Ch. 10 The Assault
"And the Award for Best Supporting Actress goes to—"
The cheers of the crowd vibrate through my entire body. The applause thunders through the entire venue, until it feels like the roof will fall down.
"—Celeste Shaw! Congratulations!"
Confetti erupts all around us and I freeze in shock as my name is called.
My co-stars grab me in congratulations and push me up.
I won a BAFTA.
I turn around and wave at my fellow contemporaries.
They grace me with a standing ovation that has tears pricking my eyes.
"Celeste Shaw! Come on up! Your award is waiting!"
Twelve years. Twelve years since I left for London.
Eight years since I completed my degree in Marketing and Mass Media.
Six years since I became an actress.
Seven hours since I wrote the last check that would clear all my financial debts.
I walk down the aisle towards the stage to accept the acknowledgement for my latest film, Her Dark Heart.
This is it. I made it.
—-------------------
I collapse in the green room, my whole body aching from how tired I am.
My award sits on the desktop in front of me.
The green room has racks and racks of costumes from the various acts. The trash bin's overflowing—I guess no one has got around to cleaning it up again.
My performance was the closing act of the awards ceremony, and most everyone would now be headed to the after party.
I think I'll ditch it.
I eye my cellphone.
Should I?
I'm not even sure if Christopher has the same number anymore. It's been twelve years since we last spoke.
I type out a text but hesitate to send it.
I survived without them just fine, didn't I? I don't need them now.
I drop the phone next to my bag. Marissa, my assistant is still not here with my shake.
This is the third time she's disappeared today. What is going on with her?
I decide to change out of my dress and am just about to unzip it when I hear the door snap. A throat clearing behind me stops me short.
I whirl around shocked, to find Harry Coleman, the producer of my film standing inside the room, a smirk on his lips. The door shuts behind him.
My heart thuds in my chest. My pulse spikes.
"Harry! What are you doing here? How did you get in?"
"Would you like help unzipping the dress?" His sleazy smile makes my skin crawl.
"No, thanks. Where are your bodyguards?" This man never goes anywhere without his thugs.
"Waiting outside. I wanted to congratulate you on your win. And a phenomenal performance. Your singing voice surprises me every time."
I nod with as polite a smile as I can muster.
He walks closer and I take a step back.
"Why don't you leave, Harry. I'll change and follow you out."
My voice sounds off, even to my own ears.
He keeps stepping towards me and I keep stepping back until my hips hit the table.
He keeps coming.
My stomach sinks as his lecherous gaze rakes over my body.
Gooseflesh erupts and I scream for help. No one comes.
"Shhh... Don't resist. I'll make you the most famous actress in the world. All you have to do is make me happy."
He cups my face in his hands.
"I don't need you to make me famous. Let me go."
His hand tightens on my face and he leans closer.
"It's your eyes. You have the most unique eyes I've ever seen. I've wanted you since I first saw you. And now..."
His breath fans over my face, and it makes me want to vomit.
"...Now, I mean to have you at all costs."
I desperately search for anything on the desk I can use as a weapon. Things fall and shatter as my hands move in desperation while he comes closer and closer.
I hear something heavy fall and impact the floor.
My head fills with the roar of blood and panic slams into me like a freight train.
He's too close. The only weapon I have is me.
I grab his wrist and slam my head forward. I try to hit his nose—but the angle is awkward.
"Ow!" His head jerks away. There isn't enough space to strike again.
I tug his hand closer and bite down, as hard as I can.
He screams and tries to wrench free.
His skin tears as I clamp on with everything I have. His hand finally whips free.
The slap that follows is hard and brutal. My ears ring.
My nails rake against his face. He shoves me back but I won't relent.
The door slams open.
Three of his body guards rush in.
Harry gestures towards me, "You bitch! I'll show you what it means to hurt."
His voice has a hysterical quality that has me laughing—until one of his guards punches me in the gut. I double over and another shoves me to the floor.
They hold me down while I do my best to fight back. Harry walks over and grabs my head.
He bangs my head against the floor while I stare at the hatred on his face turn to a grimace and then consciousness fades.
—----------------
Sirens scream in the background.
Everything is blurred. A man in a yellow vest lifts me up.
My eyes drift close again.
—----------------
A flashlight burns my eyes.
Someone speaks in gibberish. I try to force my eyes open, but my eyelids are so heavy they won't budge.
"She likely has a head injury. Get her to CT!"
I go back to sleep.
—------------------
"Ms Celeste Shaw, can you hear me?"
I struggle to push against the blanket of fog covering my brain.
My throat feels dry and scratchy, and my limbs are so heavy.
"Ms Shaw, are you awake?"
I eventually push my eyes open, to find an unfamiliar face hovering beside me.
"Ms Shaw, are you back with us?"
I nod slowly, trying to figure out what's going on.
"What's going on?" My voice is rough, like sandpaper. I try again. "Where am I?"
"You're at Grace Memorial Hospital, Ms Shaw. You were brought in with one other person. You had a head injury and are suffering from a concussion."
"I—I see. Who—?" The scene from the green room slowly dawns on me, and I dry retch.
Harry's here too.
"How long—?"
"—Have you been here? It's been a day. Your assistant found you unconscious. She called it in."
One whole day.
"Marissa! Where is she—?"
"I'm afraid she isn't here. We'll let you know more when we have the details. How are you feeling?"
"Banged up." Everything hurts.
My words cause the man—doctor—to chuckle. "Accurate description. You're awake now. Why don't you rest for a bit, and I'll have the nurse bring you some water and juice. Yes? I'll see you tomorrow."
"Doctor—were there any traces of...?" I glance downwards, towards my lower body, unable to complete the sentence.
His expression turns compassionate and he replies, "No, everything is as it should be."
Relief floods me.
I nod, my eyes already drifting shut.
—--------------
It's night when I finally come to.
"What—?"
"Ms Shaw. Are you feeling better?" A doctor comes around to my side to check my vitals and reflexes.
Once the doctor nods at him, a man steps forward.
"Ms Shaw, I am Detective Boon. Can you tell me what happened in the green room?"
"I—uh—I was waiting in the green room for my assistant, Marissa, to bring me my shake.
Harry Coleman came to the room and shut the door.
Said he wanted to congratulate me. Then he came closer and said he had always wanted me, and would have me at any cost.
"He touched my face.
He was so close I could see inside his mouth.
I panicked. I wanted to get as far away as possible.
I head-butted him but he wouldn't step away. So I grabbed his hand and bit him."
My voice wobbles before steadying. "He slapped me and I scratched him.
Then his guards came in. One of them punched me in the gut, and another pushed me to the ground.
"I fought back. But then Harry came, said he would show me the meaning of pain, grabbed my head and banged it against the floor.
I lost consciousness... And now here we are. "
Detective Boon makes notes of everything I said and looks at me with a carefully blank face. "I see."
"What's wrong Detective?"
"Let me investigate what you told me and get back to you."
My heart rate spikes and my whole body breaks out in a sweat. I don't believe this.
Did he not believe me?
My pulse roars in my ears and my vision starts narrowing. This can't be happening.
The doctors and nurses surround me. The doctor asks me something but I can't hear him.
They inject me with something and the next thing I know, everything is dark again.
My breath eases and I'm asleep again.
—---------------
I check dad's IV once more. His eyes flutter beneath jaundiced lids, and a soft moan escapes his lips.
"Dad? Dad, are you alright?"
His eyes open slowly, like the effort is nearly too much.
"Marcus?" Joy lights up his face, and I smile.
"The Chairman of Ingram Tech is here! When did you get here? Help me sit up!"
I tap a button on the remote attached to his bed. It's been a month since my promotion, but he still beams with pride at every mention.
"I came home around two hours back. You were sleeping, so I didn't disturb you. I did clean up the house, though."
"You didn't throw anything—"
I smile at him."No dad... all the... memorabilia is there."
His face relaxes. "Good, good... How long are you staying?"
"The whole weekend. And this time, I'm taking you with me."
He shakes his head. "I've told you before, the day I leave this house will be the day I leave for good."
"Stop being so stubborn dad! You need proper treatment."
He sighs. "You and I both know there's nothing more to be done."
He pats the bed beside himself. "Come, talk to me. Tell me how you're doing."
We chat for half an hour while his broth finishes cooking.
I bring it over and spoon some. I blow on it till it's drinkable before feeding it to dad.
He eats in silence for a few minutes.
"So, when do I get to meet your girlfriend?"
I smile. It's the same, each time I visit. "I haven't dated for a while dad—you know that. Now, if you were to move to the city with me, I might find some time to date..."
"Ha, ha. We've had this discussion before. You know, I was going through some boxes and I found your high school year book. I never met any of your friends except... Celeste? I think that was her name..."
I smile wistfully. I made a huge mess of high school, didn't I?
"How is she now? Where is she?"
I blow on the broth and feed him some.
"I don't know, dad. She moved after senior year."
"She was a good kid. Why aren't you in touch?"
"Because I made a mistake, dad. I broke her heart."
I can't help but go back to the memory of prom—not just the kiss—but the moment when we entered the gym. She was standing by the refreshment table, looking stunning in a blue gown that matched her eye.
I had to actively force myself not to keep looking at her.
Dad studies my face. "But you liked her. I saw it in your eyes when she came to visit."
I choose to stay silent.
"I thought you went to prom with her. You told me you had a date."
"I did have a date—but I went with someone else."
Dad eats some more in silence. The bowl is only half done. His appetite has reduced to the point he's hardly eating.
My pulse spikes. I'm even more determined to take him with me this time.
"Do you regret it? Not going with her?"
Dad's question hits me out of left field. I've spent a decade trying to forget things. Still, I try to answer honestly.
"I do. I made a mistake. I was too late in recognizing my feelings."
"So what's stopping you from meeting her now?"
I laugh. I've actively tried to stay away from news of her. "I screwed up, dad—and then things got really really complicated."
"What about the girl you went to prom with?"
"She was entirely the wrong choice for me, dad. By the time I realized that, it was already too late."
"Is that why you never dated after high school?"
"Yes. I'm not looking for romance—not now or ever. That's why you're going to have to live a very long life. Who else will keep me company?"
Whatever dad sees in my face, he changes the topic. We talk about this and that—the neighbors, the farms, his old job...carefully skirting anything too meaningful or painful.
It's still hard to accept that I didn't realize the depth of Celeste's feelings for me, or mine for her.
That my actions pushed her past the point of no return. That she felt the only way she might be happy again would be if she destroyed me.
But if she wanted to destroy me...why did she admit to doing it?
I might have to accept that that's a mystery I might never get to solve.
Dad naps while I clean up the kitchen. His regular attendant is off this weekend and I don't mind.
It's good to spend time with dad and take care of him.
I start packing a bag for him. Later in the evening, I sort through his medications.
When he wakes up, I sponge him clean so he can feel fresh. I place his bag at the feet of the bed.
"Are you excited, dad? We're leaving tomorrow. We have an appointment with Dr. Tan on Monday."
My dad smiles wistfully. "You see that tree by the gate? We planted it together—you, me, and your mom. I have a photograph somewhere."
"I do." It was when I was five. It was the last thing I remember doing as a family.
"I couldn't bear to part with it." He looks me straight in the eye. "I'm not leaving here son. Not unless it's in a coffin."
"Stop talking like that! You can't keep suffering like this. If you can't part with that tree, then I'll have it transplanted as well."
He laughs and calls me close. When I sit next to him, he pats my head, like he used to when I was a kid.
"Listen, son—I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being such a lousy father—for drinking myself into oblivion."
Tears prick my eyes. I don't want to have this conversation.
"I know, dad. I know. You should rest." I start to rise but he grabs my wrist. His hold might be gentle, but his words have me firmly locked in place.
"I can't fix the past—but I refuse to be even more of a burden. I owe you that much at least. You should leave in the morning."
"Seriously? You're throwing me out?"
He smiles bitterly. "I just want you to know—I love you. You were the best thing I ever accomplished."
Words burn in my throat—fighting to rip out and tear into him.
Is this how one shows their love? By refusing treatment all this time?
Isn't he abandoning me again?!
Just like he did when he drank himself into a stupor each night—even with his disease.
I want to shout at him.
For each time I came home to find him drinking, medicines lying discarded and untouched.
For refusing to listen. For threatening to call the police if I tried to force him to leave.
For throwing me out unceremoniously in drunken rages.
For saying he cares—but not caring enough to stick around.
I'm so angry with him.
So, I tuck him in.
I grab the pillow and blanket from my room—the same one Celeste used that snowy night, and pass out on the floor next to dad—heart hurting with all the words unsaid between us.
—---------------------
When my eyes blink open, it's dark, inside and out.
I grab my phone and check the time. 3:37 am.
I'm not sure what woke me, but I decide to check on dad before going back to sleep.
I touch his hand, and it feels cold. I pull back his blanket. Something doesn't look right.
With trembling fingers, I touch his throat.
No pulse.
I call the paramedics. I start CPR, but his face is pale and his body is stiffening.
Eventually, I just collapse on the floor beside his bed, his hand held in mine.
My throat is locked. I don't know how long I wait. It might be a few minutes or a few hours.
I just remind myself to breathe. No tears come.
My grip on his hand is so tight his fingers creak.
Light grows outside the windows and I hear sirens in the distance.
It's only once they load dad into the ambulance that I realize.
I'm completely alone now.