Page 34 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

This, I knew, was my life's calling.

That's what I miss the most. Not the applause or the attention, not even fame or the money. I miss that feeling of wholeness. Of exploring the human condition through characters, of telling stories that might help someone feel less alone in their pain or joy. I miss the power of stepping into another life and finding universal truth there.

I glance around my modest apartment, this beige, empty stage where I perform the role of an ordinary bookkeeper. The set is dressed with IKEA furniture bought on clearance and the only hints of personality on the walls are a few shelves for my candle obsession. My eyes drift back to the spreadsheet on my screen and the columns of numbers that need reconciling before tomorrow.

This isn't me. This is actually me playing a role.

But who gets to be themselves, really? How many people wake up each morning and drive to jobs that make them feel alive, that allow them to express their true nature? Most people just earn enough to survive, then they go home to finally live. Work is work. Life happens after.

Except… I'm not even doing that second part. There's no 'after' where I get to be myself because I've completely lost any sense of who I am. I only exist to be invisible, and I've erased myself so completely that sometimes I wonder if there's anything left of the real Londyn beneath these baggy clothes and dull routines.

No dinners with friends discussing films that moved us. No late nights at cast parties, laughing until my sides hurt. No early mornings on set enjoying that delicious nervous energy before a difficult scene. No part of my current existence makes me feel alive or connected or like myself.

Because I'm forced to hide.

A sudden flash of anger burns through me, hot and bright like the sun. The Director. His smug, entitled face appears in my mind, and my hands tighten around my armrests. He took everything from me—my career, my confidence, my future. He stole the person I was barely getting to know, the woman I was becoming.

Fuck him. Fuck his fame and fortune and everyone thinking he's a good person.

I wish he was dead. Or at least in prison, rotting away for all his monstrosities.

Yet who am I to go against someone so powerful? I know he's hurt other women and then flaunted his power, keeping us all silent. But we've all decided it's better to stay alive than risk his thugs coming after us.

I look up at the camera again, this strange electronic witness to my lonely life. I clearly have a lot to deal with, but that little black orb helps. I'm protected. Seen without being devoured.

I smile up at it, hoping it's Sean watching. Despite certain triggering features, something about him settles my nerves in a way I can't quite explain. Mike is lovely and kind, but his endless dad-energy is a bit much. Sean has a quiet strength and gentleness, along with those intelligent eyes that seem to understand more than I say.

My phone vibrates, interrupting my thoughts, which is good because I shouldn't be dwelling on Sean so much. I check the screen.

Marcus:Hey! Just confirming dinner tonight at 7? Looking forward to finally meeting you in person.

My stomach drops like I've missed a step on a dark staircase. The date. Damnit, how could I have forgotten? Last week, after two glasses of pinot noir obliterated my usual caution, I'd cashed in my raincheck and arranged another date with Marcus. ThenSean and Mike arrived a few days later, and the date completely slipped my mind.

I stare at the text as my thumbs hover over the phone. Should I cancel? It's the safest choice. The familiar choice.

But Marcus has been so patient and kind despite me canceling about a dozen times over the past year. And he asks thoughtful questions. He respects my boundaries. He sends me links to funny videos when I'm having a bad day. If I'm going to attempt dating again, he's a good guy to start with.

Besides, everything's different now. I'm no longer alone in this.

I glance back up at the camera.

Before, knowing I only had my can of mace for protection, I would've dressed in the simplest, most boring outfit I could find, one that hides every inch of cleavage. Then I would've spent the evening feeling anxious instead of actually trying to connect with my date.

But with Sean and Mike watching over me, I might actually be able to relax and can dress however I like. I can let my guard down, just for a few hours. I'll have backup if anything bad happens.

It's a nice feeling, having someone there.

I need to ask them first, though.

I stand, stretching muscles that are stiff from sitting too long. My apartment door feels heavier today as I pull it open and check the hallway before crossing to knock on Sean and Mike's door. Three gentle taps.

Mike answers with a wide smile that brightens his entire face. He's a human sunbeam. Behind him, I can see the wall of monitors, each screen showing a different angle of my apartment. The living room feed is still active, my abandoned desk glowing in grayscale.

"Hey there! What's up? How's work?" he asks, stepping aside to let me in.

"Oh, boring. It's always very boring." The words fall from my mouth accompanied by an awkward laugh.

"Most jobs are," Mike says with a sympathetic nod. "I once spent a month guarding an empty warehouse. Absolutely nothing happened. I memorized three books just to stay awake."

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