Ineffable

i. press conference

now / in which sawyer attends a press conference

“Shall we begin?”

                A number of heads bowed in harmony. Eyes stared onwards. Backs stood straight. Fingers wrapped around fountain pens while knees held up wired notebooks. The scene made Sawyer feel uncomfortable. This was the most bothersome aspect of her job. Nonetheless, here she was, sitting next to Alec Chastain and smiling tightly at the spectators. 

“Questions will be asked one reporter at a time, please,” Aya reminded the room of mute journalists. “There will be no flash photography, please make certain your mobile phones have been switched off, and remember to identify yourself and your media outlet at the time you pose your question to any member of the film.” Then, she picked someone with a flick of her finger, randomly, nodding her head at him or her to inquire as they wished.

It was a boyish man of short height, mediocre suit, and thick-framed glasses. He wore a slightly nervous expression. Perhaps this was his first press conference. Sawyer imagined him walking into the office earlier that same morning and being handed this job. She imagined his wide eyes, startled face, and stammering of, ‘y-yes, of course I’ll do it!’ It made her chuckle. Alec, who sat next to her, raised a brow in question. She merely shook her head and focused her attention.

"George Maxin, Empire. Lily’s Goodbye will be out in cinemas this Friday. How are you all celebrating the release?” 

To no one's astonishment, Alec was the first to speak. Confidence was his middle name and answering questions for the media was his strongest talent. That, and smoking in secret even when he was supposed to be quitting.

"I think Nico's having a party at his place," he replied, turning his head slightly to glance at Nico Pallas, who played Wyatt in Lily's Goodbye. Alec grinned when Nico rolled his eyes and shook his head. They were very good friends, as Sawyer had come to know in the few months she worked with them. They had known one another since they were kids, when their mums would drop them off at the same primary school each morning. "Alright, then, I guess I'm having a party. Here's hoping Niamh shows up." 

Niamh Wilson, who played Albany, choked on her water and, from what Sawyer could tell, refrained from swinging her middle finger up for the entire conference to see. Alec was always teasing her. 

"Okay, next question, please," Aya interrupted, before things spiralled out of control. 

“Amelia Hills, Uncut,” said a brown haired woman from her seat, “this is a question for Sawyer: your character, Lily, is a pianist. Throughout the film, we are shown scenes of Lily practicing piano in her family home, in Richard Olivary’s mansion, and in the finale, at a concert. Were you previously acquainted with the instrument or did you learn strictly for this film?” 

“I would say it was strictly for this film,” Sawyer answered truthfully, leaning forward in her chair, “but, I did learn a bit of piano while I was in school. I was never a massive fan of the instrument, but I received a few lessons from my mum's friend. It was fun and I'm glad I got to pick it up again for the film." 

Amelia noted her response and with a quick, "thank you," she leaned back against her chair. Aya picked another person to speak. 

“Nicole Peters, Film Journal. This question is also for Sawyer,” the woman said, tapping a button on her sound recorder. “You are the youngest cast member in Lily’s Goodbye. This is your first film and yet, you are the main character. You don't see that happening every day in the film industry for a film as big as this one. John Cavendish recently said in an interview, 'Sawyer Ashfield is the greatest almost-mistake I've ever made as a filmmaker.' How did you land the role and do you have any comments in regards to what he said?" 

"Uh," she scratched the back of her left ear in nervousness. "When I was eighteen, I was in a school play for King Lear. I played Cordelia. On the first night of the performance, Aya and John were seated somewhere in the crowd. They liked me and in a few weeks, I was in New York, filming. You know, just your typical scouting for talent sort of thing." 

"Well, that being said," Aya interrupted, smiling warmly at the girl, "Sawyer blews us away with her performance. It was the best thing John and I had seen in ages. She's very talented, as you all know. She didn't only play Cordelia, she embodied the whole of her character and moved the entire audience to tears. It was brilliant." 

Her cheeks flushed. Even three years later, being praised for her talent remained unusual. She mouthed a quick 'thank you' to Aya and slumped a little in her seat. Niamh chuckled, elbowing her side while the questions moved onward. 

.x.

The stairs to her one bedroom flat were narrow, sleek, and the most difficult task she had to face every morning and night. Whenever she came over, Alice always inquired why she refused to take the lift instead. They were quicker and would rid her of the heavy breaths she took when she climbed the flight of stairs. But each time, Sawyer would reply with, "Nope. No way. Not again" because the one time she had been locked in there, alone, and then rescued four hours later had painted a rather delirious image in her head and was meant to last the entirety of her life. 

Thus, she took the stairs, like a relentless burden. 

Throwing the her car and flat keys in the little basket near the door, she slipped out of her coat and pushed her boots to the side. For a moment, she didn't do as she normally did and headed straight for the kitchen to wash her hands and cook something edible. Instead, she looked at her home, as if seeing it for the first time. 

It was so quiet. Vacant, silent, and missing something she could not name. 

The walls were tinted a pale white, the colour of white peonies, and her mother's favourite flower. She remembers when she first picked out the colour, with Sabbie on a Tuesday afternoon when the sun had shone brilliantly and the summer had only begun. Her friend insisted on a different shade, "give your place a pop of colour, ya know?" and she had only declined. White was simple. White was normal. White didn't remind her of a time she wishes she could forget the way 'red ochre' did. 

Pretending things were alright has become her biggest and toughest challenge, next to her actual career. Things hadn't been 'alright' for three years now, despite how the media was persistent it was. To the world, she was the new, up-and-coming actress. Things were meant to be easy for her. They were meant to be perfect.

But they weren’t.

An enlarged photograph of two people was hung delicately on the wall of the lounge. A boy with a light, chestnut hair gently held the face of a surprised girl when he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss. The tips of his fingers touched the edges of her face whilst his palms lay flat against her cheeks, holding her in place, yet bringing her close. The photograph was in black-and-white, yet she knew details of the story behind that photograph all too well to escape her mind.

And, even today, she could still feel the warmth of his hands on her face and the memory of the last time he kissed her. 

- - - 

author's note: updates for this story will occur once every week (probably) starting mid-may. there may be times when i am unable to update, but i will always try my absolute hardest to make sure i keep you guys in the loop. i'm way too excited to be starting this story up again, ahhh. 

dedicated to fatima. she is a work of art, honestly. i love her, and her kindness, cute little face (aw), incredible talent, and all-around wonderful persona. she is an amazing person and i am quite lucky to call her my little sister and close friend.