I’d put my arms around her, pressing her into me, as if I could hold her together if I just held her tight enough.I won’t.I won’t leave you.
I knew her words weren’t for me, but I held them close, held her close, her face warm and damp against my throat.
She’d made me leave the next morning.I’m sorry,she’d told me, eyes red above one of the dramatic satin dressing gowns she loved so much.
Lily, I’d replied, reaching out and clasping her hand,you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m here for you. Always.
She looked up at me pleadingly.I need some time and space alone to work through this.I need to go no-contact with the world for a while, I think. Even you. Is that all right?
Of course it is. Whatever you need.
Thank you.She’d squeezed my fingers.
Then she’d let go, and I hadn’t heard a single word from her since.
Until now.
‘Lily,’ I said, ‘are you all right?’
‘Do I not seem all right?’
‘Do you really want me to answer that question? Do you want me to sit here, think about it, say “hmmm, yes, this all seems totally fine and normal”?’
What she was actually doing, I had no idea, but I knew exactly how I’d frame this story if I was telling it on TV. A bereaved woman cuts off her support system, completelyreinvents herself, and decides to become a reality TV villain? That was the clearest, most obvious cry for help—
‘This is not a cry for help, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
God-fucking-damn it.
‘I’m not here because I’ve lost my mind.’
If she’d said that to me on any other day of our long friendship, I probably would have believed her. Lily Ong knew herself, and she did not lie.
But looking at Lily Fireball was like looking at an uncanny valley version of the real Lily. The shrewd, calculating expression in her eyes was pure Lily Ong, but it was like she was looking at me from behind a mask, a wall erected between her and me.
‘I’m here because I need to be,’ she said, ‘and becauseyouneed me to be.’
What the fuck didthatmean?
‘This season has to be a ratings draw if Fucking Greg will ever let you cast diversely again.’ Her tone was businesslike, as if we’d sat down for some ordinary meeting on some ordinary day. ‘You don’t just need romance. You need conflict. You need drama. You need something to make the story go – and nothing does that like a really good villain.’
‘I’m aware. I’ve cast accordingly. That doesn’t explain why you’re here.’
‘Because no one will be as good at it as me.’
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. Lily had always had beautiful hair, long and black and shiny, but the hair and makeup team had done something to it that gave it an extra lustre under the lights.
‘We always planned for this season to be the greatest one ever,’ she said. ‘To do that, it needs the greatest villain ever. I understand all the right notes to hit, all the right buttons to push. No one can get the job done like I can.’
I rubbed at my temple. I could barely process what she was saying.
‘Lily Fireball is going to be a monster.’ A gleeful glint came into her eyes. ‘No one watching will be able to shut up about what a monster she is. And they’ll tune in every week, just to hate her more. She’ll be a legendary icon of loathsomeness, the kind that people will talk about for years.’
Years of living off coffee, sugar, and whatever I could scavenge from craft services at two in the morning had given me an iron stomach. But hearing her say that, I felt sick.
‘You got us the season we always wanted,’ she said. ‘I’m going to get us the ratings.’
‘And then what?’
