💗💗"The Villain Edit" by Laurie Devore

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She never really existed, but God, do I want her to.

“Okay,” I say. “You’re right. It was a bad idea. I know they’re never going to make me the next lead, but maybe I can salvage something out of this mess before I never have to think about this franchise again.”

I hold the empty water bottle out to him, and he takes it.

“I think you need to do one more thing,” Henry tells me.

“Go on,” I say.

He swallows, almost steeling himself. “You have to tell Marcus you’re in love with him,” he says.

The suggestion takes me back so much, I recoil from him. “Did we or did we not just have a conversation about me leaving the show?”

He nods; he anticipated the reaction. “And if I recall correctly, we both agreed that staying is what’s best for you. In fact, I think this could be the right thing for other reasons—when is a better time to get rid of you than right after you confess your love? Narratively, it works. It’s good TV and it gets the rest of production off our backs.”

I get up myself, go to the fridge, and get myself a beer, leaning against the counter, considering. I hold it against my neck for a minute, the chill like clarity, focusing me. “It’s a good end to a villain, isn’t it? After she’s fallen in love, give her comeuppance.”

“See,” Henry answers. “We’re all still telling the same story.”

I stare at our hands next to each other on the counter in the kitchenette, our skin almost touching. “And then what?” I ask.

“We just need to make it through the next two weeks. Then we figure out how to spin the rest of this. We escape without getting exposed to the whole fucking world, without the full fury of the 1 establishment raining down upon us, and that’s going to be a hell of a lot worse for you than this is. You know that.”

I bite my lip, training my eyes on the peeling wallpaper on the wall opposite him.

“This part of the show is always hard enough as it is without this extra thing. Without us. What you’re feeling is normal, but this shit with Marcus and me is obviously not.”

I watch him, staring at me, calculating what I’ll do. I’m calculating what he’ll do.

I set my beer back on the counter with a clank, empty.

“Fine,” I say. “You’re right; I’ll do it. But don’t fuck me over, Henry.”

“It’d be nice if you believe I’m on your side.”

I flick the beer bottle over and it rolls on the counter, landing in the sink.

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