“Crouch down.”

“Raise your hips a little.”

“Tilt your head up more. Close your eyes. Arch your back.”

I mindlessly follow each direction from Elijah, moving like a robot obeying its creator’s commands. Even though I’m aware of everything going on around me, I’m completely checked out. I’m watching myself from above, from another space and another time. I read about it once after realizing I do it a lot. They call it dissociative disorder. It’s when you step out of your own body and just passively watch the world continue on without you. It’s a skill I’ve come to brilliantly master.

Finally, Elijah calls the shoot to an end. I walk back to my dressing room, still encased in this numb shell. I want a drink. I tell myself I don’t need it, but my hands are starting to shake and I’m feeling a mind-numbing headache start to take hold. Once we reach my dressing room, I hold off the small crowd I have following me and hold up my hand. “I don’t need seven people to help me undress. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be out.”

I slip into the room, drop down on the small metal bench, and reach for my bag. I shake it until I find the water bottle, and with unsteady hands I open the bottle. I take a long, measured sip and wince as the vodka makes its way down my throat. I feel it the minute it sinks inside me and a weird, calming energy washes over me. I take a long breath before I take another long sip. Finally, after a few moments, I feel my body start to settle, and the tremor in my hands disappears. I continue to sit there, twirling the empty bottle in my hands as I stare at a water spot on the faded blue walls. After another few moments, I can feel my mind returning back to the shell of my body, regaining all the sensations I had previously numbed myself to.

Someone knocks at the door, and I mindlessly shout for them to come in. I continue to stare intently at the same water spot, allowing it to take different shapes in my mind. First a horse, now a mermaid.

“Daphni?”

I whip my head around at the sound of Roman’s voice. “How did you get in?” I ask as I pull a towel off the chair to cover me.

Roman gestures to the closed door behind him. “I just knocked and you told me to come in.”

I look at him confused as I push out of the chair and throw the empty bottle into the trash.

“Well, what do you want?”

“I just wanted to check in on you,” he responds as he continues to watch me. “We need to leave soon for your lunch.”

“Oh. Right,” I say as I clear my head. “I just need to change.”

“Right.” He pauses and stares at me, concerned. “Do you need any help?”

“No, it’s a bikini, Roman. I think I can manage,” I respond with an edge in my voice.

“Great,” he snaps back. He pulls my phone out of my pocket and tosses it at me. “You left your phone back on the set.”

I reach out to catch it, and the towel draped around me falls to the ground. And even though I was just wearing this a few moments ago, in front of a crowd of at least a dozen other people, here with Roman, I feel so exposed, so naked.

Holding my phone in my hands, I finally look up at him. His eyes never leave my face, never rove down my half-naked body. I hate him for it. I hate that he chooses to look me in the eyes rather than stare at my tits, barely contained in the cheetah-print bikini. Because when Roman looks at me, I know he sees everything I try so desperately to hide away: all my vulnerabilities and fears. And I would rather stand naked in front of a room of a thousand people than be as exposed as I feel now, with Roman’s eyes searching mine.

We stand there, wrapped in silence, staring at each other for a long moment. When I see his mouth open, I force my eyes away and turn around.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say as I reach for my dress. “You can wait for me outside.” My tone is dismissive and Roman gets the message loud and clear.

I hear the door open and when I turn back around, I’m alone again. I throw the bikini into the trash and tug my dress and shoes back on. Thankfully Angelina was much more skilled at makeup than social interaction, and I decided to keep the gold smoky eye for my lunch date with Arabella. Knowing her, she would likely come with a full face of makeup anyway. My “lunch” is really more of a pre-arranged paparazzi rendezvous where they would get a few pictures, the restaurant would get free publicity, and I would get a free lunch. Win-win for all.

I take one final look at the mirror before I head out. The reflection staring back at me is a stranger, someone I wish I could trap inside that ugly, dirty mirror. But I learned a long time ago that wishes don’t come true, so I grab my bag and head out the door.