I hit replay again as I watched her head tip back gently as I eased into her. She bit down on her lip ever so slightly as I began. And there was that look, that moment. I spotted it again. My mouse clicked the rewind button as I went back seconds for my fifth replay in an attempt to study it more.
Kylie’s performance today hadn’t left my mind from the moment we stopped. I heard her when she told me it was over. I heard her when she stomped out of the studio with her vow to never come back. But there was something more, something there that her words weren’t telling me. It was what her body did when it sighed, when her eyes lit up, when she said yes to what really should be said no to.
She trusted me. None of what happened on the soundstage before me was forced or pretend. She wasn’t acting either. Kylie wanted it as much as I did. And not only that, she loved it.
She loved it. She loves me. It was a crazy thought, I know, a person who could feel so strongly about leaving you actually loving you. But I could tell through the hurt, the angry bursts, that she wasn’t just disappointed because she discovered my past. She was in pain over me not living up to the expectations she had for the person she loved.
I reached for my phone, hoping to see anything, something from her. But it was blank. Not a missed call, a text, an email. She was cut me off. I opened her contact information knowing I, too, could make another move. I was never into begging, but for her, I would do it. I would get down on my knees and grovel if it meant being able to taste those lips on mine once more, to feel her bare hands on my chest.
A knock on the sound stage’s outer door forced me back to reality. A voice was calling my name, screaming it loudly over the sounds of the metal echoing down the empty hallways. I put the laptop screen down and raced through the room. As I got closer, I could make out her voice even more clearly. I couldn’t run fast enough to open it.
I swung back the door, finding her in white, slinky lingerie. But the red caught my eye first. It wasn’t part of the ensemble, at least that I could tell. Furthermore, her hands were covered in it. I spotted the patches in her stockings where they were torn and the scratches on her wrist. I could only get out her name before she frantically interrupted me, her hand grabbing for me as if she couldn’t make me out clearly.
“Help me.” She said weakly as she fell into my arms like a pile of bricks. I set her down gently against the cinderblock walls and ran out to the cab, tossing him a few twenties from my wallet.
“Is she going to be okay? She was looking really bad when I picked her up.” The drivers looked back at where he saw her fall, unsure if he should call the police or just drive away.
“Where did you pick her up? Was she with anyone?”
“No, man. I picked her outside of the Peterson Mansion outside Flicker Street. She was alone, running towards me.”
I handed him another twenty for the information and then headed back inside. What happened to her was beyond me. Right now, I was more concerned in ensuring she was safe. I could ask details later. I hoisted her in my arms, taking a closer look at her. Her white lingerie was almost completely see-through except for some strategically placed lace designs. Her panties had soft ruffles cascading down the back and connecting with the thin strap. Her blonde hair was tied back into a slick ponytail, but pieces of flyaways were falling down her neck. Her skin, besides the patches of red blood, was looking moist, as if she had been covered in something. Her mouth was open agape, but she uttered no sound. I could only tell she was alive by the pulsating muscle running down her neck.
“Kylie,” I shouted loudly at her, “I’m going to put you in a cold shower.” I heard her groan a protest. At least she understood me. “You need to wash off whatever is on you.” I brought her back towards the dressing room and into the bathroom. I clicked on the water as the sound of water rushing filled the quiet void. She closed her unfocused hazel eyes as I stepped inside the shower with her in my arms and held her out under the faucet.
She screamed, wiggling and wrangling in my arms to be freed as the water hit her head. A thought occured to me as I set her down gently in the tub as I quickly ripped off her clothing. I knew the red on her is blood and, from the looks of it and her tiny wounds, it wasn’t hers. I needed to save her clothing before I ruined any potential “evidence.”
I ran out of the shower and grabbed a pair of scissors. I cut along the seams of each piece of clothing until she was fully nude. Her head slumped up against the back of the tile wall as I shouted towards her, “I need you to tell me what you took.” She sunk farther down, her body unable to hold its own weight. “Kylie! This is important. If you can’t tell me, I’m going to call the cops.”
Whatever I said awoke her. Her eyes sprung open as she called out “No!” A hand found mine. It was weak, but she held me in place. I, again, asked her what she took and she answered slowly, her words not stringing together well. “The guy…white pill…vodka…blood…blood… blood.”
“Someone gave you a white pill?” I thought back of all my times as a drug dealer. Only a few pills were actually white. I asked her some more questions. “Was it round? Did it have an X on it?”
She nodded slowly, her head circling around. She confirmed it. Some bastard drugged her with ecstasy. And, by the looks of her, it was a high dose meant to knock her off her feet, not to give her a good time. I stood and ran out towards the sound stage. Behind the blank set was a small kitchen where catering would set up on longer shoot days. I rummaged through the supplies ‘til I found what I was after.
I ran back towards her room and sat down by the tub with a waste pan in my hand. I held her hair back as I opened her mouth and forced the straw deep down her throat until she began to retch, coughing deeply. I ran my fingers gently through her hair, another hand massaging her neck as I reassured her, “That’s it Kylie. That’s it. Just let it out. You’ll feel better when it’s out of your system. Believe me.”
She knew about my past. I could talk to her about the overdosing and the drug problems without lying or concealing. Part of me was a bit thrilled that I didn’t have to fake this with her. In our most vulnerable moments, both of us were open and free.
When she finished, I let her linger in the tub before running out of the room to find the blue robe she had left behind earlier that day. It was still sitting on the floor where she threw it after the scene. I picked up her soaking body that was now shivering from the temperature change and wrapped her in the downy fabric, rubbing to dry her body. I used gauze from the first-aid kit to wrap the wounds on her wrist, thighs, and knees and dabbed away some blood on her chin that the water missed.
After a few more chances at being sick, she fell asleep. I placed her gently on the couch, covering her with a green blanket that she liked to keep in the room. I thought back to her wrapped in it as she read a textbook or took notes. Today was quite a different scene with her weak, shaking body clinging to the hem of the blanket with her white knuckles.
I brushed her hair back from behind her ears as I sat beside her. As she faded away, she opened her mouth slightly before finally managing to get out a tired but true, “Thank you, Will.” Her eyes closed and her body sank into the sofa. Still, I didn’t leave her side.
From this moment on, I would never leave her side.