M
y first week as a director went better than I expected. I half expected myself to fail and run away screaming, never to return again. I thought for sure the students would laugh at me, call me an imposter and revolt.
But that didn’t happen. In fact, they’ve been great. They seem really excited to start the auditioning process, and I’m excited to watch them give it their all. I know what it feels like to stand in front of a director and have to place everything else aside to focus on becoming someone else for a fewmoments.
Acting is one of the most vulnerable things you can do. Not only are you trying to portray someone else, but you also have to make people believe what you’re saying and doing.
You have to put yourself out there and be prepared to get rejected hundreds of times. Your entire life is on display, and you’re doing it all in front of thousands of people.
People who judge you for every move you make; what you wear, what you eat, how much you weigh, how you spend your money. I’m not a famous actress, I’m not on TV or in the movies, and stage acting is much different from film acting. I have seen both sides of things, and my stance has never changed. Being an actor is not for the weak.
It's long, gruelling rehearsals, late nights studying lines and blocking, getting to know the character you’re playing. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, though. I love that I get to do this every day. I love that I chose this path for myself, and I love that I never gave up. I didn’t exactly expect that it would bring me back to Ellington to direct, but here I am. I am proud to be where I am.
I’m at the coffee shop on campus when I get a text from Lainey, once again asking if I’ve murdered my new roommate yet. I swear she just loves the drama of it all. If she were here, she’d be having a field day. I reply with a quick ‘nope’ and shove my phone in my bag. I’m trying to study this cast list and get an idea of what each character is like so I can mentally cast some of my students. They haven’t auditioned yet, but I like to have an idea of who would be good playing who.
The café is quiet today, with only a few students scattered at the small tables in the dining space. One works on their laptop while another eats a scone, seemingly watching something on their phone. The space smells like freshly brewed coffee, one of my favorite smells in the entire world, and the lights are dim. I absolutely love spending time at a café. Whenever I go to a new city, I have to try out their local cafés to see who has the best coffee. I would say I’m kind of like a coffee connoisseur.
I’ve been avoiding the house since my conversation with Jamie the other day. He knows what he did. He knows how he left me without a word. He’d said he’s not asking me to be okay with it, but if he’s not asking for forgiveness, what does he want? Obviously, the rational part of me knows that he’s not here for me.
There’s a huge possibility that he wants absolutely nothing from me and he’s just here to do his job. He had no way of knowing that I'd be here, nor would he have cared. He’s not here for me. I know that. I don’t want him to be… at least, I think I don’t want him to be.
God, why did he have to show up here? Why him? Whyme? I spent so long trying to leave him in the past, and now he’s here? Out of absolutely freaking nowhere, might I add.
Have I done something awful and this is how God is punishing me? Forcing me to share a house with the man that obliterated my heart?
A part of me still hates him for what he did to me, what he put me through. He doesn’t even know thathalf of it.
The sleepless nights spent curled up in a ball crying. The memories I had to erase from my mind. The time I had to spend telling myself that it wasn’t me, it was him.
At eighteen, he was my world. I saw my future, and he was in it. To have that ripped away so suddenly without a reason, that was the cruelest thing he could have done to me. To someone he claimed to love. Because it was easier for him to just leave without a trace? What about me?
Jamie was selfish and cruel. What he did was so completely out of character for him and I think that’s what shocked me the most. Looking at him now though, who knows who he is. I’d heard things throughout the years of how well he was doing in the NHL.
He was apparently a big star, which is no surprise. I always knew he would be. I never wished for him to fail, that’s just not who I am. But I hated him, and nothing could have changed that. Not him coming back, not him apologizing.
Taking a deep breath, I try to push thoughts of Jamie out of my mind. I will never let him consume my thoughts again. Although, when I saw him walk into my classroom the other day, all sweaty and dressed in sweats and his Rhode Island Storm shirt, I almost fainted.
I actually had to hold my breath, because how the hell can someone look that good while simultaneously looking like a wet dog? That should be impossible.
Yet there he was, looking all God-like and masculine. I’m sure he’s had women fawning over him for years since becoming a big hockey star. Not that I care, of course. It’s just an educated guess.
There’s no way he doesn’t have a whole line up of women waiting for him to come back to the team and give them what they desperately want from him. I bet he can’t wait to get back to them, too.
Jeez, I sound like a jealous girlfriend. Jamie can do whatever the hell he wants with whoever he wants. I don’t give a shit. He’s nothing to me but an annoying thorn in my side that I have to deal with while I’m here. Once the semester is over, I’ll be gone, and Jamie will no longer be an issue.
I’m halfway through my latte when the bell above the café door rings again. I don’t look up right away. I don’t need to. Something in my chest tightens instinctively, like my body has learned his presence before my brain can catch up.
“Ellie.”
Goddammit.
I close my eyes for a brief, traitorous second before lifting my gaze. Jamie stands a few feet away from my table, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He looks… mischievous. Almost as if he’s playing a game and he’s the only one that knows the rules.
“I’m busy,” I say, gesturing pointedly to the stack of papers in front of me.
“Yeah. I can see that,” he says, shifting his weight and glancing around the café like he’s suddenly aware we’re in public. “I won’t take long.”
I sigh, irritation flaring hot and fast. “What do you want, Jamie?”
