wicked irony
elle.johnson posted on her story for the first time in a while.
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elle felt her heart tear in two as one by one her friends and family reacted to the big news. ringtone after ringtone, dial after dial, the writer didn't care and sat in the silent bedroom. she would rather have sensory overload and dissociate then begin to comprehend what she was instructed to type.
it's been a day since the producers called her, telling her she either goes through with writing for season two or they can find someone else.
she could tell they were pissed at her for exposing how racist they were— even if she said no names— on her most recent post.
they became an anaconda trapped under the scorching gaze of the public, backlash from other media sources as they were dragged through mud. . . and when a viper is looking for an exit they find a meaty scapegoat to prey on.
"the love interest is happening whether you like it or not. we can find another screenplay writer who would happily be a part of this company, if you're not interested anymore?" they threatened, latching the fangs into her jugular.
"that's no need, i'll write it. all of it." she retorted, using her customer service voice.
she put too much time and effort to get this job; too much sweat, tears and care for her work and scripted rafe cameron. it was better for her to be the one to look after his development than a stranger who had no expertise.
it's been over forty-five minutes since the obx instagram account posted the renewal news; only thirty minutes since she shared it to her account's story.
she felt sick to her stomach, her chocolate skin melting as a anxious high becomes downright unbearable. no amount of sedative could ever suffice.
her fingers shaking, even as she forces them to lay softly against the keyboards. her weak heart pounding against her ribs, bruising the raw flesh as her sweat glands bleed. like a moth contemplating death, she stares blankly at the secret document, the mouse hovering over the 'send' button.
her red lips strewn into a thin thread as her amber eyes glance over the dark letters— the tears blurring them into a inky blob.
she never in a million light years would've guessed she had the possibility to extinguish bright burning possibilities, the solar system of stars rotating around her. . . dependent on her.
she hated it, disgusted that mere words made her cry.
her own words, her own creation became a burden for
the writer and she couldn't tell anyone (her family didn't care, her friends on the show would be compromised, those who are working didn't have time, her manager didn't care for her personal emotions)— not even drew. the very actor she's writing for.
the lovable, generous, kind, caring funny, handsome, hollywood-soaring star that completely took derrielle by surprise. she imagined a thousand life times with various characters trapped inside her head— but he's the only one to make her truly happy.
every insecurity stacking in a tower; every aggression accented over the edge; a single push could send the relationship to its death. a single second of lingering gaze and messy kisses between strangers could spark something that no one expected.
as selfish fate would have their way,
grinning in the wicked irony of it all:
talent comes at a painful price.
the powerful script in his hand as he marched over to her trailer,
coaxing and convincing him to find the one who wrote it. like a treasure map, detailing how to find the lost rubies and diamonds, glowing together in their wealth. . . too gullible to believe there wasn't a catch. . . too optimistic to the unspoken curse.
like a pirate arriving on the shores of north carolina, his rings acting a hook as it glistens, spearing into the scornful but beautiful siren. her amber eyes representing gold coins; her worn out heart a lost ruby; her smile nice and nothing like the snarky comments leaving her pouty lips— the pleasurable moans that followed became a love-sick spell, absolutely music to the pirate's ears.
he taught her how to love again.
she taught him how to have fun again.
she was a treasure chest that only he had the key to.
but now, as the mermaid fears to be true,
it is her own talent that will tear them apart.
"i love you." he says with the upmost certainty.
"i love you too." she replies, never doubting him.
of course, they love each other. . . currently.
but then again, only time will tell.
and both of them has no control over any of it.
and with that in mind, she pushed down on the button. the clicking and swooshing sound echoing in her ear drums and swallows her whole.
derrielle johnson sent you an email!
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fez speaking!!
lololol surpiseee
shorter than i expected to be honest
(but it is like almost 970 words sooo i don't
really know what's long or short anymore)
and this is a complete change in tone
but #I LOVE ANGST???
#ANGST IS THE BEST THING
SINCE SLICED BREAD???
muahahah. 😈. my new life motto yall! /j
i just hope you liked this take on what elle is feeling about EVERYTHING, like okayy limited-omniscient narrator!!
next chapter we get reaction to script, maybe i'll introduce the LOVE INTEREST?? possibly? lmk in this comment pls:
THANK YOU FOR 92K READS HOLY SHIT IT
JUST HIT 89K LIKE FOUR DAYS AGO??
AND ITS #6 IN OUTERBANKS?? GAHHHAHAHA
THANK YOU THANK YOU THABK YOU FOR THE LOVE AND SUPPRT <<33
btwww 16 more chapters left and it's going to be a WORLDWIND. (don't worry smut is going to happen!
ik some of u HORNDOGS 😭😭 were worried)