Ryson stopped doing whatever it was that he was doing. Or at least he attempted too. I don’t think he even realized how truly addicted he was until he started having withdrawals during one of our playful scenes. We were supposed to be flirting while he pushed me on a swing, but instead of smiling and being sweet, Ryson’s smile looked pained; unnatural even as my body flew back and forth through the air.

“Cut,” the director yelled, massaging her temples with her fingers as she glared at us. “Ryson, you’re supposed to be happy in this scene. You’re flirting, having fun. Stop looking like your dog just died.”

I turned my body in the swing and forced myself to look at him; really look at him. He wasn’t okay, sweat covered his brow and I was overcome with an intense desire to help him. “I’m sorry, but can I borrow him really quick? We’ll be right back, I promise,” I asked the director and waited for her okay before I hopped off the swing and reached for Ryson’s hand. Pulling him through the stage doors, I led him into my otherwise empty trailer.

“What’s going on with you?” I asked in a sympathetic voice as I closed the door shut tight behind us.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you shaking and sweating like it’s a thousand degrees in there?” It wasn’t.

He shifted on his feet, “You know how hot the lights are. They always make me sweat.”

I realized then exactly what was going on. “Ryson, I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what’s that?” he tried to act coy, but his arms started shaking as he avoided eye contact with me.

“Don’t play games with me. You stopped using. Am I right?”

He swallowed hard and I watched as his adams apple bobbed up and down in this throat before he nodded without saying a word.

“I love that you’re trying to get clean right now. Truly, I do. But I don’t think it’s the right time,” I confessed, hating myself for basically telling him to stay on the drugs while we’re filming. What kind of person encourages someone to stay high?

“No better time than the present,” he tried to joke as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

I looked him dead in the eyes and waited until he looked at me too. “I mean it. You can’t do this by yourself and you can’t do this alone.”

“I’m not alone,” he reached for my hand and I pulled it out of his grasp.

“I’m not equipped to deal with this. I don’t know what to do,” I practically shouted, my inability to control the situation getting the best of me.

“So what are you saying right now? Why are we in your trailer?” he looked around like he was utterly confused.

“I’m saying that you need a professional. You need professional help, Ryson. And I promise that I’ll help you get it as soon as we’re done filming. Do you think you can get through the next few weeks?”

I had just put my career ahead of Ryson Miller’s personal wellbeing. Maybe it was the fear of knowing all too well what happened to movies when one of the leads messed up and it got canned? Or maybe this was an ugly side of me I never realized I had before now?

“You promise you’ll help? You won’t leave me?” his dark eyes met mine and I fought off the overwhelming urge to wrap him in my arms and never let go. I wondered if he had anyone at all who cared about him.

“I won’t leave you. I’ll help you. Okay?” I said, the words a promise as I spoke them. A promise I wouldn’t break if we made it through this shoot in one piece.

“Okay. But what should I do right now? I feel like shit,” he admitted and I shrugged.

“I don’t know? Just do enough of whatever you’re doing to maintain, or be normal,” I felt my face twist into a confused expression. “Find a balance? Is that possible?”

What the hell did I know about doing drugs and balancing them? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And what the hell was I doing? If Ryson died, that would be on me and I’d never forgive myself.

“I think so,” he exhaled and an expression of relief crossed his face. “I’m sorry Quinn. I tried.”

“I know, it’s just not the right time for you to try and quit cold turkey. I don’t think it works like that. Just please. Please don’t die on me.”

“Why would I die on you?” He huffed out a small laugh before his demeanor shifted once again. “Shit, you were there when Sissy died, weren’t you? I’m sorry Quinn, I completely forgot about that.” Ryson reached out and placed a clammy hand on top of mine.

My mind raced back to being on set with Sissy Turner when I was twelve. At seventeen years old, Sissy was cast as my older sister and I had idolized her on and off the screen for as long as I could remember. She overdosed in her trailer and died during a fifteen minute break for lighting adjustments.

The movie, which was highly anticipated and talked about being nominated for awards season, was scrapped completely. Management briefly considered a recast, but everyone claimed that they were too devastated to go on and that no one could replace Sissy. I had never had a movie simply thrown away like that before, and I had worked my ass off to secure that coveted role.

“It was awful. And then they threw the movie out, like it never existed. Like she never existed,” I shook my head at the memories and glanced down at the floor, not wanting history to repeat itself. If Ryson died, they’d probably throw away this movie too and then I’d somehow be known as the girl who killed her cast-mates or some other screwed up headline that sold magazines. Although in this scenario, I would be to blame. I’d be labeled a curse and people who used to be my friends would refuse to work with me. The entire fake scenario played out in my head until Ryson spoke again, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“I remember that too. I always thought it was messed up that they canned the whole thing instead of recasting.”

“Well, production schedules, time, money and all that. You know how it is,” I exhaled and rolled my eyes.

“I know. Which is why I really appreciate you doing this for me Quinn. I don’t want this project shelved, and I don’t want to be recast. I promise I won’t die. I’ll just do a little tiny bit to get by. Okay?”

He asked me for permission that I had no right to give, but fear ruled my head as I answered, “Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He ran out of my trailer to do whatever it was that he needed to do. I was smarter than this and I knew it. I knew that I enabled him by not getting him help immediately, or saying something to an adult so that they could do something helpful, but in my past, the adults were usually the ones who provided the drugs in the first place. And ever since the incident when I was ten, I stopped trusting those in power positions, not believing that they had my best interest at heart.

I realized quickly as a kid that this was work and it wasn’t personal. The majority of people on set didn’t give two shits about my well-being and I was sure they felt the same way about Ryson’s. We only had each other and I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing because we both believed in this project so much that we didn’t want to see anything bad happen to it.

This business could be cutthroat and vicious, replacing you in a flash instead of helping, so we played hardball with Ryson’s life and I prayed to God we weren’t making a mistake.