Celestine

thirteen // célestine

This mirror looks exactly like my own, but I feel nothing like I felt when I sat in front of it and Jungkook dyed my hair. I haven't missed the chaos in the dressing room of the recording studio. I can't believe I'm trading a quiet evening of drinking wine in Jungkook's empty restaurant for this. It's 8:47, I'd be on my way to his place. This hustle here is so unfamiliar now, so uncomfortable, so not mine. Mine is trying to bake cookies while face-timing Jungkook as he does his taxes (damn that adult life).

A young stylists puts all the new make-up trends on my face. I do look beautiful, but it's too much for me. And I can't get used to strangers touching me like that again. Three pairs of hands work around my head to make me look good on camera. It never felt good, now it feels even worse.

I've had a stomach ache since morning, couldn't eat a single thing. I'm running on a cup of coffee I almost threw up and a cup of tea. Dizziness subsided three hours ago, luckily, but my body is lethargic and done with all of this.

My phone buzzes in my hands.

Jungkook: You got this! I'm one call away if you need me, and I'm in front of the TV, too. Good luck *blue heart emoji*

I breathe out. That message is the only thing keeping me sane now. Especially when Alvin runs across the room and pauses next to me. I can't understand why he's so excited, when I made it clear this is the last place I want to be at. Why is my unhappiness fueling him so well?

"You've got two minutes," he says. "Ready?"

"No."

"Don't be grumpy, come on." A clipboard with my schedule in his hands. I want to tear it into pieces and run. "You're a superstar. You need to show them your best smiles."

I've practiced my camera smiles for years now. They are a habit. The last thing I wanna do is give them to anyone now. When I'm not happy at all. I don't want to have to hide it for the sake of good article titles.

"People want you, Tina," he says.

I lock eyes with myself through the mirror. People want me. No, people want Tina Cartier. I'm Célestine. And that's all I want to be.

My first appearance after the break is a live interview in "A Night In Hollywood". The host of the talk show, Jessica, a woman a few years older than me, is the most fake-nice talk show host I've met in my career. My first controversy, when I was 19, was an argument with her on the live television. I was made to apologize, even though I wasn't in the wrong.

I hold my breath when she introduces me, force a happy expression onto my face and walk onto the set. Everything inside me can be trembling and collapsing, but I know how to keep it in. No one will know.

The audience is huge. Every seat taken, more people pile around, standing, crouching. Cameras, hundreds of them, flashing every step I take. Cheers, applause. It all feels like a heavy rock I have to carry. Men my age scream my name. I've never... never wanted to be someone else this badly. I've never wanted to be nothing but the observer, not holder, of Tina.

I switch Tina on. She's nothing but a setting. Speak calmly. Be elegant. Keep your cool no matter what, make them believe you're unable to rile up. Sound gentle and calm. Soft movements. Don't speak or move too fast. Be a lady. Polite. Confident. Powerful. Influential.

Jessica shakes my hand, smiling like she actually likes me. "So good to see you here again," she says.

"It's my pleasure to be here," I answer, taking a seat in a red armchair. The set isn't big – black floor and a black curtain behind us, the two armchairs and a round golden table in front of us. A black vase with three red roses on top of it.

The audience stresses me out the most. All eyes on me. Hundreds, thousands of expectations set upon me. People waiting for the announcement of the next movie I will take part it. People worried about the entertainment, none of them worried about me.

"So, Tina," Jessica says, "let's start from the most important question. How was your break, girl?"

She's going to talk like we are best friends to raise her ratings online. And I can't be rude. I can't tell her what I think about her. I can't tell the world the truth. That she hates me being here, but loves the paycheck she gets for it.

"I've enjoyed every minute of it," I say. I'm not going to apologize for being happy, even if they all waited.

"Your fans have been dying to hear from you," Jessica says. "So, any new projects in the making?"

"I'd love to share all the news, but my manager might not like it, to be honest." I force out a soft laugh. Alvin hates what I've been doing for the past four months, this one thing wouldn't change much.

"Ooh, we love the secrecy. That means something incredible is cooking."

Cooking. I wonder how Jungkook is doing.

I want to put on sweats, eat whatever Jungkook would cook, drink wine and fall asleep watching True Beauty. I want to be away from here. Away from Hollywood.

Jessica asks me a series of pointless questions. About the Oscars, about Oil Painting Is Fading, about my goals and plans. She compliments my hair, even though I've heard her say it doesn't suit me before the recording.

The audience cheers after every second answer. The cameras never stop flashing. I've been free to feel and express everything in the past four months, so when I forget myself for a seconds, my nails are digging into the armrest. I can't deal with all those people looking at me. Not only them, people in front of the TVs. Expecting more, expecting Tina.

I want to disappear from here. From this environment.

This... this is scarier than any amount of hate I could ever get for quitting my career. Keeping myself here for the satisfaction of others, and loosing the life I've tasted after I met Jungkook, makes my stomach twist.

Hiding in a hood for the rest of my life wouldn't be worse than being exposed to the whole world.

Being a disappointment will never be worse than being unhappy.