Put It Down
I don’t like to be seen by the paparazzi, let’s get that straight.
However, I am a big believer in all press being good press even when it’s bad. That’s why I was my parents problem child, all attention, even negative, I basked in it. Especially now given we started filming my newest feature maybe 3 or so months ago. Shit had hit the fan just a bit since our last encounter.
We started spending a lot more time together, the more she fought with Paul, the more she turned to her substances; then there she was, standing at my condos door weary eyed and high. I had no choice but to pick up the pieces that were Skye Riley. I was the one brushing the tangles from the length of her hair, washing her up, holding on to all of her shit.
I may be a liar to some degree, but I won’t lie and say Skye doesn’t take some responsibility for how shit her and Paul’s relationship is, yeah she is cheating but I mean aside from that. How she likes to push him until he blows his top, especially so on set when everyone’s around. But him? He’s the real problem, a gaslighter, he taunts her. I’ve seen it, peeking into his dressing room on set when Skye’s there, watching her cry, watching Paul mock her as she cries.
‘You’re so fucking ugly when you cry.’
To be an actor is to preform, fucking put on an act that lets everyone know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if that means having to pretend to be head over heels for the man that is Paul Hudson, the drug addict, the man of the year. The one who gets to play face with the woman i’d do anything for. Maybe I do put her on a high horse, but I see her for everything that she is, everything she could be, maybe she sees me that way too.
I’m sitting off to the side watching them film a scene with only Paul, if I was anyone other than myself I would understand why everyone loves him. He has this charm, if I hadn’t known anything about him, no background knowledge I would have fallen for the charms, or at least turned him into my own little business opportunity; a chance at growth. He wasn’t named actor of the year for no reason.
I pull my eyes away from him to fall on the sad eyed woman sitting a foot away from me, her hair falls behind the chair in soft waves, her skin bare of makeup, supple in glow. I swallow harshly, against my own will I find my breath stolen from me simply from the sight of her. I yearn, I yearn for her in the same way I yearn for acting, in a deeply settled yet primal way. I can’t feel shame from the intensity of my stare which I know is harsh, I can’t help but notice how her lips part slightly in focus, she’s in a crewneck, my crewneck the one I wear on the set of all my movies. The crewneck that pools past my thighs and now pools over hers, accompanied by long shorts and dirtied sneakers.
I suppose she catches my stare because akin to myself I can see the breath stolen from her, perhaps from the intensity of my gaze, or rather from how my lips curl at the corners against my will, flashing her an uncharacteristically sweet smile. Her eyes are so tired, and I would give my career just to watch them settle under the glare of the mornings sun, with her nestled against my pillows in my bed under my sheets, bare as the gods intended, nothing but her and I together without the weight of our sin.
I force myself up, fixing my tank top, adjusting the spandex they have me wearing from riding up. I walk to her, leaning slightly against her chair, not suspicious, looks friendly.
“Well aren’t you just as pretty as a picture,” I turn my head from the scene to meet her eyes, a tad too close, nobody would think anything. “I couldn’t help but stare.”
She frowns, lips falling into a pout. "You shouldn't say things like that," Skye murmurs, her eyes darting nervously to the crew bustling around us. "Someone might hear."
I sigh, averting my gaze back to the scene unfolding in front of us.
She shivers, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she catches herself. "We can't... Paul..."
"Fuck Paul," I say, my voice low and intense. "I don’t want to hear his name again do you not get that? Why won’t you just leave him, if you had some common sense you’d see he treats you like shit and you let him.” I say with a little too much bass in my voice, its harsh, mean, meant to be internal.
Skye's hand rests on my arm and I force my eyes back on to hers, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. "It's not that simple."
"It could be," I counter. "If you'd let it." I yank my arm back from her touch and stomp off, b lining for my dressing room, I don’t have to take this right now, I’m not scheduled for the rest of the day, I don’t have to take this.
I slam the door behind me, taking a deep breath before I lose myself.
I kick my shoes off, pressing my soles into the carpeted floor, bending at the waist, pressing my hands into the carpet. I feel the tension fall out of my muscles as I stretch, before I know it im glancing at the clock and an hour and a half had passed, I narrow my eyes when my dressing room door opens, the don’t cease when I see that it’s just Skye, she closes and locks the door behind her.
Skye leans against the closed door, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to upset you earlier."
I straighten up slowly, eyeing her warily. "It's fine," I say, my tone clipped. "You should go. Paul will be looking for you."
She flinches at his name, taking a hesitant step towards me. "I don't want to go back to him, he left anyway, he didn’t want to see me." she admits, wrapping her arms around herself. "I want to stay here. With you."
I cut my eyes at her pursing my lips, but I force myself to remain calm. "I can’t keep this up you know? I can’t do this forever. I can’t keep watching you with him, do you get how that feels? For me to watch you hang on his every fucking word?"
"I know," she says, her lower lip trembling. "But I can't help how I feel about you. It's driving me crazy, being without you everyday. I need you.”
I close my eyes, trying to resist the pull of her words, the ache in her voice. But when I open them again, she's there, right in front of me, her eyes pleading.
"Skye," I breathe, my resolve weakening. "We can't keep doing this. It's not fair.”
She reaches out, her fingers grazing my cheek. "I know it's not fair. But nothing about this industry is fair. We both know that." Her touch sends shivers down my spine. "Can't we just... have this moment?”
I lean into her hand, despite myself. "And what happens after this moment? You go back to Paul? Back to pretending? All we get to have is a few stolen moments that aren’t ever really going to belong to us.”
Skye's eyes well up with tears, her hand trembling against my cheek. "I know it's not enough. I know I'm being selfish. But I can't... I can't let you go.”
Her vulnerability chips away at my resolve. I want to push her away, to protect myself from the inevitable heartbreak. But the pull between us is magnetic, undeniable. I want to force the feelings past me, who am I becoming? A woman that allows another to have power over her. It makes me weak, and as much as that pains me, this concept, this idea of pure vulnerability, i’m putty in her hands.
I fucking hate myself for it
"Skye," I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. "You're killing me here."
She steps closer, eliminating the last bit of space between us. "Then let me bring you back to life," she murmurs, her lips a breath away from mine.
I know I should resist, snap her in half and kick her to the side because i’m convinced I shouldn’t care about her as much as I care for myself. I’m better than any of this, I’m a fucking star. But as her lips meet mine, soft and desperate, I'm powerless to stop it. My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against my body.
Suddenly that poetic daze takes over and fogs over my brain.
Suddenly I remember why I’m stuck on this sickly sweet mess of a woman, her sad smile before her lips against mine. She’s funny, I find comedy stupid and unnecessary but not when it comes from her, not when she’s sober and she’s not a popstar, she’s simply my Skye.
Every bit of my doubt, the ache within me fades as we kiss, Skye's hands tangle in my hair, messing up the carefully styled look I'd spent hours perfecting. I don't care. All that matters is the taste of her lips, the warmth of her body pressed against mine.
I pull back to look down into her eyes.
“You are the object of my desire, I would do anything for you, do you get that, do you?”
She looks at me with those eyes, pooled with honey, golden brown if you may. Her eyes are full of longing and affection, her lashes fluttering softly against her cheeks. There is a slight shine in her eyes, as if holding back tears. Overwhelmed with me, I can’t say I blame her, I’ve seen myself.
Stray tears run down her cheeks, lips puffy.
I lower my voice, swiping my thumbs over the swell of her cheeks. “Why’re you crying baby?
“I love you, I’m so sorry I can’t be everything you need, everything you want.”
My grip tightens on her face as I search for the right words to express my love and frustration. She's always putting her career and public image before us, but I can't keep quiet any longer. "Skye," I say, "I need you more than anything. More than fame, more than success. Don't you see that?"
She shakes her head, tears starting to fall down her cheeks. I brush them away with my thumbs. "I’m a fucking mess—i’m an addict, I fuck up everything I touch, my brain it’s—”
In a moment of pure desperation and desire, I crush my lips against hers. The taste of her is like a drug, making me forget everything else in the world except for her. I don’t pull back far, just enough to see those eyes.
“Let me—” I search my brain for the right words. “I can help you, but this moment is all we get, let me help you forget, if only for a moment.”
Skye's breath hitches as she gazes up at me, her eyes a swirling mix of desire and fear. I can see the internal battle raging within her, the longing to give in warring with her instinct for self-preservation.
“I—
I silence her with another searing kiss, pouring all my passion and frustration into it. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling in the heated space between us.
"Forget about Paul," I growl, my hands sliding down to grip her waist. "Forget about everything else, focus on me,” I smile, watching her chest rise and fall. “Focus on how good I make you feel, okay baby?”
She lets out a little sigh, breath stuck in her throat.
I reach for the hem of my tank top, keeping my eyes on hers till it drops and I step back to her, tugging my sweatshirt off of her leaving it abandoned, hooking my fingers through the belt loop over her shorts I walk back until my knees buckle and give, leaving me fallen onto the small couch, she stands in front of me, watching me with heavy blown pupils.
Up until her I found myself unable to worship another being that wasn’t this idealized version of myself, but seeing her in the low light of my dressing room, clad in nothing but a sports bra, hair hanging around her face as she watches me, I believe her to be a goddess, tortured and beautiful.
I use one hand to pop the button of her shorts open, tugging them down, neither of us dare speak, I catch her holding her breath when they fall down and pool around her ankles. She kicks them to she side and toes off her sneakers.
I grip her hand and tear my eyes away from her face, falling on the soft gray cotton that hug the curves of her hips. My fingers trace the edge of her underwear, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric. Skye's eyes flutter closed, her lips parting as a soft gasp escapes. I can feel the tension in her body, I smile to myself.
"Let go," I whisper, my voice low, heavy.
I hook my fingers under the waistband of panties sliding them down her hips, though I’ve seen her like this before I feel my stomach flip every time.
Skye steps out of her panties, now fully exposed before me. Her skin glows in the dim light, every curve and contour a work of art. I lean forward, pressing my lips to her stomach, trailing kisses down to her hip bone. She shivers under my touch.
she breathes my name, her fingers tangling in my hair.
I look up at her, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and parted lips. "Yes, baby?"
"I need you," Skye whispers, her voice thick with desire.
I pull her down onto my lap, relishing the feeling of her bare skin against mine. Our lips crash together, tongue against tongue, heavy breaths and swallowed moans, I slide my fingers down the softness of her stomach, her breath hitching when I touch her where she needs me the most, I drink in her sot whimpers, her hips rolling against my hand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur. “You don’t have to rush.” I press a kiss to her pulse point.
Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Please,”
I smile against her skin, loving ow desperate she is for me.
Her eyes screw shut, head falling back when I finally give her exactly what she wants, I keep my rhythm steady.
I thought that would be the last time I’d ever get to touch her.