Page 87 of Off Script
“Babe, I only have feelings for you. You’ve become my cornerstone, Carlisle. When I wake up, the first thing I think of is you. When something good happens, I want to tell you. When something bad happens, you’re the person I want to seek out for comfort. It’s your touch that I crave and when I see your smile, it lights me up inside.” He sighs heavily. I know he’s struggling with this situation just like I am, and his words of reassurance are my soul’s panacea.
“You always know just what to say to make me feel better, Ben.” I scratch my nose and stuff down the lingering remains of myworries. Our time together is limited. I don’t want to spend it fighting. Glancing at the gold glimmering on my wrist, I finger the charms on my bracelet and smile pensively. “How is Paris? Today’s a press junket, right?”
“We haven’t gotten to see much of the city yet. We arrived yesterday and went straight to film festival. We got back to the hotel late last night and we’re staying inside the hotel all day for the junket. I’m calling you during a short break.”
“What exactly does a press junket entail?” Seriously, my only knowledge about press junkets comes from the movieNotting Hill.
“Today’s junket involves twenty separate one-on-one interviews with members of the European press. Magazines, newspapers, online news outlets, TV programs, podcasts. It's basically like speed dating with reporters. Each interview is only ten or fifteen minutes, so we end up getting the same couple of questions over and over all day.”
Rolling my eyes, I hypothesize, “Let me guess. They all want to know about your relationship with Willa.”
“Unfortunately, that’s the gist of most of the interviews so far,” he sighs. “It’s boring as fuck, to be honest.”
“Ah, my poor baby,” I commiserate.
He chuckles. “Don’t feel too bad for me. I get paid millions of dollars to do this shit.”
“Don’t worry, Ben. I was being sarcastic.”
“Of course you were, my snarky girl.” Someone calls his name, and he looks away from the phone’s camera for a second before turning back towards me. He drops his voice to a whisper, “Gotta go, babe. I miss you and I can’t wait to get home to you.”
BEN
Ten days until I see you.
Nine days until I hold you in my arms.
Eight days until I kiss you all over.
Seven days until I touch you and I'm never letting you go again.
The intervening days pass at a snail’s pace. I talk and text with Ben as much as possible, but it’s not often. Although he always manages to text me at some point with his daily countdown, his calls have been dropping in frequency and duration over the last couple of days. He blames it on his itinerary being packed and trying to catch up on sleep whenever he can.
I fill my days with cooking and posting new content on my blog and social media accounts. I play my Spotify playlists on repeat, listen to my favorite true crime podcasts, and finish reading two books. For my own mental well-being, I avoid watching television and surfing the web, so I don’t see or hear many stories about Ben and Willa and their lovefest-slash-press-tour.
While I miss most of the stories about them, it’s impossible to avoid them altogether. Their faces grace countless magazine covers in the grocery store. People gossip about them while chatting in the Starbuck’s line. Social media ads featuring them pop up in my feeds. Breaking news alerts flash across my phone when a news story comes out.
Their loyal fans have even adopted a hashtag shipping them—#Willen.
I wish I could say that the upside of Ben and Willa’s relationship being crammed down my throat is that I’m developing an immunity, but I’m not. When I see a photo of them together, it isn’t quite the gut punch it once was, but it’s still disconcerting.
Making the situation even more difficult is that I’m withholding my doubts and worries from Ben. I regret how emotional I was the morning Ben left because my histrionics ruined what should have been a special moment. Also, I’m embarrassed about how needy and desperate I sounded when I confronted him about the leaked photos. I let my weakness get the better of me twice, and I refuse to act that way again. Instead, I’m working hard to bottle up my insecurities and present a happy front to Ben, especially since it’s gotten harder to connect over the past few days. He’s usually stressed and tired when he calls, and I don’t want to add more drama onto his already full plate.
However, since I haven’t brought my worries to light, they are left to linger and fester and grow in the darkness.
I haven’t talked to him in almost thirty-six hours, so I’m happily surprised when my phone rings with an incoming call a few minutes later.
“Babe! I’ve been missing you,” Ben’s voice greets me and immediately soothes the raging storm within me. “I can only talk for a minute before we have our next appearance on a late-night talk show, but I needed to hear your voice. I’m sorry I missed you yesterday. Our day was insane, and we didn’t get back to the hotel until late and I just crashed.”
“It’s okay, Ben. You need to take care of yourself and get your rest.” Rationally, I understand why we didn’t get to talk yesterday, but it stillsucked to only receive two measly texts from him. “I miss you too, Ben. I am counting down the days until I see you again!”
“We’re halfway there, babe.” Per usual, he sounds worn down, which only strengthens my resolve to put on a brave face for him.
“What have you been up to today? Was it a glitzy premiere or something else?”
“Magazine interview and photo shoot. Then dinner followed by a tonight’s appearance. It’s always the same series of questions. It’s so redundant and boring.” He pauses. “I’m sorry to be crabby. I’m exhausted and ready to get back home to you.”
“Don’t apologize. Around everyone else you can put on an act, but around me, I want you to be yourself. I can’t imagine how tired and drained you must feel.”
