Alex
Staring down at the man squirming in pain on the floor, I tilted my head and let my eyes drag across his writhing body slowly. His light brown hair was matted in places from the blood that was beginning to dry in his hair from where he had pulled at it with his blood-stained hands. Fresh tears cascaded down his pale cheeks; they were barren of all colour with the early signs of death.
He was muttering entirely incoherent words and grunting in pain as he pathetically pulled his knees up to his stomach, curling into a ball to protect himself. To protect himself from me.
The knife I had used lay by his side in a pool of what seemed like eternally pouring blood coming from the wounds in his thighs and stomach. Red was everything I touched.
The boys wound looked deep which, I admit, were quite impressive to me. I admired the work, ignoring his cries for help that were becoming more and more strained as he lay at deaths door. The red liquid trickled down from his mouth, making him gargle on his words as he screamed with everything he had. It left dark trails down his chin and neck before disappearing into his soaked, newly red shirt.
It wasn't much longer until the squirming stopped and his body relaxed, his struggled and gargled breathing ceasing to make a noise. His eyes went blank as if he was staring off into the distance, no longer looking at me with an expression of pure fear. Still, the blood continued to pour.
I picked up the knife from where it had been left in the pool of red liquid and with one last look to the body, strode over to my mark.
"That's a cut! Great job as always, Alex. Tommo, you did fantastic! Go get cleaned up." The director praised the child actor.
The boy, Tommo, peeled himself off of the sticky floor and out of the puddle of fake blood before he rushed off of set to get the special effect makeup off of him. Today had dragged and we had ran way over schedule; it was long hours of perfecting scenes and testing lights, camera angles and props.
My hands were practically permanently stained red lately with all of the filming we had been doing involving this fake blood stuff, so I was glad that we had wrapped everything up. At least, all of my parts were done. They had to re-film some scenes with the other characters, including Tommo, but the perks of playing the killer was that I didn't have many lines to mess up on.
Wandering off of set, I accepted a wet-wipe from my assistant, Jenny, and followed her back to my trailer. She was a sweet girl, but she was very enthusiastic about working in this industry because it had always been her dream. It was admirable most days, but sometimes it feels draining to listen to somebody be so zealous about a job I dread most days.
"You did so good, Alex!" Jenny beamed, peeling her headset off of her head and placing it on the charging dock in my trailer.
"Thank you, Jenny." I tried my best to not be a dick to Jenny; it would hurt her feelings.
Admittedly, I hadn't done a good job, but that didn't really matter. I was tired after a long day and I couldn't for the life of me figure out where my watch had gone, not that I would admit that aloud. Jenny would spend the rest of the night here searching for it and it wasn't really very important. She had done it once before when I had complained that I had left a ring somewhere on set. It took her hours but she, of course, found it.
I wished Jenny a good night and held the door for her, reassuring her it was fine for her to leave before me for once. Usually she hung around in the off-chance that I needed something. She was a good assistant, but after a long filming season she needed an early night.
A little printed out sign brandishing 'Alex Hill' was stuck to the outside of my trailer and every time I entered I felt my eyes settle on it for a moment too long. It felt surreal to see my name up on a sign like that, but I wasn't sure it was in a good way. When I was younger, I would have been overjoyed to see my name up on a door like that; even on a shitty printed-out sign. Those days were long behind me, however.
Standing at the small sink, I washed away any makeup from my face and scrubbed my stained hands as best as I could. A pink tinge remained. I sighed and decided to just run the shower. I pulled my clothes off and stepped into the steamy water, cleaning the sweat, residual fake blood and grime from my body and hair from todays work. The shower helped relax my muscles and I sighed in satisfaction, resting my head against the flimsy walls of the trailer-shower. This was the most relaxing part of my day.
Hunched over in the shower like that, head rested, I lost track of time. The water ran until it turned clear, all evidence of soap long drained down the small hole at the bottom of the shower. Drying my body with a fluffy towel, I shrugged on whatever spare clothes Jenny had brought for me and turned to the mirror, analysing the bags under my eyes with a frown. Turning off the light, I ignored my own reflection staring mournfully back at me.
It was raining outside; I could hear the raindrops pattering against the flat roof of the trailer rhythmically. Taking the cap I had hung on the coat rack earlier, I pulled it on and tilted the brim so that it partially covered my face. Paired with sunglasses, in the dark with a big jacket, I looked the part of every celebrity ever caught by the paparazzi's gaze.
My brain buzzed mutely, blaring static noise as I moved through the motions of getting ready to leave. Wandering through the rain to my car, I slipped in and onto the cold, leather seats. Most people had left set by now, except for the people responsible for transferring the footage from todays filming and the people wrapping up the set.
As I waited for the gates to be opened to leave, I nodded to the security guy that manned the gates from his small hut. He held his hand up for me to wait and stepped out of the hut and into the rain, jogging over to my window. I rolled it down, already anticipating what he was going to say.
"Somebody posted online that today is your last day of filming, so more people have been waiting at the gates than usual."
I nodded at the guy and thanked him for the warning before watching the gates finally roll open. My engine revved, but I couldn't exactly go anywhere. People had swarmed the sides of my car, knocking on the windows and trying to peer through the tint to see me.
Instinctively, I pulled the hat down lower and ducked my head as security tried to clear a space for my car to squeeze through. My doors were locked, thankfully, but some people tried the handles anyway. On the first day of filming my co-star, Tommo, and his mum had came out here and signed a bunch of people's autographs to show appreciation for them being fans. It had ended with him in tears after two idiots started a shouting match over absolutely nothing.
Tommo was only young, so I felt bad, but he had to know that this is how it's going to be a lot of the time. Not everyone was so bad, but some people would treat you like a doll that performs for their entertainment. They'd try to open your car door, for Christ's sake, so it was best to keep your distance.
I recognised one face in the crowd, staring from a distance. His eyes bared into my soul and I shuddered in disgust. Wherever I filmed, no matter for how long, he seemed to always be waiting outside. The same guy.
Security had had enough with the pushing crowd of fans and so had I. Slamming my hand down on my steering wheel, I let the horn blast for a second or two and everyone took a big step backwards from the loud car. They looked startled, so it was the perfect time to drive out of there without harming anyone in the process. It took long enough.
I finally joined the queues of traffic to get home and felt myself finally relax a little. It was a silent ride; I was only driving for about 20 minutes to get to my house so I couldn't be bothered to fiddle with the stations. I buzzed the gate open and drove up the gravel path, the house looking dark and unwelcoming with all of the lights still off at this hour. It was a very modern and stylish house, don't get me wrong, but when I was the only one living there it looked a little depressing to come home to.
Dragging my body through the rain and into the foyer, I kicked off my shoes and shrugged off my coat in the downstairs closet. In the kitchen, I flung open the fridge and found the meal that had been made for me, as per my trainers instructions, sitting on the shelf. It was wrapped, but fresh. I hated always eating my meals cold, however.
Sitting at the kitchen island, I forked the food into my mouth mindlessly. The house was silent. It was good in the respect that I could gather my thoughts and concentrate. In that respect, it made a nice change from the hustle and bustle from working on a movie set.
It wasn't long before my meal was gone. I washed up my solitary plate and fork in the sink and left them on the drying rack, ignoring once again the fact I had a dishwasher. What's the point in using it for one person? Heading up the stairs, I stepped into my office and sat at my desk, switching on my computer to read some emails.
I had been sent my script for the next film that I had been contracted to by my agent. Luckily for me, filming wasn't due to start for a little while, so at least I had a break between filming. My agent would probably have me in the gym with my trainer everyday, regardless. Typing out some social media stuff and fan-mail responses, I emailed them over to my PR team to have a look over before they were actually sent since they handled the majority of that stuff.
Cracking my back, I stood up from my chair and yawned. All I wanted was to go to bed, but my trainer would kill me if I skipped a workout, so off to the gym it was. I changed quickly before heading to my small home-gym. It only took about an hour, but after a long day it was draining to spend so long lifting weights. Not to mention, I had to shower again because of the sweat and then change again into some clean clothes to sleep in.
It felt like I followed the same routine day in and day out. Sometimes I had to change it up a bit- sometimes skipping meals or working at my desk for an hour longer than usual, but other than those small altercations, it was always the same routine. Every single day. I supposed you could say I've just become used to going through every single day of my life on autopilot.
My bedroom was cold. All of the big windows in here were a nightmare during winter; they let so much heat out if the heavy curtains weren't drawn to trap the heat. Albeit, they're awful in summer too; it feels like an oven in here.
Moving my throw pillows off of the bed and into the chest in the corner, I pulled the covers back and climbed in. It was all so mundane. I needed some change. Whether it was a new hobby or gadget, anything would do. I need a change of routine. Doing the same thing everyday is driving me insane.
I glanced at the pillow next to my head and sighed, rolling over so that I didn't have to look at it. I switched my bedside light off. It engulfed me completely in darkness and I laid back with a sigh.
I really wanted to break this routine.