He looks over to me, slipping in between me and the punching bag. "Y/n," he murmurs softly. I keep my eyes lowered, until he slips a hand underneath my chin, tilting my face so that he could actually look at me. "I know you, alright? I know that you're stressed. What's going on?"
I glance up at him, before shaking my head. "Nothing, Thomas. I'm fine."
"Y/n."
I sigh, pulling back from him and rubbing one covered hand over my eyes. "Fine. People are expecting a basic, well-known actress to play Teresa. Some cookie-cutter chick, not me. I'm the last girl someone would expect to play her and I'm scared, Thomas, what if the reviews about me mess the movie's ratings up? This is gonna be a huge movie, people are already upset with my casting, and I really don't wanna flop this movie, Tom, damn it --"
He sighs, taking my arms and wrapping them around him as I continue. "--and it sounds like I'm complaining, but I really can't mess this role up, I can't do it, God," I murmur against his chest. Until I finish my rant, he doesn't stop holding me tightly, running his hand over my hair. We stand there for a few more moments, before I pull back, rubbing my face again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to throw it all on you."
