The Final Act

Chapter Twenty-One: The Challenge

Rory and Angel's new production was different this time—this was Broadway. There were rarely any flops and Angel wasn't about to make this one of them. She prepped at rehearsals and prepped at home. The magic was still there with Rory as they went over their scenes until they were exhausted. This play was different from the rest. The title, A Labor of Love, followed a young couple as they navigated their way through the devastating mental illness plaguing her. It was frighteningly a mirror of their own relationship. Often, when Angel was on stage with Rory, the lines were so real that she almost called him by his real name. Their acting was flawless because it was so real; but it was also exhausting. Reliving their lives for everyone to see was wrenching and drained Angel dry.

One rehearsal was particularly intense, causing Angel to call for a break so she could escape to her dressing room for a breather. Rory tried to accompany her but she pushed him away saying she needed to be alone. The words drew panic in Rory. Often when Angel wanted to be alone it was because she was beginning one of her episodes. Rory waited, not so patiently, for her to emerge from her dressing room. She was doing so well lately. Please, God, let this be okay, he thought, anxiety and fear coursing through him.

After twenty minutes, Angel emerged, calm and ready to go. Rory could sense that she had medicated herself so she could come back out on stage. It was okay—she knew how much she was allowed to take of her fast acting pills. He pulled her to him and she smiled, gently pulling away from him to return to center stage. Was she avoiding him, knowing he could see into her soul, or just anxious to get back to rehearsal? He took his place and they resumed the rehearsal, Rory staring deep into her eyes. He knew she was fighting the old feelings. All he could do was be there by her side.

That night, Rory crawled into bed beside Angel and reached over for her. She feigned sleep, not wanting to answer any of his inevitable questions. All I need is some sleep, she thought, and waited for the Ambien to take effect. She was once again escaping.

As opening night approached, Rory took Angel aside for a serious conversation. He normally avoided asking her on a daily basis how she was feeling because he knew it annoyed her. But, she had been pulling away from him lately and he needed to know.

"Is everything okay with you?" he asked one morning as they were getting ready to go to the theatre. "This play is pretty intense and I hope it's not hitting too close to home for you."

"Of course it's hitting close to home, Rory. We're telling our lives out there. We're exposing ourselves to the public."

"But no one knows that. As far as anybody is concerned, this is just another play with the dynamic duo. I just really need to know that you're going to be alright."

"I'm trying, Rory, I really am. If I had known how intense and close to home this was going to be I never would have taken on the role. Sometimes I don't even have to memorize the lines—they're straight out of my life. Now can we please just go to rehearsal? We have a big night coming up for us this weekend."

Rory, regretting bringing up the subject, continued to get ready and they left together for the theatre.

The ride was unusually quiet as Angel sunk into herself, shutting Rory out. He peered over at her, seeing the lack of affect on her face, knowing she was struggling, knowing there was nothing he could do to help.

As they pulled up in front of the theatre, their pictures screamed out at them from the billboard. Opening This Weekend—A Labor of Love.

"Look, honey," said Rory. "There we are ready for our next adventure."

Angel froze, expressionless. For the first time since rehearsals began she doubted if she could get up on that stage. She felt weak, knees shaking as she got out of the car. Rory caught her before she collapsed, easing her gently back on to the seat of the car.

"I can't go in there," she cried. "I can't do this anymore. Please take me home." Her hands shook uncontrollably as she clutched the armrest for support.

"I'm here, Angel. I've got you. Let's get you to bed for a rest. I'll just run into the theatre and tell the director that you've taken ill." Rory knew full well that she was having a panic attack.

While he was inside, Angel reached into her purse and pulled out some pills. She was beyond thinking and took twice the dose. She was losing control rapidly.