Chapter 11
DANNY
All of my righteous anger at McBride for what he did to my sister, my father for his threats, production for forcing my hand, slipped away as soon as Anya said she would be out of a job. I couldn’t let that happen. I’ve already done enough to make her life difficult, getting her fired just because I can’t to do what I’m told? I would deserve the vitriol I’d bring on myself in that case.
The trailer feels too big without Anya sitting beside me and a dull headache pulses behind my temples. Get it together , I tell myself, willing the anger to leave my body. I made my choice. I chose her.
Still unable to shake off the buzz in my blood, I cross to the counter and rummage until I find a scrap of paper, a page ripped out of an old script draft.
Clutching a pen between my fingers, I scrawl across the page. Words and stanzas bleeding through the page from the force of my hand. I fill the page quickly, barely reading the words before I take a breath. My emotions pour out of me as a melody forms in the back of my mind.
Once I run out of paper and the muse escapes me, I rise from my crouched position and take in the disjointed words in front of me. I hear the song as I scan the lyrics and it feels right .
The sound of a car door closing outside the trailer snaps me out of my trance. The paper clutched in my hand suddenly feels foreign. The words that had flown out of my mind instantly makes me recoil. Embarrassment cramps in my stomach. Did I actually just do that? Did I try and write my anger out like I can do it that easily? Like there’s any point in sending those jumbled, incoherent emotions out of my head and into the world? The delusion that gripped me so suddenly is quickly replaced by crippling shame.
My trailer door bangs open and I crumple the paper into my pocket.
“Well, it’s all fine. There’s no rush but it’s probably best if we make a hasty exit.” Anya climbs the metal steps poking her head through the door. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” I ask, my mouth dry.
“Like you’ve just run a marathon.”
I unglue my feet from the floor and grab my hat from the chair. I press it firmly onto my head as if I can physically restrain the thoughts tumbling around my skull.
I can’t look at Anya as I follow her into the waiting car.
I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes. It’s barely noon and I’m exhausted. My fingers twitch on my knee, tapping out the rhythm that held me in such a frenzy. I clench my fist.
We pull up at my hotel and I say a gruff thank you to Jaques as I step out of the car. I keep my head down as I cross the marble lobby. It’s only when I’m waiting for the elevator do I notice Anya has followed me.
“Jesus,” I snap, jumping about a mile out of my skin.
“Sorry,” Anya winces. “I thought you might need something else. I can order you some lunch or something?”
I stare at her blankly.
“It’s lunchtime and we left before catering.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Anya bites her lip, “Okay. I’ll let you get some rest.”
The elevator arrives. I step one foot inside before Anya says. “Oh wait!” She rummages in her bag and emerges with a small packet in her hand. “I keep them for emergencies.”
I take it from her warily. It’s an old packet of French biscuits, the ends crumpled and faded.
“Just in case.” The faint hint of pink on her freckled cheeks is like a soothing balm on my racing thoughts.
“Thanks.”
“It’ll all be okay, don’t worry.” The smile she shoots me is dazzling.
The elevator doors close between us.
It’s only later, when I collapse on the couch in my room and take a bite of a crumbling biscuit, that I take the paper out of my pocket.