A Few More Weeks

(This story was written because I was bored, this is absolutely not what I would usually write, I was experimenting)

“Enter Julian in three, two, one,” I hear the director whisper to himself under his breath just loudly enough so that I can hear it but quietly enough so that the microphone doesn’t pick it up. I take a deep breath in and hear the click of the camera being turned on. It’s time to perform. 

 Liam walks onto the set with proud steps and opens the front door. I turn to face him suddenly and recall my lines for this scene. The worst scene.

 “Julian, what are you doing here? I thought you were with Alisha?” I say, projecting my voice out like I’d been trained. A look of confusion crosses my face as a cue to Liam. We both know exactly what has to happen in this scene.

 “I’m here to apologise, my love,” he crosses hall, extending his hands out towards me. He expects me to step into them but I instinctively take a step back which is a cue for him to stop walking and drop his hands. He does. I see the pain in his eyes and think that maybe for a moment he actually wants to start again. But then I see the smug look in his eyes come back and I know he’s just like always. 

 “I don’t want your apologies, Julian. I don’t want to see you ever again!” I shout, tilting my body forwards to show my desperation. I lift my arms and take a step forwards which causes Liam to take a step back. He looks scared, he looks vulnerable. Only for a moment though. I could pull the knife now and end his suffering for him. 

 “Please, Natalia. Forgive me, take me back, please,” he begs with his body. I know that he means the words truly. I know how sincere the words he speaks are. I let all of the lies fade away and I melt into the moment to act flawlessly. He reaches his hands out again and wraps them around me protectively, pulling me close. I resist for a moment and then let him reel me in for the sake of the movie. Everything for the movie. 

 “Julian,” I tilt my head away from him but he catches my chin in his fingers and pulls me back to him, “Julian, don’t.”

 His eyes soften for a moment. I know when he wants to improvise. Hundreds of hours of practice have taught me how to read him like an open book. Then his fingers dig slightly deeper into my skin and I know he’s just the same as ever. 

 “I’ve changed, Natalia. I’ve changed for you,” he stage-whispers and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. I can feel the energy of the moment shift and the director move in his seat as he observes what could possibly be history. 

 “Julian, this could never work. You know it could never work, we’ve tried and we’ve failed. Why won’t you let it go, Julian?” I let a fake tear slip down my cheek to emphasise the moment, “I’m sorry, Julian. You should go.” 

 Improvising meant that you would never know what would happen next. It means that you have to react to what the other person does. 

 Julian lets go of me, takes a step back and a deep breath in. He lets out a low groan that turns into a yell that turns into a piercing scream. I watch as he searches for the words to counter me but fails. He walks in a circle, grabbing his hair and muttering words under his breath. Then he turns back to me, eyes blazing, hands shaking.

 “Why?” he asks, his voice breaking, the pain real. He waits for a moment for an answer but realises that I can’t give him one. He turns and walks off the set.

 “Liam, Liam, come back!” I shout and run after him, hearing the click of the camera behind me. I let my feet carry me behind him but he’s too quick even though he’s not trying. We move through the corridors and rooms. People stare at us, confused, but we finally make it to the exit. 

 Liam continues walking faster and faster but I chase after him, desperately trying to catch him. He slams through the door with a thwack and I follow him. The cold air hits my face suddenly and I have to tilt my face away to not freeze. 

 “Liam,” I say hopelessly, “Liam, just let me talk to you!”

 He turns around, tears glittering in his eyes. I used to think that he never cried because I’d never seen him cry before. Only once when we were still ‘just friends’ and I told him about this guy that I’d met at a café. I found him crying in the toilet that day.

 “Isabella,” he whispers, no stage-whispers anymore, “Why?”

 “Liam-“

 “Isabella, I went to therapy for you. I’ve changed. I’m cured. The narcissism is gone,” he tells me, “I know that sometimes it comes back, sometimes it might seem like I haven’t changed at all. People don’t change that quickly, Iz. I still have my moments. You know what it was like for me, you know. Why won’t you give me another chance to make it right? I’ll go to therapy again, you can come with me. We can be together again.”

 I want to say yes to him and I know that he wants me to say yes too. We should be together. We should be Liam and Isabella, Isabella and Liam. The peanut butter and the jelly. The green and the pink. The white and black. 

 “I-I can think about it, b-baby,” I take his hand, “I know that it still haunts you and it still hurts. Just a bit longer until it stops hurting, until it can’t hurt any of us. It’ll be gone soon, Liam. I promise you that we can do it.”

 “Together.”

 “Together.”

 He takes both of my hands into his, gently. I let him and we look into each other’s eyes, like the day that we fell in love.

 “We’ll do this, Iz,” he smiles.

 “Just a few more weeks, Liam,” I squeeze his hands and know that today, I found the one.