Page 107 of Fighting Spirit

They seem like speech types.

The first couple of films pass me by in a flicker of vaguely interesting but fairly unmemorable scenes. Marshall keeps accidentally nudging me as he shifts around. He’s never been good at sitting still, but with the added nerves of seeing his own project on the big screen, he’s like a caged rabbit.

It must be time when he sits bolt upright and frantically taps my arm. I give his elbow a quick squeeze and focus up. The film opens with a couple walking along a lookout spot. I cringe as I recognize the place where I first kissed Rowan. “It’s really pretty,” I lean over and whisper. Whoever Marshall got to shoot this thing did a great job. It’s all grey and moody, and I wonder if we’re about to see Matthew Macfadyen striding out of the fog.

Marshall says nothing, just giving me a quick look that has me turning back to the screen. The scene cuts to a couple in a kitchen, I smirk at how much it looks like the space from my freshman dorm. The characters argue a little, but they soon fall into bed. It’s a hard jump, and I feel like I missed a scene. Something about the whole thing has an uncomfortable thought tickling at the back of my mind. My fists clench, and I feel like the other shoe’s about to drop. I try to push it aside. It’s probably just anxiety at being in this crowd of people I don’t know.

It’s been a while since I saw one of the film department’s projects, I’d forgotten how awkward the acting could be. Marshall had asked me to be in one of his films last year, but he recast me with a theatre major right before filming. As I watch the clunky performances now, I can’t help but be glad I didn’t get roped into this.

Then the woman on screen speaks, and my blood runs cold.

“Do you think everybody gets to feel this? I hope so. I can’t imagine what it must be like not to get a single moment when they feel as good as I do right now.”

…As good as I do right now.I could have repeated the line with her word for word.

It’s exactly what I said to Marshall after the first time we slept together. A sickening realization hits as I finally figure out why everything seems so familiar, and yep, there’s the other shoe.

It’s us. All of it. It’s us.

Scene after scene rolls by, moments from our fling last year, the final fight we had. Everything I said to him in our most intimate moments is suddenly blown up fifteen feet across for everyone to see.

‘What did you think this was?’The line echoes through the auditorium. I have to give her credit, the actress on screen manages to look almost as shattered as I felt when I heard those words for real. The confirmation that I’d misread everythingwe’d experienced, that I’d created a scenario in my head that never existed. I can feel the stitches popping open on an old wound with every frame.

I manage to get through the rest without puking, but I needn’t have bothered. I could have recited the entire script. All the things I thought were private and special and safe are suddenly spread out like a buffet.

I feel gutted. Literally, like my insides have been pulled out and now we all get to take a peek. I don’t know how much time passes, how many films play before the lights finally come up, but I’m frozen in my seat.

How could he do this to me?

My brain regains control of my limbs, and I’m up, stumbling like a baby deer as I fight to get out of the room, out of the building. I’m on the street and it’s freezing, but I barely notice, not with the rage and shame and hurt pumping through me.

“Ruth, wait! " a voice calls after me. I whip my head back and forth, trying to find a place to run to, but unless I want to dive straight into traffic, I’m trapped. “Ruthie! Hey, you left your coat.”

He’s right behind me, trying to slide my coat over my shoulders, but I round on him, grabbing it and balling up the fabric in my hands.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I hiss, shoving a finger into his chest.

“What do you mean?” He looks genuinely bewildered, and I honestly think that he doesn’t see the issue here.

“That was me! That was all me!”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t give you the heads-up, but I thought it would be a cool surprise.”

I didn’t think I could get angrier, but somehow those words make it happen. “What exactly do you think is cool about having my private moments broadcast to the world?”

“I mean, broadcast is a strong word.” He gestures vaguely toward the theatre. “And half of them have seen it anyway. They were in my focus groups.”

I think I’m going to pass out. The thought of groups of these pretentious assholes crowding around a laptop to pass judgment on that piece of shit.

“How could you possibly think that I’d be okay with this? That’s my life!”

“Yeah, and mine.”

Does he seriously think that’s some kind of trump card here? “You used everything, everything I thought was just between us. How could you?” I must be crying, I can feel the wind chilling the tracks that run down my cheeks.

“Ruth, you’re making this way too big a deal. I thought you’d be flattered.”

“I’m humiliated!”

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