Winter Hearts

Nothing

The clip played again, an annoying sequence of saccharine stupidity. The pretty hair, that smile.

His laugh.

Why did her smile seem too much?

Why did it also seem not enough? Not worthy enough. Not good enough.

Worse than seeing him with his friends.

Worse than seeing him with his co-stars.

It was a confirmation, and a destruction.

Thoughts came quickly, feelings flowed faster. It was that same sequence that began upon reading an announcement of a new event. Memorising the schedules and planning, making sure to be a step ahead and ready, ready to capture one more brilliant, beautiful picture.

It was how she captured him.

She knew what having fans was about. Her own fans adored her selflessness. They didn't ask for it, but she put out. She put out so fast and so easy. She bought the tickets, she made sure she traded them up to the front rows, centre. She made freebies to give away, because it was how she claimed herself.

This is me, the one who gives you this.

She paid for her flight tickets, only after making sure she would arrive at the same time, or if she had to, just before. Sometimes she paid extra to make sure she and he flew together. Sometimes she could work it out through snippets of information, or through a kind of common sense one who had more knowledge than others could apply.

She worked out which hotel. Sometimes, she only worked it out after she had followed them to it. She rarely ever stayed at the same place, because all she wanted was to know - and if she ever took her pictures, it was just for herself. That part of it, she would not share. She followed the rules as much as she bent them. It all made sense to her, after all, she could have some leeway since she was doing this out of her own pocket, couldn't she?

She rarely displayed any excitement, never lost her composure in front of him. She kept her distance, reaching out only with her lens, not really understanding why it seemed so intrusive to them.

She wasn't even touching him. Why would her actions be dangerous, when she kept her distance? Why would she be included in that group of silly girls who let their emotions run high enough to cause them to contravene the implied agreement that they would all toe the line?

But now, here, was someone who hadn't, didn't keep her distance.

And despite the fact that she had broken the rules, he had let her in.

The anger - no, the rage that she felt ran deeper than any of the intensity of her constant pursuit of that perfect moment to capture - a moment that was just theirs, because she took that photo.

She looked at the clip again, feeling those familiar urges to make all the necessary arrangements kick in, and despised, despised those pretty eyes, the familiar, too, too familiar way with which she spoke to him, that damned hair and that damned smile.

She hadn't worked so hard, so selflessly, to please them and their rules, to please countless anonymous, ingratiating lovers of her pictures, to have it all mean nothing.

To have it all be for nothing.