Behind the Curtain (Sequel to "Letting Him Go")

Chapter 8 - Nowhere Safe

What they don't tell you about Hollywood is that the cameras never stop clicking. Even when the sun has set, the lights are off, and the covers are pulled tightly over your head, they don't stop. Even when you think they're not watching anymore— that the world is asleep just because you are, they don't stop clicking and they never will.

What they don't tell you is that the clicking takes over your sleepless mind— cutting through the darkness and disturbing the silence of any space you've ever called your own. Darkness, silence, privacy. Privileges that you give up the day people start to know your name.

And it gives me a headache.

I sit alone, hunched over her dinner table, fingers pressed against my temples. The clicking echoes through my ears, throbbing against my skull. Make it stop. I shake three Motrin tablets out onto my hand and pop them into my mouth, gulping them down with a glass of water. It never really helps.

The clock reads 12:53 AM— time to go home. Do I go home? Do I leave her alone with him in this giant house? A dark, sinking feeling fills my stomach, anchoring me to my seat at the table. Will he be there when she wakes up? I hate that I even have to ask. Once upon a time I would have happily strolled out of the house three hours ago, knowing that she was safe between strong arms that would hold her faithfully through the night. Today I'm not so sure.

The clicks follow me up the stairs, trailing the sound of my footsteps as I pad towards her room. The door is slightly propped open and I notice that the light is strangely still on— the warm yellow glow of her favorite night lamp streaming through the crack. Are they still awake? I stop and gingerly press my ear against the door. Nothing. Nothing but phantom cameras clicking through my head. I frown, carefully pulling the door further open and peering inside.

And then the clicking stops. For the first time in 11 years, a deafening silence floods my ears like a cool river— releasing the tension in my head, rushing through my neck and then trickling down across my shoulders. Just like that, the clicking is gone— as if someone reached up into the sky and flicked a simple switch, turning it all off and welcoming the sweet darkness.

It isn't the kind of darkness that falls behind curtains but a true, profound darkness— a place that no cameras, no prying hands could possibly reach. It is the darkness of sleep, somewhere between awake and dreaming— a impenetrable space where two humans carrying the cruel burden of two multi-million dollar names could exist purely as...humans.

It is impossibly beautiful and absolutely heartbreaking.

The lamp is still on because he doesn't care to turn it off. His eyes flutter in the dim light and she is sound asleep, breathing softly against his chest. She wears nothing but a large white t-shirt and he lies beside her, shirtless and still in his dress pants from the gala— the rest of his clothes folded neatly on the sofa.

He holds her on top of the bed— his arm looping around her waist and emerging from underneath her to rest on her bare hip. Her head rests in the space where his shoulder meets his chest— one hand tucked under her chin and the other splayed just below his collarbone, his heartbeat carrying her through the tides of sleep. The worry that normally plagues her expression when she dreams is gone. She looks peaceful.

He's awake— his eyes barely open and his movements slow, but he's awake. His free arm is folded into his chest and only his fingertips move— skimming gently across the slopes of her cheekbones. I watch him as he watches her sleep, blue eyes blinking lazily down at her sleeping face— tracing her features ever so slowly, memorizing her by touch.

It looks a lot like goodbye.

"She fell asleep before I could turn the light off."

I'm startled by the sound of his voice, although it is barely a whisper. His eyes remain on her face and his palm flattens against her cheek, but I know he's talking to me.