trigger warning: sexual harassment and PTSD/anxiety (I'm not really sure how to label it)
---
"Don't call me that," I say bluntly. I walk over toward some boulders that are near the edge of the street, away from the group waiting for the vans.
Jake follows me.
"Damn," he says under his breath. "Someone's cranky today."
I dig through my backpack for my headphones.
"I should warn the rest of the crew before you do something you'll regret," he continues.
I plug my headphones into the jack and put the right bud in my ear.
"Hey Joe," he shouts and the PA who monitors the parking lot looks over. "Tell everyone to watch out. It's Rivera's time of the month."
Joe turns away while I put my left earbud in and hit play on whatever song is currently up on my Spotify. I click the volume up as high as it'll go. I look down the street and after a minute, a street lamp nearby that I was shaded from pours light over my face as Jake walks away.
I let shuffle run and don't touch my phone again until I get up to climb into the second van.
I press myself against the wall and hold my backpack in my lap. I don't speak aside from thanking the driver when I'm the last person to climb out and shut the door.
I turn off my music and slip my phone into my pocket before I go clock in.
"I told everyone you're not feeling good today, so they'll keep their distance," Jake announces as he steps up beside me. "You don't have to thank me," he says coolly and slips his arm around my shoulders.
I shrug him off. "Please don't touch me." I pick up my pace and raise my chin so I'm looking directly ahead.
He stops and I hear him mutter, "Whatever, bitch," as I walk away.
I give myself until the moment I sign my name on the check-in paper to internally rage over my morning, but the second my pen touches the paper, I flip the switch inside of me to work-mode and mentally prepare myself for the rest of the day. Today is for good second first impressions and proving that I know what I'm doing and I'm good at it.
Angela's not in her office when I pass it, so I go on to the makeup trailer.
My first real makeup trailer.
Well, not mine, it's for all the makeup artists, so I get to use it and it's my first time in one so this is...wow this is exciting. Okay, I'm suddenly way more nervous than I was before. Okay, breathe Lyla. You got this. You're a strong independent woman. You're awesome. You're the best person for this job. You're gonna crush it. Don't literally crush it, but you know... be good and do good. You've got this. You're gonna be great.
Okay.
I take a deep breath.
Let's do this.
My fingers curl around the door latch. I pull it and the door clicks open and swings toward me. I walk up the step and into the trailer and close the door behind me.
"Lyla!"
I feel warmth start to rise in my cheeks so I swallow it back and mimic his call.
"Shawn!"
He hops up from his chair and comes over and hugs me.
I tense up, pulling my shoulders toward my ears as a chill runs up my spine. He lets go and I glance up at him as I lower my shoulders and notice the hint of concern in his eyes.
I turn the corners of my lips up into a small smile. "How was your weekend?"
"Uh, yeah," he blinks as he steps back and the look in his eyes is gone. "It was really good," he says and pushes the sleeves of his faded red henley up to his elbows then tucks his left hand into the front pocket of his jeans and shifts his weight to that foot. "How was yours?" He runs his hand through his hair, pushing his curls back and his eyes focus on mine and there's that glint again. That question in the furrow of his brow.
I'm okay.
He doesn't know.
I just look tired.
"Good," I nod and pull my bottom lip in as I shrug. "Slept mostly."
"Man," he breathes and tilts his head back slightly while his eyes close. "Wish I coulda done that."
"Oh?" I raise my eyebrows and a smirk lights up my face. "Were you busy?"
"Very," he rolls his eyes as he nods. "Gotta spend my days off in the studio."
"Always working, eh?" My right eyebrow flicks up when I tease him.
He smiles, his eyes crinkle and his cheeks redden. "It never stops."
Someone moves behind Shawn and the sound of buzzing razor fills the trailer. I crane my neck and finally notice another guy sitting in one of the six chairs that are lining the trailer, leaning toward his mirror, shaving the stumble on his face
"Morning," I wave awkwardly at him and Shawn turns around to look too. "I'm Lyla."
The guy looks at me in the mirror and nods since his hands are busy. "Trevor."
"Nice to meet you," I smile, slightly embarrassed that I didn't acknowledge him earlier. Shawn turns back to look at me and I glance at him before gripping the strap of my makeup bag slung over my shoulder. "I should probably get set up." My hair falls in front of my face when I look down and I raise my right hand and push it back behind my ear.
"Right, yeah," Shawn nods and moves aside to let me pass. "You should definitely do that."
But, I don't actually know what to do, or where to go. Do I get my own mirror?
"Um," I stammer and glance around the trailer, trying to figure out something. Who knows what. "Maybe..." I really don't know anything. "I should find Ange-"
"I'm here," Angela says a little loudly so she can be heard over Trevor's razor as she steps into the trailer through the other door on the opposite side from where I came in.
I can't hide the drop of my shoulders from the sudden wave of relief.
She turns toward a counter that's against the wall by the door and shuffles through some papers.
"There's an open mirror for you." She glances over her right shoulder and gestures vaguely in my direction. There's a vacant section of counter right in front of me.
My own mirror. My own chair.
Of course, this is where I go.
The only empty one.
Stupid.
"These lovely gentlemen," Angela continues. "Are here early because they wanted to make our jobs harder and covered themselves in tattoos."
Shawn turns to look at me and I laugh breathily at his grimace and wide eyes.
"Shawn."
The expression instantly leaves his face and he whips around to look at Angela. She glances at him in the mirror by her and pats the back of the chair in front of it.
"Have a seat."
He turns back to me, his eyes still wide, like a plea.
"When Allen gets here, you'll be working on him," Angela tells me while I mouth, "Good luck," to Shawn.
He pulls his lips down tight and I hold back a laugh, then he mouths back, "You too."
It's a fluid and reflexive motion as I gently touch the pads of my middle three right-hand fingers to my bottom lip for a brief moment then pull my flat hand away to gesture toward Shawn.
We smile once more at each other before I grab the strap of my bag again and turn away.
I hear him sit down in his chair as I unzip my bag and start pulling things out and setting them on the counter. I flick my eyes to the mirror and look at my reflection for only a moment, but it's enough for me to catch Shawn in my peripherals, watching me. His brow furrowed slightly again, his eyes dark, the question returned to his face.
It's okay.
He doesn't know.
Everything's okay.
They don't know.
I'm okay.
No one knows.
---
Okay, so fine. You got another short chapter. :P Anyway, who knows what's going on there... I mean, Lyla's fine. She's good. You'll find out later. What do you think so far?