Vanessa 

The script hung limply in my hand, the rejection email on my phone glowing like a harsh, neon sign screaming "failure." I tossed the script onto the coffee table. The silence in Richard's spacious LA apartment felt like it had weight, pressing down on me, suffocating.

This was the twelfth audition for a TV show that had slipped through my fingers. I'd done a few commercials, some ads for local businesses, but a real TV role? A movie gig? Not even a cameo had come my way since I moved to LA eight months ago.

Richard, still fiddling with his phone, finally glanced up. "Another one bites the dust, huh?" His voice was empty of sympathy, a smug edge cutting through his words like a dull knife.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah. It was a good audition, Richard. I know it was. I gave it everything I had."

He scoffed, the sound bitter, humorless. "Honey, you've gotta face reality at some point. This acting thing—it's a dream factory. Most people chasing it end up broke and disillusioned, waiting tables in dive bars..." His eyes drifted toward the flier pinned on the fridge, one advertising waitressing jobs at a local diner.

My hand clenched, nails digging into my palm. "Don't you even start."

"Start with what?" he said, voice dripping with condescension. "I'm just being practical here. You want to work, right? Well, we both know your savings won't last forever. Maybe it's time to consider something stable. Something... real."

"This is a real job!" I shot back, anger tightening my throat. "Acting is my passion, Richard. You knew that the day you met me."

A shadow flickered across his face, darkening his expression. "Yeah, well, maybe I thought after a few months of chasing this Hollywood dream, you'd come to your senses."

My heart sank. Where was the Richard I fell in love with? The one who made me laugh, who stood by my side, who had supported my dreams with a light in his eyes. Now, he seemed like a stranger—someone who couldn't care less about my passion, someone who didn't believe in me.

I thought back to the day we met, the same day I'd moved to LA from Napa Valley. Lost and alone, searching for Paloma's house in West Adams, I found myself in the wrong part of town. Three men had cornered me, their gestures and words turning ugly fast. I was sure I wasn't going to make it out of there without getting raped. But luckily for me, Richard appeared, like some knight in a police uniform, saving me. I'd always been grateful for that moment.

"Look," I said, my voice softening, though the fire still burns inside me. "I know it's tough. This isn't easy for either of us. But I can't give up on my dreams, Richard. I can't walk away from what brought me to LA. Not when I'm so close."

"Close?" He threw his phone down on the table, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet room. "Vanessa, close to what? Another rejection email? You're good, but maybe not Nicole Kidman good. Good just isn't enough in this town."

He reached out, his hand hovering over mine, as if trying to calm me. "Why don't you just... consider something else? You could be amazing at something else. Or better yet, accept my proposal. Become my wife. I'm a detective now, I can take care of both of us."

His touch, once warm, now felt cold, manipulative. I pulled my hand back. "No, Richard. You don't get to decide what's best for me. This is my life, my dream. And I'm not ready to get married—I'm only twenty-three. I need to build something of my own before I settle down."

His smile twisted into something darker, frustration replacing his earlier smugness. "So what, Vanessa? You need to whore yourself around some rich or famous men before you'll settle down with 'poor old me,' huh?"

I blinked, taken aback. "That's not what I want at all, Richard. Why are you making this so difficult?"

His voice rose, a dangerous edge creeping in. "What do you want, Vanessa? I'm offering you everything! Most girls would kill for what you're turning down."

"I don't want that, Richard. I'm not ready!" I insisted, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

His grip tightened around my arms, pulling me toward him, a familiar pain shot through me, but it was way more intense, prompting me to scream, "Richard, you're hurting me."

"You belong to me, Vanessa. Hollywood will chew you up and spit you out. Give up this stupid dream. Stay with me, and let's make this official," he yelled.

He released my arms, and I rubbed the swollen, bruised skin where his fingers had dug in.

"I've told you a thousand times, I'm not ready to be anyone's wife or mother. My career is what matters to me right now."

A flicker of pain crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with anger. "You're making a mistake. A huge one."

I stared at him, my resolve hardening. "I can't stay here tonight. I can't stay with someone who hurts me and doesn't believe in me."

His voice dropped to a low growl. "It's too late to go anywhere. Just stay here."

But I was already moving, grabbing my things, heading for the door. "I'll stay at my apartment. I need space from you."

"Fine," he spat, his words cold and sharp. "But don't expect me to come chasing after you."

I paused at the door, my hand resting on the handle, not turning back. "I don't want you to, Richard. Because when I finally make it, I don't want you to be part of it."

The tears welled up, blurring the room behind me. But I didn't let them fall. I walked out, leaving his apartment—and his version of my future—behind.

*****************

The hallway lights cast a sickly yellow glow on the chipped paint of the building. My key fumbled uselessly in the lock, frustration mirroring the tremor in my hands. Finally, the door creaked open, revealing the cramped living room I shared with Paloma.

Empty pizza boxes and crumpled tissues littered the coffee table, remnants of a half-hearted attempt at a pep talk before my audition. Now, the once-cheery decorations only mocked my misery.

Tossing my purse onto the worn-out armchair, I sank onto the worn-out sofa, the familiar scent of stale popcorn doing little to lift my spirits.

Eight months in Los Angeles, tons of auditions for movies and TV series, and zero callbacks, 'not even a blink and you will miss it' cameo. The sting of rejection was a familiar ache, but this time, it felt sharper, more like a shard of glass lodged in my throat. My mom's voice, laced with skepticism the day I left Napa, echoed in my head, "Los Angeles is a graveyard of dreams, Vanessa ." Maybe she was right.

My mother must be gloating 'I told you so' if she knew how right she was. 

Then there's Richard, his words replayed in my head, a cruel mantra.

Hot tears welled up, blurring the image of the flier on the fridge advertising waitressing jobs at the Carson Hotel.

Why are these everywhere? Was this all I was good for? Doubts gnawed at the edges of my confidence, fueled by Richard's negativity.

Just then, the front door swung open, and Paloma burst in, a wide smile plastered on her face. It faltered the moment she saw me, crumpling into a look of concern.

"Hey, chica, how'd it go?" Her voice held a hopeful lilt, quickly overshadowed by the redness of my puffy eyes.

I forced a wavy smile, the lie dying on my lips before it could take form. "Not good, Paloma. Not good at all."