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Summary
My body was shaking and sweating, hot and cold at the same time. I didn’t want to be looked at like that, or touched like that, but there was no escaping it. I just wish she had talked to me. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so messed up. When Monday arrived, she was distant—barely spoke to me—and it’s been like that for three days now. We didn’t get to talk about anything at all.
I stood in front of her, confused, every possible emotion pressing against my lips, in my heart, ready to spill out. But I can be professional, right?
The director yelled action, and the scene began. Everything was going well, so well—until I moaned her name in the middle of the kiss. “Rhea”. She stepped back. The embarrassment hit instantly. The director yelled cut, and I ran to the bathroom. Now I’m here, staring at the ceiling, wishing I were more professional. I don’t understand why she makes me act this way. I’m mortified, embarrassed, wishing I was dead—and yet, I don’t regret it.