“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you right back.” She glared. “And stop sabotaging everything you have going for yourself here. Just be bloody decent and nice and answer the questions with a smile. Then we can just get on with this whole project and get out of here. Can you do that for me? Please?”
I laughed out loud because she sounded just as desperate as I was.
“We’re a week into filming,” I said. “I can’t do this.”
“None of us can,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But this is work, and this is what pays the bills. So please. Just make my life easier. And Oliver?”
“Yes?”
“You deserve this. You deserve what could come out of this. It could actually, for once, be something good. I’m not saying that this show isn’t a complete disaster. I’m not making any promises here, but bloody hell, mate.”
“What?”
“Go see the mental health team. Go get some help. Sort those shivers in your hands out, whatever is causing them. Then go hug that man of yours. Because I think you deserve something to make you smile. Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t deserve shit,” I spat out. “And he’s not my man.”
Who the hell was I? And what had I become?
“You deserve to feel happy and safe and… You deserve someone to love you. Someone who you love back. So can we aim for that? Start small? Start with someone who actually likes you? And who you perhaps like back? Can we start with that conversation?”
I was breathing far too fast. My stupid designer shirt far too tight around my neck. It was by Tarrant Brothers, and I was supposed to mention that, and I had no idea why I could even remember that when I could barely remember my name here.
“What?” I said.
I needed out. Now. Fuck.
“Take a break. Go see the mental health team right now, will you? Please?”
“Fuck off, Gina,” I said brusquely.
Then I fled.
I tried to make it to our room, but there was equipment stacked in front of the door, so I had to do a swift detour to the kitchen, where I just stood, staring into the fridge.
“You all right, mate?” Ben. Ben the bonehead bisexual buffoon. Too much hair. A half-arsed beard. Smelly, weird arsehole in my book. I wanted to blurt that out as well, but I had some self-preservation. Apparently.
And now his hand was softly moving down my back. I shifted away.
“No,” I said sternly.
“Oh, you know you want it. I haven’t had any action in here, and you’re up for it. I can tell. I mean, you’re stuck in there with a straight guy, and you’re fucking hot, mate.”
“No,” I groaned, my voice low. I was freezing up, and I had only one way to move, which was further into the fridge as Ben manoeuvred in behind me. His groin against my arse. And…fuck.
I froze up.
“Don’t,” I hissed.
“Come to my room, ’tis empty. I’ll give you what you need.”
“I need…” I elbowed him in the chest. Somewhere. He was big and strong, but I must have caught him by surprise as I managed to loop myself out from under his arm, moving far too fast, almost taking Xanthe out with my panicked escape.
“Hey!” she shouted as I ran, leaving her with something splattered all over the floor.
I couldn’t cope. And I took a giant jump over the equipment in front of the door to number four and got myself inside.
