“User Generated Content. Basically, brands pay her to make short-form videos endorsing their products for them to use. Great job for someone with some acting chops. And surprisingly good money.” Especially when she got to be at home doing it. She had a little corner set up in her bedroom where she could change the background for the videos. All she’d needed to get started was a decent camera, lighting, and a few sample videos.
But for how hard she worked through college and since then with trying to land gigs, I really hoped her career took off eventually. We’d both struggled a lot with that hope in mind.
“Tell her to break a leg for her next audition for me,” Becca said, letting out a grunt as she dropped down into her driver’s seat. “I’ll see you later this week.”
“You will,” I agreed, waving to her.
I did one more job before I dragged myself to the gym, using my sister’s code to get in, and no one seemed to care.
Because hours of scrubbing until my fingertips ached still hadn’t managed to help me decide what my next move was about this Rune situation. Each time the night before popped into my head, it was like I was there again. I started to sweat, my hands shook, my insides trembled, my stomach sloshed.
I hoped that maybe hopping on the treadmill and cranking up the speed might help me outrun it. But over an hour and a half of running and stair climbing later, I dragged myself into the showers and felt the immediate stomach-dropping sensation at the flash of a memory from the night before.
Distracting myself was clearly not going to work.
I needed to start planning again.
Though, planning to do what, exactly?
Get another gun and shoot him?
Now that I’d given that a try, I wasn’t sure I could ever do it again.
It hadn’t been like my mind had tricked me into thinking. It hadn’t been cool or calm or collected. I hadn’t felt righteous and certain.
I’d just been terrified.
And this boogeyman I’d created in my mind suddenly had a face, a voice, a dimpled smile.
It was easy, in my fantasies, to walk in and shoot some made-up vision I had of this guy. It was a whole other thing to interact with him, to see him moving, breathing, alive.
I wasn’t sure how anyone could do it.
How could you look someone in the eye, see their soul, and then snuff it out? How could you do that?
I mean, that was a question I could ask him, I suppose.
But knowing someone else had done the unthinkable didn’t make it easier for me to do it.
So, really, if I couldn’t shoot him, what could I do?
Leave? Take my sister away from all the acting opportunities in the city and, lately, even in Jersey as well?
That wasn’t fair.
Leave her and run away by myself?
I wasn’t sure I’d ever been away from my sister for more than a few days. I couldn’t even fathom ditching her. Especially if there was a chance this guy could find where I used to live.
What then?
Go back? Beg for mercy?
My spit tasted like battery acid just thinking of uttering those words.
What then?
That was what was still on my mind after changing into spare clothes I kept in my car (in case of chemical or water work mistakes), and drove back home.