Graveyard Blues [Brallon]

Sweet Talk

[I PUBLISHED THE WRONG PART]

I do like the fact that Jenna is still the special effects and makeup artist. She was promoted to head of the department, and one of the few skilled members of the crew to stay and hold down the fort while things started back up again.

"So filming begins tomorrow. Exciting, isn't it?" She calls over her shoulder from across her own personal trailer. She's mixing up some gloopy mixture to adhere the plaster wounds to my skin. It smells like garbage and looks like lotion.

"Oh, definitely. Can't wait to catch up on a whole month of lost time."

"What'd you do for that relaxing break? It has to have been better than spending a zillion hours per day in front of a camera in sixty tons of prosthetic makeup. The anticipation sounds like it was the worst part."

She's right. Anything would be better than that. I could have my arm ripped off by a shark, and I'd still rather repeat that experience. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, actually. Mind if I run it by you?"

"Hit me, Dallon. I'm ready for it — I think."

In that exact moment, I formulate the best and worst plan I have ever imagined. It gets me everything I want, in one single move, no matter the material cost. "I was thinking about proposing later today, but I'm not too sure yet. I have a picnic planned and everything."

The spoon in her hand clatters to the floor, and next thing I know, Jenna is hugging me and screaming into my shoulder. She's more excited than I am. "What do you mean you're not too sure yet? Haven't you both been together for years and years? I know some people who get married after a year, and you've taken that multiplied by, like, five! You should have proposed a while ago, in my opinion, but you do you."

I am fully aware of the length of my relationship. I'm not an idiot. "I don't know what he'd say."

"He'd say yes. I think you should do it, in case you couldn't tell." She taps the bowl in her hands on the counter and brings it over to her official workspace. It looks like cement, and it goes on my face and everywhere visible after Dallas Parson's shirt is torn when he dies and gets resuscitated by dark magic later on. I'm tired of the whole storyline, but I'm getting paid.

"I'll think about it. I might chicken out."

"If you don't end up psyching yourself out, I want a front row spot at the reception. I'll settle for second if the first is taken by family or whoever else is more important than the chick who can pour latex glue all over your face and hide the easy-removal solution."

I don't mind the conversation only because Jenna really likes to watch Dexter, and she holds the power to make me look like an absolute idiot, and the ability to permanently adhere false wounds to my skin. You have to be cautious around those types of people; they're so unpredictable.

🔪

I have one genuine ring on my keys, and that's the ring I plan to use. It's been there for years inconspicuously because Brendon doesn't pay much attention to detail and he has yet to realize that it is in fact a homage to Lord of the Rings. I could've bought one instead of keeping one I found a few years prior because I'm filthy rich, but free is free.

Hayley responds immediately after I send her a photo of it, and something tells me that she isn't detail-oriented either. She wants to call me. Brendon left for a lunch date with Taylor so she could talk through her breakup with somebody who gives a shit. He doesn't know what we did, or the text she said she would be sending within a day or so.

"I don't see why you can't just message me," I tell Hayley as soon as she picks up, "because this is a easy thing to type out on a keyboard and send. Yes you like it, or no you hate it and I should burn it."