Our Romantic Horror Story

XV

Alex

Glancing at my phone for what felt like the thousandth time this week, I bounced my leg impatiently. I wanted this damn interview to be done so I could get out of the camera's eye at last.

Jake had set up this interview with a talk show host he had worked closely with in the past to control the gossip mill. It was, however, insufferable to sit through. Being asked questions about my sexuality and love life when I was none the wiser to what was happening at the moment myself was excruciating. 

"Waiting for a text from somebody?" The interviewer teased, flashing her straight white teeth and winking at the camera exaggeratedly. 

I looked dead at her with an unimpressed, bored expression. We were not friends so I don't know why she was trying to come across that way. The only reason anybody came on these kinds of shows was because they had to promote something or damage control a PR incident. 

These were the worst gigs to do. 

"Checking the time." I deadpanned, "I'm counting the minutes until this is over."

"Gosh, you are too funny, Alex." The host laughed, slapping my knee.

Her slap was a little too hard and out of the corner of her eye, she was shooting me a warning look to keep it light. It was a similar one to the one that Jake had been shooting my way all week. 

The live audience laughed along, prompted to by a laugh track. I cringed internally; it wasn't a joke.

"Well, we've just wrapped filming on my latest film, so I'm anxious to receive confirmation I can talk about certain details." I gave a workshopped response, my tone rehearsed.  

I knew from past experience that this host liked to try to connect with guests on a vulnerable level to get click-bait titles for videos and thumbnails of celebs crying or sharing a hand-hold or hug. It made me sick to my stomach when she'd tried it with me in the past; it was like she exploited a formula to break down these people to profit from their vulnerability. 

It was all just fake.

Including me, I guess, since I was playing into it, too.

I faked my way through the rest of the interview, gritting through it with a smile and a polite demeanour. The host seemed please with my milquetoast presence because she didn't try for a nauseating vulnerable moment. Perhaps she remembered how poorly it was received last time. People don't come to me for vulnerability; I'm the face of a killer, after all. 

We closed up the interview and she moved on to filming her next segment with her next guest. Jenny handed me a black coffee as I moved to the dressing room, which I thanked her for. Jake was sat there already, typing away on his phone.

I slumped into the chair at the dresser, staring at myself in the mirror. It felt as if all of my usual resentment for some of the aspects of my job were amplified this week and I felt like an imposter in my own skin. 

"You look like a teen girl who's discovered a zit." Jake eventually looked up from his phone, catching my expression in the reflection of the mirror.

I didn't respond, wiping off the makeup that had been slapped on my face with a wet wipe. Jake and I weren't exactly on speaking terms. We had to, obviously, for work, but it wasn't civil. I largely blamed him for things going so badly with Dylan. He made him feel so unwelcome because he couldn't shut his trap for five minutes.

Could my life not be just mine for one date?

I felt lately like I was being controlled more than managed. How it had become this way, I wasn't sure, but my own apathy towards life definitely played a hand in allowing it to happen. I did as I was told and grumbled about it quietly. It was pathetic.