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“You won’t,” she said sadly. “You’re always amazing on stage.”
I couldn’t help it. My gaze slid down to her. “Only on stage, though, right?”
“Okay, Mike,” said Brittany. “We’re at places. Ready for the house lights and transition in one minute.”
The pain reflected back at me should’ve made me feel better because I was intentionally trying to hurt her. To make her feel a fraction of my agony these past few days. Instead, regret burned a hole in my chest.
Then the theater music died and the stage lights brightened beyond this partial wall.
“You’re on,” snapped Brittany, since Betty was still standing there looking at me with the saddest fucking expression I’d ever seen.
She stepped up to the apartment door with her grocery bag in hand, opened it, and swept on stage.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“Everything okay?” whispered Brittany.
I waved her off and waited for my cue.
Everything was most definitely not okay. Everything was fucked up beyond reason.
Muttering my opening lines to myself, I remembered back to the dozens of times I’d done this scene with Betty. Savoring the way she smiled at me as Corie as she welcomed her beloved husband home. Remembering only stabbed the dagger deeper, but I had to recall those moments so that I could make it through this fucking show.
By some miracle, I was able to detach myself as Paul and let the character take the lead through the opening Act. Even when Betty sat on my lap and brushed a welcome-home kiss to my lips, I somehow didn’t lose my shit. She remained in character for all but a flicker of seconds when I couldn’t help myself and brushed a parting kiss to her lips before the buzzer sounded, signaling her mother’s visit. Her gaze went soft and sad, feeling sorry for me because I was obviously still holding onto hope.
When Act One ended, I rushed backstage and into a storage room that no one used then pressed my palms to my eyes, willing myself not to actually start crying.
“Fucking hell,” I hissed, breathing hard and fast.
I loved her so fucking much, and this was absolute pure hell.
I don’t know how long I stood in the dark trying to get my shit together, but Brittany yelled, “Two minutes!”
“Thank you, two,” Frank said as I exited the storage room. “Hey.” His brow pinched with concern as he tapped my arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Gotta change jackets for this next scene.” Then I hurried away.
By the time I’d changed and got back into places off stage, Betty was staring at me hard. But I never met her gaze.
Then we were in Act Two, Scene Two, where we’d come back from our night out with Mr. Velasco, the big fight scene between Corie and Paul.
Corie accused me of always doing the right things.
“You’re very close to being perfect!” Betty yelled as Corie, her voice breaking.
She was acting the scene flawlessly. Only, the anger raging between us wasn’t fake. Not at all. I couldn’t control it when she mentioned wanting a divorce. I let her have it, the scene escalating as it was supposed to until they bickered back and forth that divorce was the best option. That they’d saved years of misery finding out how wrong they were for each other before the marriage had even gotten started. The parallels between Betty and me were excruciating.
“I thought you weren’t going to cry!” I shouted
Then Betty burst into tears. Real tears. There was a heartbreaking pause, a moment hanging in the air when she couldn’t say the lines. The audience held its breath. Not a sound but her sobs. She simply stared at me with all the hurt in her eyes. I towered over her as Paul, breathing hard. Finally, she snapped out her last line and stormed off stage.
When the scene ended and the curtain was drawn, I headed backstage to find her. I couldn’t do this anymore. If she wanted to end this, I’d let her. I couldn’t punish her anymore for not loving me the way I so desperately wanted. Despite everything, I wanted her to be happy, and it’s obvious I was making her miserable. It was killing me inside.
She wasn’t in her dressing room. Meredith was there, powdering her cheeks.
“Where’s Betty?”
“She didn’t come back here.”
