Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “He just feels responsible for the press bothering me.”

  “Well, he does have some responsibility.” Carson leaned across the table, resting his elbows on top. “I saw the headlining story last night on Candace’s show. Nick rushed into a crowd of hungry tigers to protect you! Then he whisked you off on his black stallion.”

  “It was my four-door Camry,” I muttered. Though, I couldn’t correct him about the press because they did act like a bunch of tigers. Wincing, I got back to the subject. “That was on last night?”

  “Haven’t you looked online at all?”

  “Busy being robbed, remember?”

  “That’s no excuse for not checking the news.”

  News to Carson was the celebrity headlines.

  “Speaking of, I haven’t had the chance to look since my morning latte.” His cell appeared out of his fanny pack, and I smiled at the rainbow-colored case on the back. In the center was the PopSocket that looked like a diamond that I’d given him for his last birthday.

  “So anyway,” I said, picking up the chopsticks, “if the offer is still good, maybe I will stay with you for a couple days, just ‘til things die down.”

  He didn’t answer. I didn’t even think he was listening. He was totally engrossed in whatever headline filled his screen.

  “Earth to Carson,” I said, snapping my fingers in front of him.

  His face snapped up. “Zoey,” he whispered, gripping the phone like it was a bomb.

  “What is it? Did someone wear plaid with polka dots again?” I guessed.

  His eyes actually shimmered with what looked like tears but clung to my face, almost as if he was searching for something... like he was trying to see past my makeup.

  My stomach collapsed into my feet, and dread spread out over me like blood draining out of a dead body.

  “Oh, Zoey,” he crooned, shaking his head. “It’s too much.”

  “What’s too much?” I asked, my voice already hoarse.

  Holding his phone across the table, I took it, turning the screen so I could see.

  Makeup Artist or Monster?

  Explosive secret photos reveal all!

  My heart began to pound so fast that my head swam and the headline on the screen blurred into one giant letter. Collapsing back into the chair, I blinked about a thousand times, trying to make my vision clear so I could convince myself that what I saw was a trick of my imagination.

  My arms and legs started to vibrate, the palms of my hands sweating. A thick, inescapable net of panic tossed over me, vowing to keep me prisoner.

  I didn’t know how long I sat there trembling like a leaf in the bitter winter wind, but eventually, my desperation beat out the blurry vision. Focusing back on the phone, I scrolled past the headline, praying to God I wouldn’t see what I was terrified I would.

  They wouldn’t. It couldn’t possibly be the photos from last night.

  It was.

  Right there in grainy, dim color were two photographs of me in all my honesty. No makeup. No hood. No leg.

  Nothing but surprise in my eyes.

  An odd keening sound filled the restaurant, and I found it annoying and disruptive.

  Carson appeared beside me, draping his arms around my shoulders. “Shh, c’mon now. We should probably go.”

  The sound continued, and my head began to hurt.

  “Zoey, stop making that sound. They’re going to call the paramedics,” Carson hissed.

  That awful sound was me. It was the sound of my world imploding.

  Pressing my lips together, I quieted down.

  “It’s not the food.” Carson assured everyone. “We just got some heinous news.”

  The phone screen had gone dark, and I held it out for him to scan his fingerprint. “Maybe we should—”

  “Do it,” I insisted, shoving the phone closer.

  He did, and we both stared down at the photos. They weren’t great. The color quality sucked because he’d used the flash wrong. They were slightly blurry because he’d been running and I was chasing him.

  But you could still see.

  You could tell there was something wrong with my face. That I was damaged. You could see it was the left side, and my left side was also where the bottom half of my leg was missing.

  Even though the photos weren’t good, they were enough. Enough to ruin everything I’d built. Enough to turn my life into a constant battle of looking over my shoulder and reliving the worst time of my life.

  “Is that really you?” my best friend asked, his face close to mine.

  A tear streaked down my cheek as I bowed my head.

  Making a sound, he patted my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, okay? Uncle Carson doesn’t care. This is just trashy tabloid filth.”

  When he pried the phone out of my hand, the images onscreen left my stare, but I didn’t need that phone to see those images. They would be burned in my mind forever, just like the rest of my scars.

  “Cut!” the director yelled.

  Landen and I unlocked from the “fight” we were in and fist-bumped a job well done. “Want to grab some lunch?” he asked.

  “Let’s take thirty and then get Jessica on set with Nick.”

  I pointed in the direction from which those commands were just hollered. “I think I have to go to makeup and get ready for the next scene.”

  “Later,” Landen said, patting me on the shoulder and turning away. “Whoa,” he swore, his body lurching out of the way as Callie came rushing toward me.

  “Sorry!” she called as she hurried, nearly plowing into me too.

  Catching her around the shoulders, I held her back and looked down. “What’s the rush?”

  “There’s something I thought you would want to see.” She panted, holding out a phone that was not mine.

  “This your phone?” I asked, taking it.

  She nodded, pushing it up in front of my face.

  The headline caught my attention, making me feel like someone just dropkicked me in the nuts. Thumbing past the article I didn’t bother to read, I went right to the photos.

  My eyes closed, and a filthy word dropped out of my lips.

  “Is that Zoey?” Callie asked, her voice quiet.

  Quickly, I hit the side button on her phone, darkening the screen. “Don’t look at that again,” I ordered, handing it back to her.

  “O-of course,” Callie stuttered.

  “Where’s my phone?” I barked.

  She held it out, and I tapped the screen. Motherfucking shitbag. It was trending.

  Even if my people managed to pull it down, the screenshots, reposts, and gossip would never go away. The internet was a black fucking hole. Scrolling through the pages of coverage, I avoided looking at the photo every time it came up on my feed.

  Until I scrolled past one.

  I stopped.

  I stared.

  I got angry.

  It was a split screen image. A photo of me from the “Sexiest Man Alive” shoot on one side and the grainy, unflattering photo of Zoey on the other. The headline read: Beauty and the Beast.

  A harsh sound ripped out of my throat, echoing up into the rafters overhead. Backing out of that shit, I found the original article that Callie brought to my attention. It had been published for two hours.

  In only two hours, this one article, these two photos taken without consent, obtained by breaking and entering and taking a scared, innocent woman off guard, spread to every corner of the web.

  She was going to be crushed.

  My head shot up. Zoey.

  The unnatural quiet of the set made me gaze around. Everyone was standing there staring at their phones, whispering and stealing glances in my direction.

  “No one look at that!” I raged, going around and pushing everyone’s phones down to their sides before rushing off set toward the makeup trailer.

  On my way, I dialed a familiar number, not even pausin
g when they answered. “I need extra security with me for the foreseeable future. I need it now. Send some men to set.”

  As soon as the man on the other end agreed, I disconnected the call and stormed into the trailer. The people sitting around glanced up from their phones the minute I appeared. I knew just by looking at them what they were so acutely entertained by.

  “Where’s Zoey?” I demanded.

  Jessica turned around in the makeup chair. “She’s not here.”

  “Where is she?” I asked, barely holding on to my patience.

  “She went to lunch with Carson,” Laura told me.

  I glanced at Callie, who’d been running alongside me since showing me the article. “Craft services,” I said, starting off.

  “She’s not there.” Laura called me back.

  I glanced around.

  “They went off the lot to eat today.”

  My blood turned to ice. She was out in public right now? Away from the security guarding this lot?

  “Where?” I yelled.

  Laura’s eyes widened, and Jessica’s mouth fell open.

  “Nick—” Jessica started, but I cut her off.

  “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know,” Laura answered.

  Callie’s footsteps were frantic as she ran, trying to keep up with my much longer stride. Rushing toward the parking lot, I dialed Zoey’s number and waited while it rang. And rang. And rang.

  Hanging up, I tried again, getting the same result.

  “Where are you going?” Callie asked, her breath coming in short gasps.

  Her car was here, parked in the same spot it was the night before. Right near the place she’d been assaulted by the press.

  My God, what would they do to her now?

  I was about to run off toward my Rover when a red Prius drove into the lot.

  “There’s Carson,” Callie called, pointing.

  As I jogged toward the car, Carson had no choice but to roll to a stop right there in the middle of the asphalt. With the car still running, his door popped open and he got out, adjusting the neon shades over his eyes. “Now’s not really a good time,” he called, looking a little frayed around the edges.

  Ignoring him, I bolted around to the passenger side, staring through the window where Zoey sat. She appeared shell-shocked and pale.

  Wrenching the door open, I bent low, just the way I had last night when I massaged her leg. I wanted so much to reach out and grab her. To pull her into me. The way she sat staring off at nothing kept my hands off at first. She probably already felt betrayed and violated. I didn’t want to make it worse.

  “Zoey,” I said, imploring her to look at me.

  She didn’t. I wondered if she even knew I was there.

  The phone gripped in her hand began to ring. The sound jolted her, and she glanced down. A laugh bubbled up in her throat. “It’s the press.”

  I grabbed the phone and chucked it off in the distance. The sound of it shattering was dull.

  Carson and Callie stood at the hood of the car, watching us through the windshield, but it didn’t matter.

  “Angel,” I whispered, this time sliding my hand over hers clasped in the center of her lap. Her skin was icy, but she looked at me, a flicker of life sparking in her gaze.

  “Did you see?” she asked, gravelly.

  “I didn’t look.” I promised.

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I saw the article, and I know there are pictures, but I didn’t look at you. I swear.”

  Her chin wobbled, and my heart constricted. I held out my arms. She leaned in. A dull roaring filled my head as she allowed me to hug her close. One of her hands slid up around the back of my neck, clutching me closer. The sound of her sniffling against me made my eyes flutter closed.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  Over and over again, I whispered apologies, until eventually, she pulled back just enough to say, “It’s not your fault.”

  Swiping gently at a tear falling down her right cheek, I said, “I’m sorry anyway.”

  Curling back into my chest, a quake shook her body. The vulnerability I felt from her did not match the conviction in her words.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said again. “It’s his.”

  I felt the draw once more. The undeniable pull of a moth to a flame, of an editor tidying up the plot holes in a story.

  Seven years I’d been waiting for the flicker of fire. Seven years of slumber about to come to an end.

  As I stared down at the photo lying in the palm of my hand, the warm feeling of joy made me smile.

  How lovely.

  The chance to finally film our sequel.

  “Quiet on set!”

  I used the director’s command as an excuse to slink back into the shadows of the set, so grateful for the respite.

  Yep, I was back on the job.

  But there was no tank of water or any big action sequence happening, so as long as I stayed out of the way, I’d be fine. As if it could get any worse.

  A cold chill scraped down my spine like a dry branch on a windowpane. Shivering, I regretted the thought immediately. I knew things could get worse.

  I had firsthand knowledge of hell, of things people in the movie business couldn’t even conceive.

  I didn’t want to go back there. So I came to set instead. I could have asked Carson to come in my place and stayed in the trailer, but there was more than one reason I didn’t:

  1) I could work here on set. Work would keep me busy. Busy was good.

  2) The set had an extra layer of security because they were filming and needed no interruptions.

  3) No one would be staring at me in light of the fabulous news coverage because phones weren’t allowed here.

  Just in case you didn’t get my sarcasm: fabulous news = loathsome.

  And one more reason:

  4) I was closer to Nick.

  Like a brick through a window, those now viral pictures shattered any peace I’d gained over the years. They took away something so precious to me, leaving me raw and afraid. We’d barely escaped the press at the ramen shop. How those vultures figured out where I was so fast, I would never understand.

  Maybe they smelled the blood from all my reopened wounds and they’d come to feast on what was left of my carcass.

  Carson drove his Prius like it was a race car, weaving that little red bullet through the cameras and traffic and bringing us back to the relative safety of the filming lot.

  Even his quick thinking and friendship didn’t make me feel better.

  The first glimpse of relief I knew was Nick bolting around the car. The second he flung open the door, his reassuring presence wrapped around me.

  How had this happened? How was it that when he opened up his arms to me, I went into them automatically?

  It wasn’t much, but a few of those shattered pieces inside me were glued back together when he appeared at my side. When he threw my phone, breaking it into a million pieces, more of the fragments inside me fit back together.

  I knew later I would regret all this. Regret letting him comfort me and sticking close to his side afterward. I couldn’t bring myself to worry about it just then. There were bigger worries pushing down that fear. I would take things step by step at least until work was over for the day and I could fall apart in private.

  I definitely couldn’t go home now.

  Going home with Carson probably wasn’t the smartest idea either, considering the amount of press that saw us escaping from the ramen shop together. They found my place in a matter of hours. By now, they probably already had his address too.

  Leaving town was a good option. Probably the best one I had.

  “Zoey,” Laura hissed, her hand reaching into the shadows to grab my wrist.

  Startled, I jumped back, knocking into the makeup kit at my feet. People around us turned to look, making me shrink back even farther.

  “Come on. They need us,” she said, ignoring the way I re
coiled.

  Realizing they were waiting for us to do our jobs, I hustled forward toward Nick and Jessica. Laura got to work on her instantly, and I stepped under the lights toward him. The focus of his green stare was entirely on me, equal parts reassuring and discomforting.

  “Make me look good for my close-up,” he teased, a twinkle lighting up the jade.

  Frankly, he didn’t need anyone to make him look good, but I didn’t tell him that. The guy already had a fan club big enough to fill a European country. There was no point in feeding his ego more.

  I worked quietly, then grabbed my kit and slid back into the shadows behind the crew.

  He looked sort of like a god under the bright lights on set, his golden hair glowing like a halo, his perfect complexion seemingly kissed by the sun. The white shirt he wore skimmed his body, draping off his shoulders like a caress, like even the fabric touching his body knew how fucking lucky it was.

  When he smiled, a dimple was revealed, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and the Cupid’s bow in the center of his lips deepened.

  He was indeed the master of the smolder. Something the press never forgot to mention. The weight of Nick’s stare was heavy but never a burden. He had this way of making someone feel like the only one, as if nothing had ever captured his attention the way they could.

  It would be so easy to fall for a man like him.

  “You came for me.” Jessica’s breathless voice filled the quiet of the set. “How did you know where I was?”

  Nick moved forward, capturing her elbows in his palms, drawing her into his space. “I have a built-in GPS when it comes to you,” he replied, sliding down one of her forearms to press her palm against his heart. “I’ll always find you, no matter where you go.”

  The set lights glistened off a tear that fell delicately from the corner of her eye, trailing along her perfectly made-up cheek in a single stroke of emotion.

  They made a striking couple bathed in light, standing in the center of a battle zone, but looking like they’d finally found peace.

  Cameras moved soundlessly around them, capturing the moment from every angle, and people in front of me pressed hands to their chests like their hearts were fluttering.