Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
CLOVER
Ican’t believe I got to audition for Darkness Rising.
I hope that went well.
I think that went okay? Well... maybe except for the part where I slapped Roman.
Oh my god. I slapped Roman Everett.
I didn’t mean to slap him.
Is it wrong that it felt great though?
Probably.
Do I regret it?
No.
What a dick.
By the time I get back to my car, my brain is an absolute pile of post-audition mush.
I look forward to getting home so I can get into comfy clothes, whip my bra off, and settle onto the couch to watch some TV and turn my brain off.
So I can distract myself for however long until I hear back about the status of the chemistry read.
With a sigh, I begin the long drive home.
I’m still so mad at Roman. My stomach is in knots over hearing him give voice to half the insecurities I have on a daily basis. I’m genuinely surprised he didn’t tear into my appearance as well, but I’m sure he would’ve if given enough time.
Roman’s words dance through my mind, and now I worry that Arnold and the rest of the studio will see me as too new, not talented enough, and then they’ll have no choice but to go back to the drawing board.
By the time I make it back into the apartment, I’ve settled upon feeling dejected. There’s no way this will pan out for me, and not only did I meet Roman Everett, but it sucked.
My key rattles around in the lock for a minute, and I give a hard shoulder to the door to get it open. Much to my misfortune, Maren is sitting right on the couch, and I won’t be able to avoid an interaction.
“So?” she asks as she continues to stare at her phone. “How was it?”
“It went...” my mind flips through everything, “okay.” I settle for the word, knowing there’s nothing to accurately summarize what just happened.
“How was he in person?” Maren glances up from her phone and drags her gaze across my face.
“Umm...”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot for taking so long to respond.
“I mean, he was-is-beautiful,” I concede. “We didn’t really get to talk much.”
“If I had any kind of audition with one of the Everett brothers, I’d be sure to talk to them afterwards,” she laughs.
Yes, Maren, I’m sure you would. She brushes her long dark hair behind her ear and gives a little pout.
“Do you think you’ll get it?” She tries to be a little disinterested when she asks, but I know she’s trying to mentally tally up who has the upper hand between us right now when it comes to our acting careers.
Up until this moment, it’s definitely been her.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully before heading into the kitchen to grab some lunch.
After not eating anything today because of my anxiety, I’m coming down from the nerves and now I’m ravenous.
I toss together a quick sandwich and head back into the living room, eager to make it back to my bedroom and dissociate from the world for a little while.
I still have so much strange energy from today thrumming through me.
Giving a quick smile, I head toward my door, hoping to avoid further conversation with Maren. But it would appear the shitty luck I’ve had today continues, since Maren pipes up.
“Oh wow, someone must be really hungry,” she says with a laugh.
My back is turned to her, so she doesn’t see me roll my eyes aggressively enough to get them stuck. I attempt to put extra chipperness into my voice.
“Yeah, I haven’t eaten yet today, so I am.”
Maren makes a dismissive noise in response.
I turn to look at her.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she reassures when she notices. “It’s just that I wouldn’t be eating carbs if I were up for a role where I’d be wearing a spandex suit...” She gives me an up and down that could make an entire botanical garden wither. “But that’s just me.”
“Okay, well... I’ll be in my room,” I respond lamely. I don’t even know what the hell to say to her. I’m sure I’ll come up with the perfect comeback in the comfort of my room in approximately twenty minutes, but that’s neither here nor there.
Scurrying into the safety of my own space, I shut the door behind me and lean against it, hoping it acts as a barrier between me and the negative energy of my shitty roommate. Dejectedly, I drop my sandwich plate onto my dresser, where it lands with a clatter.
Smokey, the Chartreux cat that I rescued as a preteen, lifts her head disapprovingly over the sound that disturbed her slumber.
“Sorry, girl,” I mutter before giving her some head pats as an apology.
Her little furry gray arms reach forward in a stretch, and I trace a finger down the softness there.
For being a bit of a crotchety old thing, she’s surprisingly game for affection.
Her pumpkin colored eyes scan my face, and she takes in my downcast expression.
She meows softly before doing her best to reassure me through a series of purrs and gentle headbutts.
“It’s okay, Smokes,” I say even though I don’t fully believe it.
Gently lowering my forehead to hers, I try to soak in some of her calm.
She somehow knows when I need comfort the most. Maybe that’s the magic of having a pet in your life.
Right now I’m feeling very grateful that my parents insisted I take her when I moved out here a couple of years ago.
Breaking our little snuggle with a sigh, I pull out my phone to distract myself with some doomscrolling when I see I’ve missed three calls from Anita.
My stomach drops into my ass–it has really been going through it today and it’s not even two p.m. This many calls is either great, or terrible, and nothing in between.
Maybe she heard about the slap… shit. I waste no time calling her back.
“Clover, are you free? I’d like to meet up with you at Poppy’s Coffee on Hewitt Street.”
“Uh, yeah, absolutely, when?”
“Now would be great,” Anita replies.
“Okay, sure, I’ll hop in my car,” I say quickly, trying to sound like I possess a molecule of chill. “Is everything okay?” I add as Smokey purrs loudly enough to compete with a race car.
“Yes, see you soon.”