Plus One

Part 4 - A Rose by any other Name

Torture is nothing like what they depict in war and spy movies - physical harm such as harsh beatings or the cruel application of water or electrical current.

Real torture, I soon discovered, is having to work with someone fourteen hours a day without...anything.

Without touching them.

Without laughing with them.

Without talking over the small incidences of every day.

Without being enveloped in their smell.

Without having them look deep into your soul.

Without the ability to comfort and be comforted by them.

Without being able to say and show that you love them, wholly and unconditionally.

Tom and I were working together in a kind of false truce – false from my point of view, anyway, when what I really wanted was total capitulation. Outwardly I treated him much as I did any other member of the cast and crew – well, the ones I hadn't worked with before, at any rate, as most of those were good friends. He treated me with – hell, I didn't really know what it was. He waited for me to precede him through doorways but stood so far back it seemed he couldn't bear the possibility I'd accidentally brush him on my way. Then he'd appear beside me in the catering tent, recommending different foods and occasionally even putting some on my plate without asking. If he had any queries regarding the script or his character's raison d'etre, he would call Josh and I over and we'd discuss it without him ever once implying any criticism or negativity towards my script. But we never talked or joked or laughed beyond the strictures of a working relationship, never met as anything but polite and almost-but-not-quite-friendly co-workers. I watched him interact with everyone else to see if he treated me any differently but found I wasn't objective enough to decide.

Meanwhile, I was at last managing to sleep a few hours each night but was plagued with vivid dreams, mostly of him, that left me shaking and heart-sore every morning. Food remained unappetizing with the exception of the morsels he pressed on me. I'd lost more weight and it was taking ever-increasing amounts of concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes, but I couldn't see any way of resolving either issue.

One night as I was heading home in a taxi after leaving the set quite late, a song came on the radio by a new singer I'd been hearing about, Cara de Luca, and many of the lyrics touched a chord in me.

I can't control my feelings

I can't control my thoughts

I'm staring at the ceiling

Wondering how I got so caught

You're completely off limits

For more reasons than just one

But I can't stop

You're aware of my existence

But you don't know I'm here

You're the centre of attention

You control the atmosphere

You're so busy being busy

I don't want to interfere

But I can't stop

So I'll remain within your reign

Until my thoughts can travel somewhere new

My mind is blind to everything but you