“The past does not haunt us. We allow our minds to focus in that direction. We open our memories and examine them. We re-experience emotions we felt during the painful events we experienced because we’re recalling them in as much detail as we can.”

-Augusten Burroughs

‘The sound of a gunshot being fired.’

‘Six-months old pregnant woman lying in a pool of blood.’

‘Her blue eyes losing its light and encompassing into oblivion.’

‘A little boy, barely a teenager, saw his mother and his little unborn sister dying right in front of his eyes as he sat there frozen.’

Xavier wakes up startled, panting heavily covered with sweat. Nightmares or rather old memories that still haunt him till this day. He tries to take a few deep breaths to calm his pounding heart and after a few seconds, his heart beat returns to normal.

He gets out of the bed pushing away the bed sheets and walks over to the floor-to-ceiling window, watching over the still sleeping Los Angeles. His icy blue eyes land on his own reflection in the mirror and he sees a young boy who had really bright eyes but is now dull and holds nothing but hollowness.

Running his hand through his tousle black hair, he decides to get ready for work instead of going back to those nightmares. He looked around at his empty house, the silence that followed was deafening and petrifying at the same time.

****

A twenty-five year old woman enters the room, her heels clicking on the floor makes the tattooed man look up at her. The eye contact makes her stop at the door for a few seconds. She was looking at the man she had fallen so irrevocably in love with and her heart tears up at the sight. But she composed herself back and put on her usual poker face as she took a seat opposite to him.

“Vic…” the man breathes her name and she hates the way this man still makes her heart flutter. The way he calls out her name makes her want to bend down each and every rule she has asked herself not to cross and just reach out to him.

She blinks and then glares at him. “It’s Agent Halls for you and I am here to get answers from you.”

The man lets out a dry chuckle. “How does it feel?”

“Excuse me?”

“Lying, cheating…making me fall in love with you only to make me hate you. I bet it feels really good?”

The woman just rolls her eyes.

“Cut!” Xavier says and walks over to their set.

“I don’t want you to roll your eyes, instead I want you to look guilty. You did lie to him after all, you hid your identity pretending to be someone you’re not, right?”

The woman nods her head, too stunned to speak anything. His velvety voice and his icy blue eyes were a really dangerous temptation. Xavier was beautiful in every way possible with sharp features and subtle beard with olive skin.

“Okay, let’s roll the cameras again, shall we?”

“Yeah.” The woman replies, her heart racing.

She shakes her head once, breaking out of her dazed reverie and get back in the skin of her character as she blinks back her eyes when the camera starts rolling once more. Her mouth was in a straight line but her eyes were telling an entirely different story.

“Excuse me?” She asks.

“Every touch, every kiss, every time you whispered my name,” he whispers, his gaze falling over at her lips, “was a lie? Do you think you would be able to fool me, Vic? I can see everything in your eyes…”

Vic simply stares at him for a few passing seconds. “Whatever!”

Then she simply walks off the set. Xavier nods his head and shouts cut as he asks the cinematographer to play the scene again. While he was doing that, the woman playing Vic was checking him out, up and down undressing him in her mind. Her makeup artist walks up to her, handing her the mirror to check herself.

“Amelia, don’t. He will break your heart, Xavier doesn’t date actresses or models.”

She pretends to fix her hair while watching him, his every movement. “I am sure he can make an exception.”

The makeup assistant shakes her head in disapproval but doesn’t say anything further. It was past Xavier’s working time so after thanking everyone, he asks them to pack up for the day while he walks up to one of his chairs, going through his phone, scrolling through pictures of a brand he was thinking to call the designer for his interview.

He stops scrolling at a particular picture. He takes a sharp breath in as he studies the face of the model, remembering each and every detail; the delicate curves of her body, her doe like eyes looking at the camera, telling a story…he could see the fire burning in her eyes.

“Mr Cavanaugh.”

He looks up realising that he has been staring at Midnight Hazelwood’s picture for the past few minutes, something which he isn’t supposed to do.

“Yes, how can I help you?” He asks, readjusting his composure.

Amelia licks her lips and then nibbles on her lower lip, fluttering her eyelashes at him. She was clearly trying to seduce him. And he could see it, he was no fool.

She steps a bit closer to him, her eyes scanning the room to check if it was empty or not before landing on him. She runs her finger down his forearm in a tentative motion without breaking eye contact.

Xavier pulls his hand back. “It’s not going to happen.”

Stunned and embarrassed, Amelia pulls her hand back watching him walk outside the studio. Scoffing at the ridiculous rejection, she comes to the conclusion that probably Xavier was gay. After all, no one in their right minds would be able to reject someone like her.

Xavier steps inside his car asking his driver to take him home immediately. He looks outside, admiring the city lights of Los Angeles, who was looking beautiful and busy as always. It was already dark and he was pretty exhausted. He unlocks his phone once again, remembering that he had to talk to the designer. When scrolling, he noticed that he had ended up liking Midnight’s picture. The one he had been staring at longer than necessary.

“What the actual hell?”

Unfuckingbelievable.

One of the many reasons he didn’t like her was how she stirred him up, even though she was nowhere near him, in person. It was just a damn picture and yet he was under her spell. Should he dislike it? No, that might be even more troubling. It’s not like he actually liked her picture, the designer is his friend and everyone knows that. He looks at her eyes again, her deep gaze burning him, urging him to destroy her, break down her walls, to show her the stars.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he slides his phone back into his pocket.

‘You hate her.’

‘You’re supposed to hate her.’

He reminds himself, clutching his phone with a little more grip. What would be her reaction to this?