Page 17 of I Did Something Bad
“The humidity will help speed up decomposition,” I add.
“Good. That’s good.”
I stare at him, unsure whether I’m about to burst into tears orif I’ve already emotionally shut down. I’m beginning to shiver even though my cheeks feel like they’re on fire.
“What?” he asks.
“How do I know I can trust you?” I blurt out.
There’s that line between his brows again. He scoots an inch closer, although still making sure to leave plenty of space between the two of us. “BecauseItrustyou,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because you—” And then he catches himself. He tries to play it off as though he’s trying to come up with an answer, as though he didn’t already have one that, for whatever reason, he thought twice about telling me. A backup explanation doesn’t come as quickly as he’d like; I think the shock and adrenaline are slowing him down, too.
“Because I what?” I prompt.
“Becauseyouhave to trust me, too, right? That’s how this works, right? We just… have to trust the other. We… we have to. We both have things to lose.”
I want to tell him that that’s not nearly a good enough reason. Minutes ago, he wanted to call the police. He still could, at any moment, and I’m aware that I have to keep a close eye on him going forward.
But also… he’s right. We just…haveto. I have my career (not to mention the rest of my life), and, to an extent, so does he. He wouldn’t be destroyed the way I would, but I bet a lot of things would be taken off the table. Bond, for example.
I freeze when I remember something, a last burst of cognizance. “My pen. It’s still lodged in his ear.”
We both look over at the water. “It’s gone,” he says resolutely. “And considering that it’s a single pen in a large body of water, the odds are good that it’s never going to turn up.”
“Butifit does—” I can’t even finish the sentence, but I don’t have to.
“Ifit does,” Tyler says, picking it up. “It’s still going to be one of hundreds, possibly thousands, of random objects that are in that lake. It’s almost definitely going to fall out of his ear, and whoever finds it will just toss it back in. They can’t match a random person with a random pen that was found in a public park. There’s nobody else around. It’s just you and me.”
Just you and me.He says it so effortlessly, like it doesn’t occur to him that we now possess the ability to blow up each other’s lives in a matter of seconds if we want to. But I guess mutually assured destruction is one of the most airtight ways to keep secrets.
Five
When I get home, I throw up two more times: once while I’m brushing my teeth, and the second during my hour-long scalding shower.
While at the park, we took the long way back to the parking lot so as to avoid the main set area. Tyler asked Tun to grab my stuff while he walked me straight to the car.
“What are you going to say when people ask?” I mumbled, brain still not working, feet stepping in the same spots that his were in front of me, like a baby deer literally following in its mother’s footsteps.
“That you weren’t feeling well so I made you go home.”
“Food poisoning,” I said. “No one ever wants to know more about food poisoning. Or say a heavy period. Like, World War Three bloodbath level,” I added. Neither of us laughed.
After I got my bag and made sure everything was inside, and Yan, the studio-assigned driver, had started the car and was ready to leave,I mustered up my most grateful smile. “Thank you,” I said to Tyler. I could still smell and taste the tangy bile on my tongue and wasnotlooking forward to my next encounter with a mirror.
He nodded and, right as he was stepping back and about to shut the door, moved forward, reinserting himself between the door and me. In silent synchronism, we looked to make sure the driver’s door and window were both closed,andthe partition between the front and backseats fully rolled up before saying anything.
“Do you… need me to come with you?” Tyler asked, scanning my face.
Even in my state, I snorted out a laugh. “Tyler, this is your first day of shooting.”
He shrugged. “May and I agreed that we each get one diva moment on this movie. I could storm off. You know how volatile actors are.”
“I’m okay,” I said. A blatant lie, but he let me have it. “I just need to shower and sleep it off. Shooting is at the lot tomorrow, right? For the scene with that diplomats’ party thing? TwoP.M.call time?”
His frown deepened, and I watched him almost reach out for my shoulder before catching himself and settling his hand atop the car door. “You can’t work tomorrow.”
