Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
MYLO
Still no Christine for the rest of the day. I casually check in with the lead production assistant, who’s in charge of the schedule. She confirms a few things were shuffled around to give her the day off.
So she is avoiding me. I should be happy she’s giving me room to breathe, but that hollow feeling pangs again.
The suppressants should be working. The more distance I get from her, the better I should feel. And while my feverish symptoms don’t get worse, I feel… restless.
It gives me enough energy to get through the stunts of the afternoon, including a fighting sequence and a ratchet pull. I hydrate to make up for my sweating and push through the dizziness. Once shooting has wrapped for the day, I meet up with Andy to practice fight choreography for tomorrow.
Then it’s off to our new lodging, a motel ten minutes away. At least I won’t have to wake up as early to get to set on time.
I plop down on the polyester comforter, checking my phone again.
Artemis Pharmaceuticals Patient Portal - You have a new provider message
I log in again and find a message from Giovanna Heath, MD.
Hello Mylo,
Due to the time zone difference, I wanted to send a note about your results.
Please feel free to book a call with me to discuss any questions.
Your blood test results are consistent with Suppressant Rejection Syndrome (SRS).
Common symptoms of SRS are breakthrough heats, fever, nausea, musculoskeletal pain, mood swings, fatigue, unusual arousal, and headache.
Breakthrough heats are likely to be irregular in cycle, usually shorter and more frequent than typical heats.
This is a new research area that’s still developing, but the preliminary recommendation from the Alpha-Omega Physicians Association (AOPA) is to proceed with tapering off suppressant usage under medical supervision, utilizing a specialty heat center if necessary.
Increasing suppressant dosage is a common treatment, but evidence does not support its efficacy at this time.
I’ve gone ahead and put a referral in for you for a heat center stay, meaning your insurance is required to treat it as medically necessary.
For estimates of cost, please contact your insurance company and have the information for the heat center you would like to use.
What evidence we have so far suggests that the longer patients with SRS continue to use suppressants, the more risk they have of developing permanent partial or complete resistance.
I’m happy to manage this tapering protocol with you, or to forward your results and my notes to any physician of your choice.
Best Regards,
Giovanna Heath, MD
I stare at my phone. Then reread the message ten times until the words finally start to make sense in my brain. Suppressant rejection… I’d never even considered…
Increasing suppressant dosage…
I go check my bottle and do the math. If I double my dosage, I’ll have just enough left to get through the end of shooting. Getting my prescription filled early when I get back to LA is a problem for future-me.
After browsing some forums, I decide that the best option is to take my second dose in the evening.
I like this option mostly because I’m anxious to do something now, to have some semblance of control—especially as my hands quake with violent shivers despite my sweating through my fresh clothes in ten minutes.
The room suddenly feels too quiet, too empty, and I turn on the TV to a random channel. The voices slow the spread of that dark sensation, but it doesn’t stop.
I thought I was used to loneliness; I’m alone a lot. I tend to enjoy my solitude. But this is… a panicky, frantic feeling, a grim sense that I’ll forever remain unwanted and unclaimed.
I curl up on the bed, pulling the polyester comforter tight around me.
Another phrase from the doctor’s letter jumps to mind: mood swings.
God dammit. Is anything mine right now? Or am I at the mercy of these stupid hormones, miserable for no reason?
Tears well in my eyes, and that in and of itself is enough to drive my mood over a cliff, more tears quickly following. I’m out here on my dream job, crying about… crying?
I roll over and bury my face in the sheets, willing myself to fall asleep.
At least this time, I don’t dream.
I need all the extra time in the morning to choke down my suppressants. When I get to set, I tell Haley I already ate back at the hotel.
Today there’s no special effects makeup, so I keep Haley and Sharon company until it’s my turn to get my wig.
The sweat makes it itch miserably, but there’s nothing to be done about it, so I power through. As I sit by the monitor with Sharon, waiting to be called upon, I can’t keep my knee from bouncing. I make sure it’s silent, though.
I’ll get through this, hour by hour.
So far, so good.
And then the slightest hint of ocean spray hits my nose. My mouth waters as my muscles go hot and tight. My heart quickens, and my pulse sinks to a throb at my core.
My eyes snap to the Vengeance League headquarters set a moment before she appears, stepping around the edge of a steel wall and into the stage lights.
Like how a diamond sparkles in a jewelry case, these lights seem specifically designed to bring out the silver sheen in her hair, the piercing blue of her eyes, every plane of her cheek bones and jaw and neck and shoulders and abs that makes her so irresistible.
My cock tightens in my tucking briefs as dizzy heat fills my head.
Oh god, how did I ever think I had this under control?
How had I not noticed the way her breastplate props up her breasts, how the smooth swells above the gold are somehow even more tantalizing than cleavage?
How had I not seen just how many muscles ripple along her arms and legs, thick and unapologetic, striking a silhouette that would make an action figure jealous?
Oh, I am totally and thoroughly cooked.
How dare she. How dare she be this… incredibly hot. Fuck.
I drag my eyes from her, pinning them to her image on the monitor instead, lest she catch me staring.
All the voices on set become a hazy blur, except for hers. Lana calls action. For the first time, I just watch Christine act.
And it’s… magic.
Every micro-expression, every hitch and tone in her voice, every movement, however large or small, is Electra in that moment. She makes it look… effortless.
And I know all too well how much effort that takes.
Was I really this blind before? No, this has to be hormone goggles. I couldn’t possibly have missed all this before.
Besides, I’ve always known she was a good actress. When I have my wits about me, I’m appropriately wary of that fact.
But now…
Is this like what women mean when they say they know they’re ovulating?!
More of her scent has slowly spread through the room, and it’s as if I’m next to the ocean again. I remain rooted in my chair, focused on the monitor, the screen like a force field preventing me from sprinting toward her.
“Hey, Mylo? Mylo! You good?”
I shake my head and snap back to my senses as Gabriel waves in front of my eyes.
“Sorry, I just zoned out there for a sec.”
Gabriel chuckles. “Alright, well, look alive now. We’re setting up for this scene’s fight.”
“Right. I’m ready,” I lie, pushing up to my feet and following Gabriel toward center stage.
I’m going to be standing right next to her. More than that, we’ll also be sparring, grappling, tumbling.
At the thought of her skin against mine, another hard throb runs through my cock.
Fuck.
Gabriel shows me to my mark, and I keep my eyes low, avoiding Christine’s gaze.
I can feel her proximity—literally feel it, like heat from a fire, making the side closest to her tingle and boil.
I’m vaguely aware of Lana calling, “Action!”
My body doesn’t move. Why would I listen to Lana?
Lana isn’t my alpha.
“Melinoe.”
It doesn’t matter what word: her voice calls me, and my gaze snaps up to hers. That icy azure jolts through me, waking every nerve.
I’m supposed to be doing something. Fuck, what am I supposed to be doing?
“If you want the Thunder Stone so bad,” Christine/Electra says, “then come and get it.”
At that singular command, my body springs into action. Even with the camera lenses glinting around us like eyes and the boom mike hovering above Christine’s head, the film set seems like a distant reality.
I follow my alpha’s command, trying in earnest to steal that sparkly little prop. It’s her turn to tease and tempt, leading me around the small space.
I lunge at her, and she throws me across a desk, sending papers scattering. On instinct, I duck and roll under it, taking cover as I make another pass.
Her movements prompt my muscle memory, and I fall back into the choreography we’ve practiced. There’s a freshness to her scent: approval. This is what my alpha wants from me.
Finally, she stops, leaving herself wide open. I lunge in, lightning-quick—
And find her hands gripping my upper arms, easily holding me in place, the Thunder Stone out of reach.
“Lana called ‘cut,’” she murmurs. “You can stop now.”
I freeze, staring up into those endless blue eyes.
“Relax, Mylo.”
I exhale, shoulders relaxing.
Christine releases me, and I lean toward her touch. Her hand lingers on my shoulder, keeping me steady.
“Listen to Lana,” she says.
The director’s voice pulls back into my field of awareness.
“Electric! I like where this is going. Let’s run that back. Camera A, take that angle a bit wider before coming in.”
Soon, Lana calls action again.
Christine and I step into the flow, and everything else melts away, leaving only her and me and this dance.
The second take flows into the third, the fourth, the fifth.
Christine’s presence grounds me, but my restlessness slowly builds, vision blurring from the outside in, heat rising into my mind.
I don’t know how many takes it’s been when Lana calls, “Cut,” and I wobble. Christine steadies me, and I lean against her arm, taking a deep breath of her scent.
“Ready for the next one?” Christine asks.