Not safe anywhere ...
It was too fucking early.
Granted, she and Carlos had been up far too late but the vodka had been cold and his hands warm and they stretched out on the concrete deck by the pool, him in a lounge chair, her on top of him, their legs entwined while he ran his fingers up and down her spine. In the dim light from the candle that flickered on the table near them, shadows had stretched across the yard, swallowing the secrets they whispered to each other as each hour passed. In the depths of the witching hour, he'd leaned his cheek against hers, whispered how he loved her, that they'd met for so many reasons, and she'd lost herself in the kiss.
She'd forgotten about the early show interview until her alarm blared the reminder. Carlos had chuckled into her back as she extracted herself from their position on the bed. Tucking blankets around him, she'd tiptoed out, hoping that the makeup artists would be able to do wonders with her hair because she was at a loss. Afterward, she'd changed and grabbed a cup of coffee and received a text from Colin telling her that he'd never seen someone look quite so well fucked on morning TV.
Her call was early enough that it wasn't worth it to make the drive home so she turned her car toward the studio, figuring she could nap until she was needed in the makeup chair. There were messages from her manager and lawyer to return regarding if it was possible for her to come forward over the situation with Doug but she wasn't in a place to return them. Not until she managed to sleep.
Parking the car, she contemplated taking her one-cigarette-a-day break but decided to wait until a break later. She'd rather be awake and enjoy it. Lost in checking her phone and digging for the key to her trailer, she didn't pay much attention to the PAs running about, doing their jobs. She also didn't notice the person sitting on the steps of her trailer until she almost stepped on him.
"Fuck, I'm ..." the "sorry" died on her lips. Staring up at her, a self-righteous smirk on his lips, a sinister glint in his blue eyes, was the face of her nightmares. He leaned back and opened his arms a bit, completely blocking her access to the trailer.
"You're what, Gina?"
"Get out of my way. Aren't you due on set?" He was in wardrobe. What she assumed was wardrobe. The suit made him look like a used car salesman.
"Waiting on the call. Thought I'd come see you."
"Then you could have been waiting a while. I'm actually not due here for another few hours. So your butt was bound to start hurting."
"You give yourself too much credit. It isn't hard to have someone let me know when you show up."
She snorted, trying to project more confidence than she felt. "You're pathetic and obsessive. This just proves it. You're on my turf now, Mr. Nelson. So get the fuck out of my way."
They stared at each other and it took every ounce of everything she had to not back down, but she held his gaze. He snickered and stood up, towering over her on the step. His hand landed on her shoulder and she tried to jerk away but his fingers clenched tightly, an all too familiar pressure. "Mr. Nelson. So formal." He sneered. "Well," he said, his thumb brushing over the love bite on her collarbone. "Look at this. Makeup artists hate covering these things up. No wonder you were in a scarf this morning. Glaringly obvious, for the record. Still just a whore and parading it around."
Again she tried to jerk away. Again he gripped her tighter. She could feel the bruise forming under the skin. "My life is none of your business. Get out of my way." She'd given up trying to hold his gaze and just stared past him, at the door to her sanctuary. He was so close. He smelled like that fucking cologne that always made her sick. His fingers were curling under her tank top strap. "Go away." Her voice shook. She wanted someone to come by, to distract him. She wished she'd had the chance to bring one of the dogs.
She wanted to be strong enough. She wanted for him to have never had the control he had. She wanted for that night to have never happened. She wanted to have just said yes. Just said yes. Then he'd have left her alone. Then this moment, all the moments, they wouldn't have happened and she wouldn't have a standing therapy appointment every two weeks to deal with a rape she could barely admit to and years of harassment that still kept her up at night. If only she'd been strong enough to say yes. She wanted to be strong enough to not have that voice in the back of her head, questioning every decision over the past four years. If she'd just said yes, he wouldn't be standing on her trailer steps, keeping her from getting inside, keeping her from her life.
In the back of her head, logic told her it wasn't true. Logic told her it would have been worse. But logic wasn't standing on her trailer steps, sliding her tank top strap down her arm, sneering at how she shivered in the heat of August sun.
Logic did kick her in the ass and she ripped herself away. His fingers caught on her shirt and she felt the fabric give just a bit but it didn't tear. Still, the sound ignited a moment, a part of her brain that was a void of memory but still knew exactly what had happened. She wasn't his victim anymore and she knocked his hand away. "Get out of my way," she said again. Her voice shook and he was laughing. She didn't care. "Get your ass on set and away from my trailer." Falling backward, the cold of the elevator wall against her, his hand sliding up her leg, the first small rip of the fabric that had later given as she fell, tumbled, was pushed to the bed. Her brain filled in images she couldn't consciously recall. His hiking her dress up, the spaghetti strap of the dress giving way.
They stared at each other. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way." She said, ready to scream. What would happen if she did? Who would come running? It was a movie studio. Screaming wasn't an uncommon occurrence.
Long silence stretched between them as the battle of wills played on. But this was her space. This was her place. This was her fucking turf and he was a guest star and she wasn't playing his game anymore.
He stepped off the stair and moved in close. His hand grasped her chin and he leaned in close, too close, and she almost vomited from the smell of the cologne. "You're still just a little girl playing a game you aren't ready for. I'm not going anywhere and," he kissed her cheek, "if you say anything, you know where it's going, Gina. Forget the legality. Forget what lawyers might decide. Who do you think the court of public opinion is going to side with? The little slut who can't keep her legs closed or me? You've lost it and I'm not going anywhere."
She wanted to fight him. She wanted to remind him that she was an award winner who commanded serious money just to step on a set. She wanted to hold her head up and walk away and laugh as she did so. Instead, she flinched when she was sure, absolutely sure that somewhere to the left of her there was the click of a camera shutter.
Doug snickered and walked away. She waited until he'd disappeared around the trailer corners before fleeing inside hers. She locked the door and sank down against it. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she pulled at the tank top strap but eventually had to just rip the shirt off and she sat there in her bra, shivering, while she tried to get herself pulled back together. This was her turf she kept telling herself. This was her world. This was her life. She'd escaped him. She was safe here. She was safe here. She was safe here. But she wasn't.
Carlos. God, Carlos. She wanted to talk to him but didn't know how. What was she going to say? What was she going to do other than worry him? She hated that he worried. She hated that she couldn't be strong and beautiful and perfect. She hated that under the glamour, she really was that little girl Doug claimed her to be. Carlos deserved so much more than what she could give him.
She'd be okay. She had a couple of hours to calm down. She'd ... she'd be okay.
Slowly, she climbed to her feet and made her way to the small drawer with her street clothes. She donned a too-big Hathor Rising t-shirt and curled into her chair, her fingers worrying at the love bite on her collarbone. The makeup artists really did hate covering stuff like this up. She'd just wear a shirt that covered it.
Shivering, she tucked her arms around her knees and stared at her phone. Logic told her it was okay to call her boyfriend and ask if he wanted to come by for lunch. Fear told her she wasn't worth his time. She needed to get her head together. She needed to get into a place to be on set and fall into the easy rhythms she had with Jimmy and Naveen. They didn't deserve her falling apart. It was just Doug. It wasn't anything crucial. She'd be okay. She didn't need to bother Carlos for anything for lunch. He deserved to enjoy his time off and play with the dogs and write stuff that he and AJ could go over when the band got back together for their next stint of studio time. Logic told her he would want to know what was up. Her brain laughed and told her that she wasn't worth it.
Her hands trembled and she pressed her front teeth together and she just couldn't breathe.
Logic kicked her, hard, and she picked up her phone.
Hey ... she texted. Want to come by for lunch? There's ... nothing in the commissary that looks good today and I forgot to get food this morning.
She sat back and waited. Five minutes later there was a response and logic told her he was waking up and finding his phone. Her brain mocked her, told her he was rolling his eyes and groaning at the idea.
Yeah. I'll grab something from that place that does the veggie burgers you like. How'd the interview go?
Okay ... typical morning show crap. But things went okay.
Cool. When are you due on set?
One. Gotta be in makeup at 12.
See you at eleven, baby. I love you.
She sighed and texted back that she loved him too. And she did. She loved him so much and he deserved so much better. She put her head down on her knees again and breathed, trying to calm down. Trying. She couldn't be in tears when he saw her. She needed to be centered. If she told him, she needed to be put together. She needed to ... she just needed to breathe.
The asshole was a guest star. This wasn't a long term thing. He'd be gone soon. She didn't have scenes with him.
Right?