I touch the blade again, my heart picking up when I see Justin’s eyes open. I preferred him in the corner being still and quiet. Now he’s screaming against the gag and wiggling in his binds. I want to stop it. I need to. I drop the knife and it clacks to the floor. I shake my head, scooting away from it. What was that? Why was I thinking that? Why was I thinking about swinging the machete down on Kathy a third time after learning it was all real.
“No, no, no,” I say out loud, pressing my hands to the sides of my head, my knees closing in on my chest.
“What is it, my little idol?”
“It was you. The note. The gifts.”
“Yes. It was me.”
“You . . . you . . . you swapped on the props.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I might hurt someone.” I claw at my knees.
“I gave you the opportunity, and you took it.”
“I didn’t know . . . I—”
“Yeah you did. You said it felt real. You knew and you walked in front of that camera, using it anyway. You didn’t tell anyone about the letters. Not once was it reported or unwelcome. Stop acting like you don’t want any of this,” he snarls.
“I . . . I . . .” I place a hand on my mouth, my eyes pinned on Justin’s as they blink all the way open. He looks at me and screams louder, tears running down his cheek. I cried too and he didn’t care. Where was his sympathy for me? He wants another big role in the same movie with me, so maybe this can be our last one together. I can keep saying I don’t want this, but lying to myself has gotten me nowhere so far.
This could bemymovie and donemyway. I’ll be the most important person in it, calling all the shots. I don’t have to pretend to be anyone else when using a knife or machete on someone. I can be me, and it’ll be okay as long as the camera is rolling.
“I want a sandwich,” I finally say.
His lips curl. “You want lemonade or tea?”
“Tea. Chips too. Potato.”
“You got it.” He leans down to grip my chin and kisses my lips. I press into him, aching for more when he pulls away.
“I’ll be right back, and then I can show you the wardrobe room.”
“Wardrobe room?” My heart leaps.
“Yes. I had it customized for you with a vanity, makeup station, and everything else you’ll need.”
“I want to see it,” I say, trying to stand again, and he lays a hand on my shoulder.
“Easy, baby. You need food first and then I’ll take you there myself. I’ll give you time to get ready, and I’ll set the scene up in here. Sound good?”
It does. It shouldn’t but it does. “Yes.” I stretch my legs out, wrapping an arm over the opposite shoulder. “It sounds perfect.”
“Good. You’re going to get it right on the first take, I know you will. You’re so talented, Sterling, so fucking talented.”
“Thank you,” I say with my heart soaring. He was right. It feels better to accept what he’s offering than to refuse it. And he was right about another thing. What’s wrong with me is the same thing that’s wrong with him—absolutely nothing.
He’s my cameraman and I’m his star. We were always meant to cross paths and create magic together. He’s given me so much and I have yet to show my appreciation. All I’ve done is act like Justin and take. But I don’t want to be anything like him.
Twenty-two
Hayden
He’s fucking perfect. How can I not stand here and watch in awe as he holds Justin’s head back, lifting pliers to his mouth after tugging down the gag.
“No. Don’t. Please.”