Paparazzi Boy

10. No Better

Max buttoned his shirt and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was getting ready earlier than usual to be able to spend some time with Belle before the next show. They had been spending a lot of time together before shows and it was the one time they could be alone, be themselves. As hard as it was to admit, he couldn't deny that he was becoming attached to her. They were alike in more ways than one, and their conversations were always so organic, it was difficult to not get carried away.

There wasn't much of a physical thing happening between them yet, but everyday he found it harder to stay at a distance from her. He was cautious with her. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was almost afraid of what they were becoming. He never intended to become close enough to her where it affected him - just close enough for her to trust him. So why was he always filled with emotion when he was with her?

It had been a couple of weeks since he had last spoken to Emma and he was becoming grateful for the distance between them. Although they weren't together, it was hard to distinguish the blurred line she always tried to straighten because it was clear she wanted more as much as she denied it, and he always had to remind her that sometimes, he needed less. She had left a few messages here and there, but he made it a point to keep the conversation short. He wasn't sure what his end goal was yet, but he was trying to figure it out along the way.

What he had figured out so far? He was enjoying Belle's company a lot more than he wished he was. He would find more ways to spend time with her and she never fought it. It was mutual, he could tell.

The bet he had made with Jim stayed in the back of his mind. It clung onto every precious moment he had with Belle, and it hung around at night, in his head while he tried to sleep. Jim would call every once in a while to ask about his progress, but most of the time, it just felt like a threat.

He looked at himself in the mirror once more before walking out of the bathroom and heading towards Belle's dressing room. She was most likely still alone in her trailer, as they still had a little bit of time before she had to start getting ready. He strolled down and had to make a few stops when people wanted to talk to him or say hello, but when he reached Belle's trailer, he looked around and didn't hear a sound. He knocked on her door. No response. He frowned and knocked again, not hearing anything. Maybe she was napping. She had been telling him how exhausted she had been lately.

He tried the door and noticed that it was unlocked, and let himself in. Looking at the living space, he didn't see her, but saw a light coming from her bathroom. He walked towards it and cracked the door open slightly, before catching a glimpse of Belle. She was leaning over her the sink, the top of her head barely making a reflection through the mirror. He could hear her inhaling deeply. His eyes furrowed. He took a few more steps towards her before he recognized what she was doing.

He'd seen it before, especially since his father was apart of the industry. He was more familiar with it than he wanted to admit.

The jitters, the constant moving, the constant need to be doing something, the anxiety. He had seen warning signs but the adoration he had for her blinded him. He didn't want to believe it. She was different. She was better than that. Wasn't she?