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She acts like she doesn’t hear me. “And what did you and your sister talk about?”
“I don’t know. Just sister stuff.” I dismiss, growing more frustrated. “She caught me up on the kids and what’s been going on at work. Filled me in on some of her ex drama.” I gesture with my hands. “Just your basic sister conversation.”
“I’m sensing that you’re getting a little upset. What’s got you feeling so defensive right now?”
I exhale slowly, trying to force myself to calm down before I blow this whole thing up and ruin everything. When I respond, I choose my words carefully. “I’m feeling a little confused about what you want me to say. I feel like you’re angling at something, trying to pick at a wound that doesn’t exist.” I take a deep breath and add, “It feels like you’re trying to project something onto me, and I’m struggling with how triggering that feels.”
Her eyes widen, and though she isn’t smiling, I can sense a shift in her energy. “Now that’s more like it,” she says, gesturing for me to continue. “Let’s explore that. When was the first time that feeling appeared?”
I shake my head as shame washes over me, but it’s not like she’s given me much of a choice. She’s psychic after all, so she’s going to know if I’m lying. I try to speak as honestly as I can as I recall the memory. “I guess it must’ve been when I was around fourteen. My sister’s teen pregnancy scandal was still running rampant, and I was going for my first audition. I’d practiced and memorized my lines for a small role as a bubbly cheerleader, but I’d barely started when the casting agent stopped me. He pulled my mother aside and told her there was no way I was landing the cheerleader role, but he thought I had a really good chance at getting the villain.
“She was a poorly written mean girl with no redemption arc and no real motive for her cruelty other than her whorish nature.
“And they thought I was perfect for the role. I roll my eyes at the memory, the way my mom pushed back when I told her I didn’t feel comfortable reading the lines. I didn’t want to be cast as a superficial villain just for people to hate. “I didn’t get the role, but it was like something shifted for me that day. From that moment on, I realized the way people saw me and my alter-ego was born.”
“And what about now?” Marguerite asks, her voice low.
I spread my hands. “I’ve learned to accept it. It was hard at first, but I think it makes it easier to do the work that I do, knowing my Hollywood persona is just a character.” I wipe my cheek, not even realizing I started crying. “No one can hurt me if they don’t know the real me.”
Marguerite nods as if the puzzle pieces are finally clicking together. “That seems like a good plan. In order to survive, you had to build a shield around yourself.”
Wait… was that a compliment? I glance up, surprised by her sudden shift.
She peers over her red-rimmed cat-eye glasses. “…And if you were happy, I’d tell you that those boundaries were healthy.”
“But?” I say for her, because I already know the but is coming.
“But…” She smiles warmly, like she isn’t about to drop a bomb on me. “I think it’s time to stop hiding behind this persona, and show the world who the real Kira is.”
I frown. “I can’t do that. They don’t care about who I really am. All they want is to be entertained.”
How can she still not get it?
“I have a reputation to uphold, contracts to fulfill…” A wave of panic comes over me, and my pulse pounds in my throat. “Look, I just need you to sign off and tell them I’ve completed your program, and I’m safe to work with, that I can handle myself without freaking out on anyone…”
Marguerite’s voice is gentle when she says, “I’m not talking about changing your Hollywood persona, Kira. I’m talking about being honest with your sister… and with your lover.” She pauses, giving me a moment for her words to sink in before she continues, “You need to be honest with them about how you feel. Let them finally see the scared little girl inside that you’ve been protecting. Give them a chance to love all of you.”
“What are you talking about?” I snap. “I told you things with my sister are great. Everything is great. And Ro—the guy I’m seeing probably knows me better than anyone’s ever known me. Just because we aren’t dating…”
“Does he know that you’re running away?” She cuts me off, blindsiding me. “Does he know that you can’t stomach the idea of him rejecting you once he sees the real you?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, just keeps hurling questions at me. “Does he know that you love him?”
I look away, tears falling down my cheeks. “No. I don’t. You don’t know that—”
“Does Greer know the obligation you feel to care for her? Have you ever asked her if that’s something she expects from you?”
“No, but…I don’t need to because, of course, she’d never ask me—”
Marguerite holds up a hand. “We cannot assume we understand what someone else needs or feels unless we ask them. Even psychics are capable of getting it wrong.”
Her words slice through me like a sharp blade, releasing a lifetime of suppressed emotions—rejection, fear, humiliation—and I feel them rushing back all at once. I clench my stomach, trying to hold myself together.
Her voice is barely more than a whisper when she says, “Does she know how much you resent her?” She stabs the final sword through me.
My eyes full of tears, I blink at her in stunned silence. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared me for the turn this conversation took.
“Then it seems like there’s still more work for you to do,” she says just as the timer dings, signaling our time is up. Her voice shifts back to her cheery, lighthearted tone as she says, “Keep up the good work, Kira. You know I’m always here if you ever need anything.”
Then she ends the call, leaving me bleeding out as I try to process everything that just happened.
