Beautiful PRICK by Sophia Kenzie Page B

for seven hours so far today with only
a few quick water and snack breaks, and in that time, neither of us have
mentioned how we woke up wrapped around each other.
     
    I can tell we’re both hoping that if we don’t speak about
it, maybe we’ll both forget.
     
    Not because it was awkward, but because it wasn’t. Actually,
when I rolled over this morning and looked up, I could have sworn he was
staring at me.
     
    And I stared back.
     
    I hear the director yell “cut”, and Johnny steps off the
set.
     
    “Hey.” He jogs over to me.
    “Hey back. You have your lunch break in twenty minutes. They’re
giving you two hours.”
    “Perfect.” He chugs his water bottle before the make up
artist comes over to retouch his bumps and bruises and scratches and scars.
    “What would you like to eat?” I grab a notepad and pencil
from my back pocket.
    “Hmmm.” He sucks his teeth. “You know what, make us those
kale and pineapple smoothies.”
    I begin to jot it down, but stop. “Us?” I look up at him.
    “Yeah, you’re going to have one too. I’m teaching you how to
fight today, remember?”
    Although I do remember, I feel like I’m being a burden. “It’s
a long day. We can do it another time.”
    “Oh no, no, no.” He chuckles as he takes another swig of
water and turns so the make up artist can touch up the bruises on his
shoulders. “Tomorrow will turn into the next day and the next day will turn
into the next day. I know how these things work, Caroline. We start today.”
     
    Thenhe takes his shirt off. Really?
That’s how he’s going to put his foot down? I mean, there’s a reason for taking
his shirt off: they want to give him a clean one to start the scene over again.
But still, it’s no fair that he can make an argument and then end it that way. If
I tried that… well, it wouldn’t be on a movie set, I’ll tell you that.
     
    I’m sure it wouldn’t have the impact that he just had.
     
    Damn him and his muscles.
     
    I walk off set in a daze, knowing I have to make smoothies,
and put on something to wear that I can work out in, and something else.
     
    Something else… something else…
     
    You know when you know there’s something you have to do,
it’s on the tip of your tongue, and yet, you absolutely cannot think of what it
is? And then you think it might not be that important because you can’t think
of it, but then you wonder what will happen if it actually is important and you
don’t do it. That wouldn’t be good. So instead, I try to walk around in a
circle and pinpoint the last place I was when I reminded myself that I had to
do that one thing. And then I rack my brain, trying to find a trigger, and I
look at my phone to see if maybe I put it on my to-do list, which I definitely
should have done, but the likelihood that I did…
     
    I have to call Nick.
     
    See, pacing led to my phone and my phone reminded me that I
had to call Nick.
     
    “Hey you. Hung over?”
     
    I hear him groan on the other end of the line.
     
    “Do you want me to call again later?”
    “No. Now is good. How are you?”
     
    I haven’t talked to the boy in over two weeks. How are
you?
     
    That’s not a question I can really answer right now.
     
    “I’m fine, Nick. How are you?”
    “I miss you, Caroline.”
     
    What am I supposed to say to that? Because the truth of the
matter is that I don’t miss him. Not once in the last two weeks did I wish he
were there. I wished someone were there, yes, but not him.I wished to be held, yes, but not by him. I wished
for someone to talk to, to cry to, but never once was he the one on my mind.
     
    And I’m not saying someone else was on my mind. Actually, no
one was on my mind. My mind was blank.
     
    I never felt more truly alone.
     
    “Did you hear me, Caroline? I said I miss you.”
    “I miss you too, Nick.”
     
    I don’t condone lying, but I just don’t know what else to
say.
     
    “What happened to you? You disappeared.”
     
    SoI tell