between the lines//MGG

1

A/N: hey. welcome. I haven't written in so long. this first chapter isn't the best, so just be patient. a few things before we jump in: I have no idea how television sets work and all that, so if something is inaccurate, please don't come for my throat. I'm going off of my best guess and it really isn't that central to the story. also, some of the facts in this story will be skewed from reality or just straight-up wrong, but that's on purpose. the chapters will be longer, so it will take me longer to write. this one is shorter, but most will be 3k-6k words. also, in this, Criminal Minds will not have started in 2005. it will have started this year. disappointing, but it's important to the story. finally, thanks for reading! honestly, I appreciate each and every one of you. I haven't written in a while, especially this kind of thing. but I'm excited for this. so please enjoy! sending virtual hugs!

Roy's eyes dig into mine from his seat behind the desk. He looks slightly dead inside, but it's something you wouldn't notice unless you were up close.

"we're so excited to have you here, Miss Laurent." he beams. he's like the rest of the TV hosts: artificial and all too smiley. I watch the way the bright stage lights glint off his bleached teeth and the skin between the collar of his shirt and the beginning of his chest, where a distinct foundation line sits.

"I'm happy to be here, Roy." I lie.

"So, does our infamous Chloé Laurent have any new tricks up her sleeve? Hopefully soon?" he shifts to lean on his elbow, facing his body more toward me like this is a personal, intimate interaction. I hate the way he says my name, like it's full of wealth and prestige.

"not right now, Roy. my plan is to head home for a while and spend time with loved ones." there is a collective "aww" through the crowd, whether to appreciate the tender moment or to express dismay, I have no idea. 

we go on like this for a while, Roy pressing for some insider information on my career as I plaster on my camera smile and pretend. It's not like I'm a completely different person off-stage or something; it's just different when you have any number of cameras and lights shining directly on your face. I shouldn't complain.

When we finish, I strut backstage and am immediately handed a bottled water and my phone. Eryn, my manager, grabs my shoulder.

"you did amazing! they loved you out there." she says enthusiastically as I take a much-needed chug of water.

"thanks. are we staying here for the night or--" I start, but she interrupts.

"you're flying to LA tonight. I have something exciting to tell you on the plane." she grins mischievously. her sharp bone structure seems almost ghostly in the dim light of backstage.

"LA? no, Eryn, I have my flight home--" I start to panic and glance at my phone screen. my mom has called me three times.  shit. it doesn't matter that I was on a talk show; that woman expects me to pick up.

"baby, this will be ten times better. trust me." She practically shoves me into my dressing room, where a set of luxury loungewear sits folded neatly on the couch. I groan, wondering what could possibly be more appealing to me than spending a few weeks at home in sweats. I had been looking forward to this for a week: I could practically taste the buttery pancakes and smell the cinnamon candles that my mother has scattered throughout the house. she's convinced nothing bad will ever happen to us if our house always smells like autumn. 

but I do. trust her, I mean. if it weren't for Eryn's persistent, upbeat nature, I wouldn't be anywhere near where I am now. I'm grateful to her, even if she is a little pushy sometimes and even if she has trouble letting me finish sentences.

she slams the door shut behind me and I start changing into my airport clothes as I dial my mom's number. she picks up on the first ring.

"why is Eryn telling me you can't make it home tonight?" she sounds angry, her voice edged with disappointment. I sigh, tugging a pair of designer sweatpants over my wide hips.