Page 35 of Seeking Stars
Her stomach dropped. As much as she liked him, it was true: the documentary was the only reason they were in this place, for this long, talking like this. She couldn't deny the truth of her words and their meaning; she hadn't lied to him: her presence in this cabin was limited to the purposes of this project. She could still apologize for what it did to him, though.
Sobering up, she sighed and looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry I was so flippant about what's going on in social media. Making fun of it helped, but I didn't think about how it might make you feel. You're right, I shouldn't make fun of something that's so personal to you."
His furrowed eyebrows relaxed somewhat, his hands loosening up. The glow of the setting sun made him look like a bronze, sad star god.
"I'm sorry to ruin your fun," he said. "I should remember I was like that at the start, too. It used to be easy to make fun of it all in the beginning."
"What happened? What changed?" her own voice came out low now, matching his.
He didn't reply right away. His eyes jumped between hers, his lips in a tense line. So many little ticks and movements on his expressive face, making it clear he hesitated.
Wanting to comfort him and show him he could open up safely, she got up and sat on his chair, next to his knees. She watched him, her back to the sunset; his face softened as the seconds ticked by. With a small smile making an appearance, he looked away at the sun on its way into the ocean.
"It's fucking lonely sometimes in this industry," he said. "I have friends. I love them, and I do my best, but I can't keep up with their lives as much, because what they're going through is just so different from my life. I tried to make friends in the industry but… maybe I've just had bad luck and I haven't met the right people, or maybe I don't know how to find them. It's also simply having the time to invest in creating relationships, when I'm so busy. Anyway, the point is… most of what I've come across has been shitty."
"What do you mean, shitty?"
"Mostly, I mean fake. Or someone wanting something from me. I get that a lot in this business ends up being transactional, but is it too much to ask for people to be upfront about it?"
She could hear the hurt in his words, how he'd grown jilted as people lied and used him.
"For what it's worth," she said, not quite able to meet his eyes, turning her face to look at her hands on her lap. "I would actually like it if this grows to be more than about the documentary. I'd like to be your friend, too."
He nodded his acknowledgement, reaching out to her. His hand covered hers, warm and big, and he squeezed once before retreating.
"Want to tell me what happened?" she asked.
He seemed to think it over, his eyes shifting on the horizon.
"Early last year was rough. I was quite burnt out— about work and people, to be honest. I'd been getting more and more cynical, careless, even mean at times. I was on the road to becoming a really ugly person."
"Mmmh. I wouldn't say you're an ugly person, inside."
He glanced at her before his face turned down and to the side, as if he couldn't face her. She waited for him to make up his mind; he let his head drop, chin to the chest.
"Remember how I was becoming an asshole?"
"So you said."
"I was seeing someone. I wasn't nice to her. I could say I was like that because I knew she just wanted money and fame out of me, but that doesn't justify how much of a douche I was. One night we were having sex and I was self-absorbed, kind of angry. I knew I wasn't actually with her, but going through the motions. Meanwhile, she was moaning and screaming and saying stuff like,you're the best I've ever had. Such bullshit. I don't think I did a single thing that was for her that night. I knew she was performing and doing what she thought I'd like. Still, I kept at it, mechanical, uncaring."
Ana cringed at the bitterness in his story, recognizing the rancor he kept inside him somewhere.
"After, as I lay there with her next to me, I realized that in all our dates she hadn't asked me a single thing about who I am as a person, and I hadn't asked her a single thing either. Dates were mediocre, time together was mediocre, the sex was mediocre. The whole thing… fake and perfunctory. I felt so disgusted with myself. So, I broke up with her, took a week off from people except for work— I just showed up and left as soon as possible, no socializing. I focused on trying to figure out how to move forward. I was a part of the problem at that point, right? I needed to do better. So I vowed no more sex or relationships until I knew how to trust that they were real, and I found a therapist."
He hadn't met her eyes as he told her about this time in his life, and hers roamed his face, searching for him, learning the lines of pain on it. Heaviness in her chest for him— yes, he'd been selfish and maybe mean with that ex, and he also had done something about it.
She gave herself permission to reach to him, putting a hand on his knee and squeezing. Still not looking at her, he put his hand on hers again, a sad, tiny smile on his face.
"How long ago was that?"
"More than a year now."
Light faded around them, the space filling up with deep purples and grays. She squeezed his knee again and took her hand away, reaching for her glass.
She took a sip of her drink. "I'm sorry you've had such crappy experiences. I'd like to reassure you, but I can't say that I know it'll be different next time. I've been burnt, too, and sometimes I find it hard to believe myself. I'm still trying to find my feet again after my last relationship, so I'm not sure how any of that works. I do hope it'll happen for you, though. That you'll find someone you can trust loves you for who you are."
"Me, too." He reached for his glass as well. "Would you share your story with me?"
