My arm flails, hitting the small table by the couch.
Yes, Kyle has turned the tables on me from so long ago.
I know I should hit, fight, scream, but I deserve this.
I know when this is over that I should report him to the police, tell my agent and the studio, go to the tabloids with this story, but I won’t.
I deserve this.
All of this.
No one would believe me anyway. We think the world changes, but it never really does. The rich and powerful always get their way.
As Kyle chokes me with one hand. His other begins to unzip my pants.
My arm not pinned under my body continues to flail. My fingers touch the script I left on the table. Suddenly, Ron’s advice rings in my ears:
You’re a writer, Barry. Why don’t you write your own rules for once? Write your own story, Barry.
My fingers feel the empty tray Zed left on top of the table.
“I didn’t mean to break your heart, Kyle,” I squeak.
Kyle’s eyes soften for just an instant. His grip eases. I gasp for air.
“Kiss me,” he says.
Kyle puts his mouth on mine. He begins to force my jeans off.
I lift the tray and hit him in the head with it.
He falls off of me, screaming, “I’m going to murder you, motherfucker! Your career is over! You are so fucking fired!”
Kyle stands up and kicks me.
I may be on the ground, but I am not defenseless. I refuse to be tossed away and forgotten on the cutting room floor again.
“Kick me again,” I say. “And again. You can’t hurt me. Andyou can’t fire me. The studio agreed to a no-termination clause in my contract because I agreed to take less money and made zero demands. And I already told my agent about what happened between us. He’s the only person I know who’s a bigger dick than you are.”
Kyle glares at me.
“You’re lying!” he says.
I glare back at him.
“Am I?”
I am. I would never tell my agent what happened with Kyle. I’ve come too far.
But I’ve finally realized I’m a much better actor than Kyle Moses will ever be, and I deserve this role. And the next one, and the next one.
“Go on! Use that rage in the movie,” I taunt. “I feel sorry for your husband. I made the right decision breaking up with you.”
Kyle storms toward the door.
“And if you touch me again, I will have my friends kill you,” I say to him. Kyle scoffs. “Mark my words. They will do it. They won’t just help me bury your body, they’ll take pleasure in dismembering it. That’s the beauty of having friends. And there’s a reason you don’t have any.”
He slams the door.
