CADE
I heave the last box of my stuff into my trunk, leaving sticky red fingerprints on the cardboard. The anguish on her face still echoes in my mind, and I slam the trunk extra hard just for the noise of it. It was pure hell watching her cry over me all day. Especially since it felt like the only thing holding my chest together was her hands, pressing down on my fake wound.
I thought she was so brave, risking everything she had to help people who had nothing. But she's just like everyone else in this godforsaken business—can't even pick a pair of socks in the morning without considering what it will do for their ratings. Actually, of everybody, she reminds me the most of my dad. Both of them can be earnest as a preacher or passionate as a rock star in pursuit of whoever they need to be to get the job done.
Ironic, considering I probably never would have had the balls to leave my dad's house without her. Double ironic, since now that he's disowned me, I quit my job in favor of political action. They made me who I am, and I hate them both so much I can't even bring myself to be grateful.
I let myself into the car I'm probably going to have to sell to pay my rent. With me firmly on the wrong side of the party divide, my dad's going to fight like hell to keep all the money I earned from acting. For spite, and so I can't use it against his cronies.
This won't be my last acting job. Since I wasn't the face of the protest like Brooklyn, Tesource was satisfied to only take my spot on the show; they left me my future. It's notoriously hard to place actors from long-running television series, but there will be other chances and I have every intention of taking them. But it's no longer the only thing I care about, because right now, my life feels every bit as real as Ethan's. It's the first time I've felt like I might be as decent of a person as my character, even if I'm not a politician the way my dad always wanted.
Hell, for the last few months I've been doing more good for people as an actor than my father ever did as a "public servant."
I know Brooklyn thinks it won't make a difference, her dropping out of the movement. How come everybody believes one villain can ruin the world, but somehow it's unrealistic that one hero could save it?
It's not until I steer my car out of the studio lot that it sinks in what I'm heading back to: a thrift store mattress in my otherwise empty apartment. Thanks to the rentals for our protest, and losing all our deposits when they got wrecked, I can't even buy a chair. I had to borrow money from my agent just to keep the Wi-Fi on in my apartment. The internet is my stage now; the only role I need to come alive for.
Too bad all I feel right now is broke, unemployed, and painfully single.
When she was still trying to convince me to forgive her, Brooklyn confessed that she'd known all season that one of the main actors was going to be killed off. I don't think my reaction was what she'd hoped for.
Everything we accomplished, everything we did together was a lie. She says it was both—that she wanted to help and define her professional brand. By the end, she claims she wasn't thinking of her career at all. But her final decision says it all.
Brooklyn was just like every other starlet putting on her best sequins and a concerned expression for a kids' cancer research fundraiser, when the only ass she was really interested in saving was her own.
I rip off my ruined costume jacket and throw it into the backseat, trying not to look at the tiny red fingermarks where she grabbed my arm to stop me from leaving.
That bloodstain is as fake as the girl who put it there. Only willing to get her hands dirty when there's a camera pointed her way. Only willing to fight when her real life isn't at stake.
My chest is cracking anew without her to hold it together, but it's a pain I've been feeling for years. I used to stay away because I wasn't good enough for her, and now I'm lonely for another, even less curable reason.
There's no way to stop missing a girl who never really existed.