I was physically exhausted by the time I slipped into my night clothes. I felt fatigued and devoid of energy. The only thing that I wished to do was run and hide, like I normally do. But I couldn't do it this time. The shooting will officially begin tomorrow, which means I have a lot to prepare. Running away was definitely not an option.
My dad and mom tried calling me, probably to check on how I was doing, but I just texted them that I had had a hectic day and would contact them later. I was apprehensive they would see straight through my façade, something I didn't want to happen. They had already been through enough drama because of me, and adding to it was not something I was looking forward to doing.
I deposited Lorraine's clothes into the laundry basket, wishing I had never worn them in the first place. I would have burst out laughing if you had told me just over two months ago that I was going to be playing dress-up for a man. And the fact that he didn't actually intend to hurt me was eating me alive. Each and every thing was within my head. I fabricated the scenarios; I created the dilemmas; I made most of them, and then I leashed out at Eugene. He must regret taking me shopping. I glared at the ceiling, which looked like it was shutting in on me, condemning me for being such a messed-up person.
"Forget about it. Start over."
I kept on chanting to myself until I completely lost track of time and subsequently succumbed to lethargy.
I slept restlessly that night, plagued by old faces. I had a dream about that day in the alleyway after months and awoke sweating profusely. I knew what happened to me had been horrendous and there was nothing to be embarrassed of. I also tried to remind myself that other people had worse experiences and that I was incredibly fortunate to have survived. However, memories came pouring back like a poisonous shower. Of course, I have gone through nights that were similar in the past, and I am positive I will do so again. However, I am not certain I will be capable of locking it in when I come across Eugene. I might break down in tears in front of him and explain to him why I was being a bitch and why I could never ask him for more than a one-night stand. My agony was now tinged with remorse for the first time.
....
The next day, Eugene was nowhere to be seen. In fact, I didn't even have a moment to reflect on a single thing or see anyone. Nathaniel, as usual, entrusted everything to me, and I was scurrying around supervising everyone. I was grateful to have this hefty workload, although I didn't really have time to eat, which I wasn't entirely grumbling about. I was afraid that taking a break would compel me to think, something I didn't intend to do for the time being. I appreciated the emptiness I felt while working. That caused me to neglect my depressing life outside the set.
Nathaniel ordered me to wrap up by eight thirty in the evening, as he believed I was placing an excessive amount of pressure on myself. I was considering telling him that if I didn't work, I would indeed be in a stressful situation; however, I didn't.
I wasn't keen on heading back to the cottage yet and felt like a failure, so I decided to take a stroll around the resort. I have still not checked out their poolside and lounge areas, and I figured a walk was better for my mental health than going to the empty room. My legs were automatically moving ahead, and I found myself looking for directions to the Bar. Once the security personnel opened the door for me after I flashed him my hotel card and confirmed that the friendly figure I had been seeking was not inside, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Some of the folks I recognized remained in the room; nevertheless, they were in their own bubble, and I assumed they would not really strike up a conversation.
I walked straight up to the island and perched on the cushioned stool.
"Give me something strong, please."
I informed the bartender, and the young man bowed, smiling, before disappearing behind the extensive isle of whisky bottles and glasses. I buried my face in my palms and submerged completely into the soothing music that enveloped me. The room's lavender and blue lighting eased my nerves, and I felt as though I could actually breathe.
"A Bone Dry Martini for the lovely lady."
The Italian-laced accent brought me back to reality, and I raised my head a few seconds later to see the bartender sliding a cocktail glass filled with semi-transparent liquid that was garnished with olives and lemongrass.
"Is this going to knock me out?"
I wondered aloud, my gaze drawn to the contents.
"That depends on your level of alcohol tolerance. You think you can handle it?"
He said it matter-of-factly, and I simply shrugged. I have never been so inebriated to the point that I could not recall what occurred while I was drinking or couldn't control my actions. I dreaded being vulnerable, particularly if I was around people I didn't know or trust.
The guy walked away while I considered my possible alternatives. What if I lose consciousness? Should I text Carla to just let her know I am at the bar? But I wasn't interested in disturbing her just because I was having a tough time.
With a sigh, I lifted the glass and sniffed it before gulping it down all in one go. My throat burned, and I squeezed my eyes shut. It was literally heating up my food pipe. Still, it was pretty good to feel anything besides the coldness, so I ordered another shot from the server. He gave me an 'I knew it' look and saluted at me as he went to prepare my ticket to oblivion for the night.
I downed six martinis within half an hour, and even though I craved another, I didn't want to take any more chances. So I paid for my drinks, thanked the good-looking man, and left the place, guaranteeing my paranoid mind that once I am inside the cottage, I will be safe. I made it halfway to the cottage, and the dizziness started to kick in, but nothing I couldn't handle. Maybe I have a lot more alcohol capacity than I gave myself credit for. I should test my limit the next time April or Lorraine are with me.
Thus, suddenly self-assured, I took a diversion and ended up next to the pool area. There weren't any people in there, and it seemed like the pool was under renovation. The large oval shaped piscina was still brimming with discolored water, and new lounge chairs were positioned around it, but only half of the installation had been completed. They still had a long way to go.
I felt like peering down the water, just for the sake of it, and slowly closed the gap between me and the object of my interest. I stepped past the border and observed that the flooring kept slanting until I couldn't see any more tiles, only water. I stared at my hazy reflection and smirked at it.
My body became light, and my inner voice kept begging me to go back; however, my brain disagreed. It felt alive for once. I inwardly cursed out loud as I dipped my toes, breaking the water's surface but immediately pulled them back. It was really chilly. Out of the corner of my eye, I imagined I saw something floating in the water and crouched down to investigate. Was that a necklace?
"No, River!"
I heard yelling from behind, and then I had somebody yank my shoulders aggressively, followed by a silhouette obscuring my eyesight. Everything happened so fast that it took me quite some time to realize I was in someone else's arms. I was being embraced. The cold air pricked my ears, yet my body remained warm. The heat emanating from the other person permeated through my clothes, and I don't think even the plush bed back in my room was so comfortable. I blinked, disoriented, and I repositioned my head to rest comfortably on his chest, but my previously relaxed muscles froze as I glimpsed the unmistakable tattoo through the now ruffled shirt. Shit!
"F*ck!"
I shrieked like a stray cat and shoved the person, not remembering we were on the brink of the pool. There was a gasp, a splash, and then water sprayed over my pants and face, finally knocking some sense into me.
I gazed wide-eyed at the figure that sprang to the surface of the water like a corkscrew. However, I couldn't see his eyes since his hair masked his face, hiding his stunned expression, which should probably mirror mine.
I guess I just pushed Eugene into the swimming pool .
.....