Chapter 27 Josh
Josh
Ifeel ten feet tall as I make my way to her suite, just down the corridor from mine.
Ellery Hart has invited me to spend time with her out of hours, and as far as I know, no one’s twisted her arm to do it.
If she can tolerate me in her private space, even after the stunt I pulled this morning, then maybe she’s thawing.
I knock, and she opens the door immediately, standing back to let me through. She’s barefoot, in yoga pants and a soft-looking sweater. Her hair is damp and her face is bare. She looks tired, and fragile, and stunningly beautiful.
‘Hey.’ I sidle past her, sticking my hands in my pockets so I won’t try to touch her. I look around the suite’s living area. ‘So this is more like it. Remember that shitty room they gave you in Cannes?’
For a second I wonder if it’ll piss her off, my bringing up the room where we spent so much time fucking, but she gives a little smile.
‘Yeah, it’s nice. It’s definitely a perk of being at this level in my career.’
It’s a gorgeous room. One whole end is a semi-circle, with huge floor-to-ceiling sash windows. The drapes are open, but all I can see is the reflection of the room.
‘Does that look out onto the gardens?’
‘Yep.’
‘Sweet. This is fancier than mine. And bigger.’ I hold my hands up. ‘But that’s no surprise; I definitely got second billing on this show. You’re the star.’ It’s true. My girl is fucking huge now. And I’m nowhere.
I’m so proud of her.
And pumped to be in her orbit.
Even if it’s only her professional one.
She smirks. ‘You do okay for yourself.’
‘Not really. I’m surprised you invited me up to your room.’
‘I’m assuming you can behave yourself and stick to the sofa. Have a seat.’
She points to the couch. Through the double doors, I see her bed. I swallow. Couch. Sofa, whatever. Got it.
‘Really, though.’ I sit. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘You softened me up with your apology on WhatsApp. It’s amazing how much nicer people are when you apologise for doing bad things to them, Josh. Do you want some camomile tea?’
She purses her lips together and sits down, leaving as much space between us as the couch allows.
Her tone just now was passive-aggressive enough to suggest maybe she was bringing up my break-up tweet.
I eye her nervously. I’m not sure where to go with this, not sure what will get me in trouble here.
‘Step Nine, right? Yes please to tea.’ She’s still drinking that stuff. She drank gallons of it when we were together.
There’s a tray on the coffee table in front of us with a china teapot and cups. She sets to work, resting the silver strainer on the rim of one of the cups before pouring.
‘Step Nine of what?’ She doesn’t look at me.
‘Of NA. And AA, too. Step Nine is making amends to all the people you’ve injured along the way.’
I watch carefully for a reaction, for a glimmer of encouragement that she might want that. She doesn’t say anything for a second, but the hand holding the teapot shakes and a little liquid splashes on the saucer.
‘Fuck. What if people don’t want your shitty attempt at making amends?’ She’s still not looking at me.
‘That’s the other half of the step.’ My voice is low. ‘It says you should make amends, except where doing so would hurt the person you’ve wronged.’
‘Quite right.’ She puts down the teapot, removes the strainer and slides the cup towards me. ‘Here you go.’
‘Elle…’
‘Let me be very clear. I have no interest in being a box for you to tick off on your nice little list. We’re way past that.
Okay? I meant what I said that first day at the studios.
I’ll do this job with you, but I’m not interested in delving into the past. Here.
’ She dumps a tiny pot of honey down in front of me. ‘It’s better with honey.’
‘I understand. But if you ever decide you want an explanation, then I’m here, and I would’—I swallow—‘welcome the chance to talk about what happened.’
‘I will never want an explanation, Josh. Nor do I need one. The way you treated me, that was solely on you. I sleep just fine at night without understanding what makes you do the things you do. And my sense of self-worth is perfectly solid without needing any belated closure from you. And honestly, your bringing it up just pisses me off, so do me the courtesy of letting things lie. Please.’
‘I will, I promise. And I’m really sorry for earlier. I just want to say—don’t rip into me for this—but whatever fucked-up shit I did in the past, I think it legit worked for us today. We were on fire.’
I know, I know. I’m pandering pathetically, but it’s also true.
We were. The chemistry between Dominic and Georgiana was off the charts.
Alyssa and Abigail were fucking thrilled afterwards, and Abigail showed me a few seconds of the rushes from the close-up profile roll.
My fingers trailing down her pale neck. Her lips parting.
Our mouths joining. Holy fuck. They were hot. We were hot.
She frowns at me, and I wish to God I could press the pad of my thumb against that creased brow and ease away those lines. Lines I’ve put there.
‘Yeah, well.’ She cracks open her pot of honey and dips her teaspoon in, lowering it into her cup. ‘Georgiana thinks Dominic’s a narcissistic, entitled twat, so it was easy to find that energy for the scene. Are you not trying the honey?’
‘I’m not eating any sugar at the moment.’
‘Seriously?’ She picks up her cup and holds it to her lips, blowing gently. Looks up at me. ‘Since when?’
‘Since rehab. I’ve been on a dopamine fast most of the time since then, so… eight, nine months, I guess?’
‘What the fuck is a dopamine fast?’
‘Are you sure you wanna know?’
‘I asked, didn’t I?’ She takes a sip of her tea and I do the same. It’s pretty good.
‘Okay. So… you know how our bodies are built for only tiny, occasional sugar hits, but we all consume far too much?’
She nods.
‘Well, it’s kinda the same with dopamine.
Everything we do in this culture: video games, social media likes, porn, uh—gambling, online shopping, sugar, liquor, meds: it’s all available to us in a crazy, constant supply, and our nervous systems can’t handle it.
We are all fucking wired all the time. I heard smartphones described as a kind of hypodermic needle, right?
Just delivering dopamine to us twenty-four-seven. ’
‘Makes sense.’
‘The problem is, pleasure and pain act like a balancing system. If my body is taking all these constant hits of pleasure at a way higher level than it needs, it’s gonna recalibrate itself to a far higher base level of pain, just to balance things out.
So you need more and more hits just to offset that baseline.
And when you’re not getting your hits—like when you’re not scrolling or counting your likes or getting high, everything sucks.
Life feels flat, and you can’t feel happy naturally. ’
‘So that’s what you’re trying to do? Take all that stuff away so you feel happier? Or are you trying to punish yourself?’
Man, she’s sharp. And brutal. I wince and laugh.
‘There’s definitely an element of both. But self-punishment doesn’t really work, no matter how much some people may think I deserve it.’ I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘At the end of the day, to be a mentally healthy person, you need a good dose of self-compassion.
‘So it’s not about punishing or denying myself so much as saving myself from myself—if that makes sense. Stripping away the artificial stimuli that were bad for me, and made me do bad shit, and trying to find a base equilibrium that will bring me peace.’
‘And is it working?’
I have her attention. She’s twisted her body towards me and has folded one leg up on the couch, resting her cup and saucer on her thigh. I check her face for snark and see only interest.
I nod my head slowly. ‘It is, I guess. It’s allowed me to be a lot more present.
A lot. And it’s meant I have to feel—the good stuff and the bad.
That’s what we uncovered at rehab. I was fucking terrified of allowing myself to feel anything but good.
But there are no shortcuts. You gotta brave it out, feel that shit, to make any progress. ’
She tilts her head. ‘So… no sugar for nine months? Or booze, or drugs?’
‘Nope.’
‘Can you go to NA for more general issues than just drugs?’
‘Sure. It’s also…’ I consider how to explain it.
‘I like the approach. In AA, they focus on the alcohol as the cause of the addiction. In NA, it’s more about the individual.
So my addiction is the problem, not whatever substance I’m addicted to.
Does that make sense? And then it’s a case of, well, the addiction is the symptom, but what’s the cause?
What’s driving that addiction? And for me, doing the work to figure out that root cause is what’s helped me make progress. ’
She’s staring at me, and I’m conscious I’ve bared a lot more of my soul than I planned to this woman who despises me.
She thinks I hurt her, but really, she’s the one with all the power here.
She’s the one who can annihilate me. And she’s the one who told me she didn’t even want small talk, and I just went way beyond that.
‘Whew.’ I run my hand through my hair, embarrassed at my outburst. It’s still sticky. ‘Jeez, I showered, but I can’t get this fucking product they used out of my hair.’
‘Your skin is a bit irritated where they stuck those sideburns on.’ She reaches across and brushes just in front of my ear with her finger. I stare at her.
‘Yeah—that glue they use is nasty. I’m gonna have to shave before they stick those things on each morning, or it’ll be like getting waxed every time they take them off.’
‘I have something that might help. Wait a sec.’
She jumps off the couch and crosses into her bedroom, and I watch her perfect fucking peachy ass as she walks.
It doesn’t look like she’s wearing panties.
Fuck. This dopamine fast suddenly feels like a bad idea, especially when I have weeks and months of being up close and personal with this temptress.
She’s back a minute later.
‘Here you go.’ She hands me a little bottle. ‘It’s a soothing serum. It’ll help with the irritation.’
I look up at her. For all she acts pissed with me, she’s still a totally decent human being. I don’t deserve this kind of thoughtfulness.
‘Thank you,’ I say as she sits back down. ‘That’s seriously sweet of you.’
She shrugs. ‘No big deal. My skin flares up too when I’m filming. All that makeup. So. Let’s go back to what you were saying, because it’s fascinating. You’re living like a monk, basically.’
I grin. That’s a good way of describing it. I am a fucking monk right now. ‘Pretty much, I guess.’
‘So no porn for you, then.’
I squirm. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘And no sex?’
Seriously? She’s smiling like she’s enjoying torturing me. Hearing the word sex come out of her mouth makes me feel like a horny teenager.
‘No sex since before rehab.’
‘Wow. You are serious about this. Are you allowed to... You know?’
She’s seriously asking me if I’m allowed to jerk off? What the hell has gotten into her?
‘Sorry.’ I mock-frown. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
She shoves my knee with her hand. She’s still smiling. ‘Stop it. Are you allowed to wank?’
I don’t miss her fleeting glance at my crotch. ‘I thank you for your concern. Yeah, I’m allowed to wank, as you so nicely put it. I’m not a fan of blue balls. I just do it as, you know, maintenance. Like, reactively. When I absolutely have to.’
She pauses. Cocks her head.
‘Like when you’re all worked up from having spent the day ravishing your co-star on camera, and you’re really wishing you hadn’t fucked things up so badly with her, because if you were on better terms, the two of you might be able to have a quick bang and give each other the release you both need?
Like that kind of “absolutely have to”?’
Her smile is wiped from her face, and her jaw ticks as she stares at me.
And holy fuck. Her eyes are wet. And I swear, I’ve never wanted anything as much in my entire life as I wanna flip her over on this couch, and pull down those leggings, and remind her how good we were together. How fucking good.
I need another shower. Now.
‘Yeah.’ I don’t flinch. I don’t look away. ‘Exactly like that.’
‘Thought so.’ She unfolds herself from the couch and stands up. ‘Pity you fucked that up, eh? You’d better go. We can go through our lines tomorrow.’