She Got Me: The Perfect Ending

“There is no perfection, only beautiful versions of brokenness.” 

—Shannon L. Alder

Three days. For three days, she’d had very little sleep or food to eat but enough coffee to replace her blood with it. The three most awful days of her life, she thought. Until now.

As soon as she’d laid eyes on Antonio Blake, she knew.

Karina’s eyes now glared through the lenses of her goggles at the path ahead. She hoped her assistant, Parker, had gotten the information right. According to her watch, she’d only been walking for less than an hour. The heavy boots, snow, and the fifteen layers of clothing she was wearing made the ordeal feel longer.

For the life of me, he couldn’t run off to the beach like a normal person? Karina thought as she soldiered through the thick, snowy ground, keeping her eyes on the gray stone structure ahead. Maybe it was the thin air and exhaustion, but she could see the teeniest flicker of light there. Antonio had to be there, or she would start slashing random people at the throat.

God knew she wasn’t a monster.

Nothing good ever came from working with Antonio Blake, she’d been warned. Her mentor, the award-winning director Ellis Stacker, had warned her. Her father, the man who knew nothing about film and its actors, had warned her. Her godmother Imani, Imani’s daughter, and her best friend Neena. Even Anthony, Antonio’s brother and agent, tried to talk her out of it. But Karina didn’t acquire her reputation by doing as she was told. The more a task was impossible—the more it shouldn’t be done, really—the more it became irresistible to her. Her cat, Queenie, had even tried to stall her on her way to that first meeting by getting sick on the tablet where the script was stored. When that didn’t work, she thought to trip her.

All her life, when people weren’t telling her no, they were trying to put her down. She had always been tall and broad, with thick, curly hair, a big nose, thick lips, and a wide mouth. Her childhood was a thesaurus of awful and insulting names. She cried herself to sleep clutching her favorite stuffed animal, Cas, imagining that he protected her from the mean ones. Little did she realize that a miserable childhood would give her a steely spine later in life.

Film school was bad, and the industry was a jungle filled with the wildest and most ravenous of beasts. If she wasn’t treated with condescension because of her gender, she was sexually harassed. There were some actors, and even producers, who refused to work with a black woman, and she was an ugly woman. What was to be gained by working with her? They would sneer. Nothing to sweeten the deal. 

Karina persevered. She joined contests where her work in short films got lauded, helping her build a steady and solid resume. By the time she won the jury prize in the Carlton Young Film Makers competition, in the short film category, she was already quite known. It helped her get more jobs, although in independent productions. She said yes to all. Again, she made her rounds in the indie film circuit, sprinkling her short films here and there as she gradually acquired the stamina, grit, talent, and balls to shoot a full-length film. Her efforts paid off. The Final Breath was in everyone’s lists of Best Films the year it was shown. She followed it up with another independent feature, Tastebuds, which got critical acclaim and a bigger financial return. Now mainstream film actors and producers wanted to work with her. She still had to remind people to look past her little breasts, but she didn’t have to do it so much these days. But the battle for equality for women filmmakers was far from over, and she intended to contribute to the cause.

Sure enough, when mainstream producers and actors started courting her, the offers were for romantic comedies and dramas. Karina had no problem with those—romantic comedies were a guilty pleasure of hers—but they were the genres almost exclusively offered to women. It wasn’t that she wanted to direct an epic war film someday—although she would, if the story was good—but she wanted something gritty and dark. Something muddy.

Definitely not snow.

Karina groaned and cursed as she kicked at the snow, never tearing her eyes away from the building that was getting bigger the closer she approached. An early blizzard had made flying impossible, so the pilot—some asshole named Edwin who’d seemed to be able to see through the entire closet’s worth of clothes she was wearing at the moment—dropped her off five miles away and helped her rent a snowmobile. He even offered to take her there on it, but Karina refused. She had a GPS, and there was no way she was going to put her arms around or touch the leering pilot. No way!

Her bravado and relief at being away from that perv were short lived though. About three miles out, the snowmobile stalled and no amount of kicking and yelling at the blasted thing could make it work. She could've called Edwin, but the GPS indicated there was only a short distance left. She jogged seven miles four times a week. She could walk two miles easy.

She must’ve done something bad to be freezing her ass off in this dreary, snow-choked island. Her teeth were chattering so loudly she feared that one more puff of air would knock them out completely. She couldn’t feel her face.

“Damn you, Antonio Blake.”

What made her current situation even more hateful was she had tried to introduce steps to avoid it. She’d offered him a body double! They could shoot the scene so it showed some random guy’s nude body then cut to his face. But no. Antonio Blake had looked at her like he wanted to slap her as he declared that he was doing the full-frontal scene. Full frontal with lots of continuous, lingering shots on his face, ass, dick, and missing arm.

She had admired him at that point. Disabled actors were few and far between, and when actors played them, it was the magic of cinema and technology that removed their legs or arms. But Antonio Blake didn’t always have one arm. A terrible car accident had crushed his right arm and sent him into self-exile for years. When word got around that he was shopping for a role, including one in the Runner script, Karina knew she had to fight to be its director and for him to play the title role. The story had the grittiness and muddiness she was looking for. Antonio Blake, with or without the severed limb, was the only actor in her mind for Runner.

So much for that. Continuous lingering shots on the shoulder, indeed. If it were up to Karina, she would shoot the scene with a body double and then Antonio’s face later. But the producers were paying him serious money precisely for the full frontal. With production stalled because Antonio suddenly got cold feet and lost his balls, Karina was pressured on all sides to haul his ass back into the studio or she was finished. She’d had no choice.

All those years of suffering, harassment, hard work, and tears. The relationships she could have had (not that there were many). Experiences. Another life. All would be for nothing because some diva actor had heartlessly changed his mind and thought to kill her dreams as a bonus.

By the time Karina swept past several low-hanging branches a few feet away from the modern gray stone and wood structure, she was panting and her sweat had frozen. Her eyes narrowed at the pillar of white smoke exiting the chimney. She was a nice person. She really was. But knowing that Antonio was cozied up next to a warm fire with hot chocolate while she was slogging through the snow and losing feeling limb by limb was bringing a fresh surge to her irritation. She hauled herself to the front door and rammed her gloved fist repeatedly against it.

“Antonio Blake!” she yelled. “Open the door!”

She kicked the door.

“Karina?” She heard Antonio say from inside. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Open the door.”

“Alright, alright. God, how’d you find me?”

“I can’t give an answer if my tongue freezes and falls off, now can I?”

“A tragedy,” he drawled.

Karina raised her fist to knock again when the door opened.

There he was. Antonio Blake. With his perfect hair, black-brown eyes, and face that could launch at least a thousand ships. His dark skin was flushed and warm. Everything about him was everything a sane, flesh-and-blood woman wanted in the middle of this snowy hell. A face lovingly carved by the gods and no doubt blessed with kisses. All in a cozy gray sweater. A really cozy gray sweater that you wanted to nuzzle and purr against.

Then he smiled.

Damn those teeth that the orthodontist promised but never delivered. Damn those huge dimples!

A sane, flesh-and-blood woman would want him alright. Even in his sweater and jeans, Antonio Blake looked good enough to rival the delicious indulgence of a hot chocolate crammed with marshmallows.

Karina was a woman; she was flesh and blood.

But she was past sanity.

She answered his smile with a scowl and flew towards him, hands out to wring him by the neck.

Brightwood was the end of the world. It suited Antonio just fine. He raised his left arm, staring glumly at another landscape of endless white and thick snow from the window. He had been staying here for a couple of days, but it felt like months. Maybe even years. His assistant Mack tried to convince him to get another accommodation more suited to his needs and tastes. But hotels were hunting grounds of the paparazzi bloodhounds. As well as private villas and even private islands. A long-range lens could still result in a photo of him. So, he went to the least likely place in Carlton anyone would look for him. And if found, he wasn’t going to make things easy for them.

Brightwood was perfect. Winter may just be in the horizon for the rest of Carlton but further, it had begun. Paved roads got buried by snow faster than it can be plowed clear. Rooftops of houses and cars groaned and sighed under its weight. Anywhere from Point A to Point B in this god-forsaken place got impassable by midday. While the modest, two-story rental had outdated furniture and could use a fresh coat of paint, it was cut off from the rest of Brightwood. Antonio needed to put as much distance between him and the rest of the world.

It was a mistake signing on to that movie. He’d bury Anthony in the snow if his brother were here, he thought, rubbing the soreness in his right shoulder brought by the cold.

He was right to remain holed up in Williamsway, the place where he’d been born and raised, after losing his arm in the accident. After the curious stares when he was in town and the media that camped outside of the Wisteria Estate, people forgot about him. His family may have founded the place, but he was just another Blake now, no longer the famous, sought-after actor whose posters filled the walls of girls’ bedrooms and lockers. The anonymity was a comfort. The rest of the world moved on.

But Anthony, damn him, refused to believe Antonio had retired. He did understand his need to be away from the limelight, but he kept his ear to the ground. First was this script by a kid named Alan Crabtree. Anthony sent him a copy, urging him to read it. So, he did. The writing was the best he had read in his entire career. The role guaranteed the actor a place in history.

Antonio still thought to pass. He was no longer an actor.

Anthony was a stubborn ass. Then he dropped a bombshell: there was a young woman in the shortlist of candidates for the director of the film. Karina Jones. Anthony sent Antonio her movies. She was the youngest in the list but already successful, albeit in the indie circuit. He also shared Karina’s one condition in taking the job, if given to her: she would work only with Antonio Blake.

He watched her movies. The stories were different, but the characters were raw and broken. Only a sensitive director who wasn’t afraid to get messy and bloody could tell the way these stories deserved to be told. He was astounded at the work and gave the Crabtree script another look.

If his comeback was going to be with this woman, then Antonio would take the role.

As an actor, Antonio never believed in things that were larger-than-life. They didn’t exist. Movie magic made them so, as did egos with actors. Karina Jones was his first encounter with someone who really was larger-than-life.

Antonio was tall, standing a couple of inches over six feet. Karina was taller, broader and was at least twenty pounds heavier. And for someone who turned heads, it was expected for her to be really worth the look. Instead, one grimaced and couldn’t stop looking at her. She didn’t look any better at each turn.

Her dark hair was a miserable frizzy mess that needed deep conditioning treatment. For starters, her nose, aside from being big and broad, was crooked, indicating it had been broken. Her mouth was wide and her lips too red and thick. Her scowl emphasized her plain features. She always looked flushed, as if she had been out in the sun too long.

But her eyes.

It was hard to pinpoint what shade of amber they were. Under a certain light, they were amber. When her temper was provoked and they darkened, they were raw cat’s eyes. As she struggled to bite back a smile, they were yellow. He understood why she didn’t like to smile. She had uneven teeth.

Despite looking like God created her to be an object of ridicule, Antonio had come to respect her. She was thirty-six years old, still quite young to have had the success she had, especially for a female film director. Actresses complained about harassment or worse in the casting couch. Women behind the camera got it worse—the sexism and other forms of abuse was so rampant and something the male-dominated film encouraged for both men and women to get ahead. Antonio knew little about Karina, but her work alone demanded recognition.

Sometimes, he would look at her between takes, noticing her eyes seemed hyacinth like fire while going over some changes in the script with Alan. She had a definite vision for where the film should go, as indicated by her unwavering gaze when speaking but she ensured it was the story the Alan wanted to be told. Whether the younger man nodded along because she looked like she could split him in two in the blink of an eye or was pleased with the collaboration Antonio wasn’t sure about. Moments like this he saw why Karina’s career had the trajectory it had: she knew what she wanted.

She worked fine with Alan and the others, but she and Antonio had come close to a fistfight several times. He felt she handled him with kid gloves. Didn’t she know he was nominated for the Emmys three times? That his yearly guest work in any TV show had him nominated every year until his accident and had won seven times? The role called for a character ripped wide open with guts spilling and dripping on the floor and Karina ordered him to keep it all in. “Think of it as your stitches loosening and you have to keep your intestines inside by hugging yourself.” she told him. “You’re at a fancy party, you have nice clothes, but this happens and no one can know.”

Antonio was impatient to unleash himself, thus his agreement to do a full-frontal scene, which would include lingering shots on his shoulder. He also dreaded the day. He spent an extra twenty minutes on the treadmill, replaced two meals with protein shakes and allowed himself on salad and salmon for lunch. He was always knocking on Karina’s trailer wanting to discuss how she would shoot his shoulder, warning her he did not want it glorified or romanticized, nor should it show him as a broken man. When the week of the shoot arrived, he wondered if it was a mistake to have agreed to do the scene.

It was a mistake. Even Karina told him before shooting began that he could use a body double, but he refused, annoyed that she dared offer him that. After realizing he was an idiot, he ran.

So here Antonio was.

The coffeemaker coughed and sputtered. Turning away from the window, he saw steam coming from the top as the coffee began to pour into the pot. He closed the drapes and continued making himself a meal. He estimated that it was two in the afternoon already this was first meal.

Being here in the snow messed with his body clock. The nights found him restless, and he often fell asleep on the couch. Then he would wake up around this time, stiff and hardly rested.

Antonio took a box of sugary cereal mixed with dehydrated fruit of dubious nutritional value. He shook its contents into a bowl before pouring milk. He got himself coffee and sat down to eat.

He was slurping the last bits of soggy cereal from the bowl when he heard loud pounding. On and on it went, followed by an angry shout.

“Antonio Blake! Open the door!”

He got up and stood just outside of the kitchen. He watched the door shudder from the blows it was receiving. “Open the door!”

“Karina?” He demanded, finally recognizing the voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”

So, open the door he did, chuckling under his breath. Despite the disagreements they’ve had, being with Karina could be fun. He liked to rile her up by calling her bitch. So, when he opened the door and saw her standing there, looking uglier than the last time he saw her, he couldn’t help but smile.

Whoever told her to dress in white was an idiot. The only colors from her were the startling amber of her eyes against the red of her cheeks and swollen mouth. She looked like one of those snow monsters from legend, but she was an Abominable Snow—

“My bitch!”

Her amber eyes darkened, her lips curling into a snarl. Before Antonio realized what was going to happen, she was on to him, throwing her heavy body against his and tackling him to the floor. He shouted. She yelled. She kneed him in the ribs, dammit, the balls--

“Oh god!” He shrieked, his arms rising to stop her from taking a swing at him. He tried turning but she was stronger was clearly used to trapping men with her hard thighs. There was also the matter that he was missing an arm—a truth that hit him harder than her fist connecting with his face.

That hurt.

So, Antonio punched her in the jaw. Karina howled and jerked back. Still seeing stars, he pressed his advantage by shoving her to the ground and pinning her under him. She yelled again, writhing and grunting against him and he had to push his knees onto hers, give her the full press of his body weight until they were eye to eye and sharing one breath. Her amber eyes were the color of a flame. She tried to hit him again. Antonio tossed her arms over her head and slammed his own over them. Karina’s lips opened in a silent gasp but there was no fear or uncertainty in her.

Good. Because Antonio was going to give her the full force of a lion’s rage.

“What the hell did you hit me for?” He yelled. Some of his spit landed in her eye and Karina growled. She tried throwing him off again. He glared at her.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!”

“Get off me!”

“You put yourself right here. Now answer me!”

But Karina hardly did as she was told, especially by him. She grunted and arched her body to him, intending to heave him off. Antonio threw her back down and was not sorry when she knocked the back of her head on the hard surface. As her face twisted in pain, he snarled, “What the hell is wrong with you? Why’d you hit me?”

Karina turned her furious eyes at him and growled, “You think what you did deserved a kiss?”

“What the hell did I do?”

“Oh god! Really, Antonio!” The girl was trying to turn and move her body under him. Hell, it was like keeping a bull down.

 “You disappear for three days, hold up the production, cost me my career—"

As she ranted, her hips pushed against him, so he pushed back. It became a contest on who was stronger, who could give the ultimate death stare. Antonio’s right arm was beginning to hurt and struggle keeping her pinned by the elbows. Dark pupils flashed in this wordless fight of grunts and much squirming. Despite the negative temperature, Antonio was beginning to sweat. His pants felt tight. He was hard as stone.

Two pairs of eyes widened in shock upon realizing what was going on south of their waists. Or rather, the immediate south from Antonio’s waist.

He was off her as if she burned. His legs were unsteady, but he’d punch a hole in the wall first before letting her see that. Instead, he ran a quick hand through his dark hair, feeling some of the sweat on his scalp. A glance at Karina showed her still flat on her back, arms over her head, legs spread. Her heavy winter clothes were still zipped tight, but her red cheeks and harsh pants would indicate she had been doing something that didn’t involve clothes at all. Incredibly, his dick hardened some more.

Antonio walked past her, his shoes thundering past her ear, and it gave him some satisfaction. He went to the sideboard, finding a bottle of brandy there. As he poured it into glasses, Karina slowly sat up. She rubbed the back of her head and he remembered. Muttering under his breath about rude, violent women, he ducked in the fridge and got some ice cubes. He shook them from the tray, wondered for a second if maybe they should go in his pants to give him some relief, then nixed it. Of course, his dick got hard because it had been years since he last had sex.

Sighing loudly, he struggled through the task with one arm at first before deciding to bang the tray on the counter until the ice popped out. He grabbed a dish cloth that wasn’t very clean and piled the cubes there. With his shoulder keeping the ice in place, his left hand wrapped it up.

Karina was already on her feet when he returned to the living room. Her rough-looking hair was mussed. Hearing him approach had her turning to him. The flush on her face had receded to a soft brown.

Brilliant Karina stared at him as he walked up to her and held out the makeshift ice pack. Her cheeks turned dark as she wordlessly took it from him. She grimaced upon pressing it to the spot, but she pointed at him.

“You should get some for yourself. You have a shiner.”

“Thanks to you,” he snapped, but leaving it alone. He could feel it swelling but whether he iced it or not, the mark would still be there tomorrow. He took one of the glasses and gave it to her, unable to stop the flash of envy as she kept one hand with the ice pack on her head while the other took it. He sat on a stool by the sideboard and took a sip of the brandy. Karina finished her drink. He watched her put the glass on the table, pour the ice into it before taking off her heavy, tufted white jacket with the fleeced hood. She sat on the couch. It whined under her weight, and she blushed in embarrassment, darting a quick look at Antonio to see if he noticed. He smirked. She deserved it for hitting him. But he’d die first before letting her know how his stomach churned at the growing purple bruise on her chin.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He demanded. “How did you find me?”

Karina rolled her eyes. “You really think a one-armed man who looks like you will not stand out?”

Antonio flinched. It must have been noticeable because Karina looked aghast at her own words, the color draining from her face. No stammering apology, though. She touched her chin gingerly. “I had help. From your brother. Don’t be mad at him. He told me I’d be an idiot to talk to you before he does.”

“That’s not the only thing you are,” he grumbled.

He reached for the brandy again and poured it in his glass.

“You might have only gotten a slap in the face had you holed up in a beach,” Karina said. “Ibiza, perhaps. I like Ibiza.”

“And surround myself with the crazy men who know only how to fight and fuck and fuck and fight. Although the sight of you looking like a giant lobster might just be worth it. Bitch barbecue.” Antonio took a swig and gave her a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Something tells me you’d be juicy.”

Karina went red. Antonio huffed, expecting to see smoke coming out of her ears. She looked like she wanted to give him a serious pounding this time.

She got up and went to him. With a glance aimed at burning him into cinders on the spot, she grabbed the brandy and brought it with her to the couch. She poured it into her glass then took a sip.

“Why?” She asked, looking at him.

“Why what?”

“Why did you run?”

Antonio pointed at the brandy. “Bring it here. Now.”

Karina rolled her eyes. Instead, she finished her glass then poured more. She made a big show of putting it back on the coffee table.

“If you want it, then get it. You only lost an arm, not both legs.”

“You get off on it, don’t you? Being unpleasant? Like it’s not enough that you spied on me and barged in here without any invitation?”

“Unpleasant? I was shooting for mean.”

As Karina sipped the brandy, Antonio said, “If you get yourself drunk, don’t you get sick anywhere in the house.”

“Of course, I won’t. Cleaning with just one arm is sloppy work.”

“Fuck you.”

That got to her. She slammed her glass down the table and shot to her feet. Antonio stood up too.

“Fuck me?” Karina asked in a low voice as she walked toward him slowly. “I suppose you’re right. You really screwed me over disappearing the day before we’re supposed to shoot that last scene. The scene you’re contractually obligated to do. Do you know what your selfishness did?”

“Actors are selfish. We don’t give a damn about other people.”

“That’s how you want to play it, then?”

“Play? You think this is some game?”

“If it’s a game I don’t know what the prize is. You’re certainly not one.” Karina stopped walking once she was right in front of him. With their close heights, they could look at each other right in the eye. Antonio even smelled a touch of snow from her skin and the sweat that had dried from their tussle.

“Why did you run?” She asked again, softer this time.

Antonio stared at her. The words were a jumble in his head. His throat tightened, knowing that even if he wanted to speak of it, only a whimper would come out. His right shoulder twitched, once again reminding him of what wasn’t there anymore. It had been nagging him since setting foot in this god-forsaken place. The cold was probably messing with it.

“I didn’t run.”

“You just upped and left. Antonio.” She suddenly snapped her fingers before his eyes. “Do you know what you did? Do you have any idea what Anthony and I had to do so the producers won’t screw with us?” The stormy eyes were back.

“So, I left. I changed my mind. I don’t have the right to do that now? Just because I’m a has-been missing an arm?”

“Don’t do that—”

But Antonio was on a roll now. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “What the hell do you want from me, Karina? You could have had your pick of any actor. So whatever catastrophe that’s happened”—he tapped his finger hard just below her throat—“it’s all on you. You wanted me for this job. You fought to put me here—”

“Damn right I fought for you, you jackass. I fought for you because I believe in you!”

“Did someone put a gun to your pussy and ordered you to fight for me?”

“Oh, so this is my fault. I’m the reason we’re going to get screwed because I was the idiot who believed in you? Well, thank you for confirming it. People really do love to over praise a famous name.” Karina looked disgusted. “You were, you know. Once. But now? You’re just a one-armed asshole—”

“Careful,” Antonio seethed.

“Fine. Hit me. I have two arms. I can do it all day, Antonio. Come on. Hit me. Give me your best shot.”

“Time for you to get the fuck out.”

Antonio’s shoulder smacked against her as he stormed to the door. Karina followed him. He opened the door and she slammed it shut. He turned around. She was standing close enough for him to not just smell her but also count the spots dotting across her nose. Twelve.

“Tell me why you ran.” She whispered.

“You should leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Antonio. I’m not going anywhere without you.” She suddenly flushed then turned on her heel. Confused, he watched her return to the couch and once again pour brandy into her glass.

He stared at her in distaste. “What’s this? You have a problem with drinking?”

She glared at him. “Of course not.”

“You’re going through that like it’s your last day on earth.”

“It’s cold, alright? And I’m…” she cleared her throat. “Look, Antonio. I don’t know if you want me to beg on my knees and I will definitely murder you if you tell me to do that. But if you don’t do the scene, we’re screwed, alright? Me. You. Anthony. Even Alan. The producers didn’t want you.”

Well, damn it. But he suspected that.

“They wanted someone else. I don’t know who, but they were just going to fit him with a blue glove and cut out the arm in the edit. But I didn’t want you simply because you didn’t have…I mean, it’s not because of your condition at all. You could have two arms now and you’re still the one I want for the role. You’re the only one I’ll work with for this movie.”

It had been flattering, really, when Anthony told him that. He still mattered enough to be remembered.

“The producers agreed as long as you did the scene. I told them you should have the option of a double, but you know what they did. You signed it.” She finished her drink. “But I don’t know if you saw the teeny lettering about the consequences if you don’t do it. The interest in the movie is riding on that scene, Antonio.”

“I have to say, it’s doing a lot for me knowing that the entire Carlton wants to see my dick.” He drawled.

“Fuck you, Antonio. Will you be serious for once?” She roared.

“You think I’m not?”

“You ran,” she pointed out. “You ran and left it up to us to fight and save you.”

“You also saved yourself.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“No. You should save yourself. But don’t expect me to be grateful for doing something I didn’t ask you to do.” Antonio grabbed the brandy and brought it back to the sideboard. “I don’t need saving. From anyone.”

God above, but she was looking at him now like he had just announced he was going to slice her head off because he had nothing better to do. Her lower lip trembled. The rapid blinking of her eyes promised tears. He couldn’t look away from her.

“I admired you, you know. Respected you. Past tense,” she clarified after a moment. “This movie was going to be my entry into mainstream film, yes. But more than that, it was a story I wanted to tell. It’s the kind of story I’ve always wanted to tell. I so believed in you to understand what Runner needed from an actor. For a while I thought you did. Then you ran away. And now you’re telling me everything I did was shit. You’re welcome, Antonio.”

She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out a phone.

“You can try and try. But cell reception here is very poor. It was one of the things I requested. I didn’t want to be found. Not for a while.”

Karina sighed and tossed the phone to the table.

“Look, swallow in whatever existential bullshit you might be having, Antonio. Do it until you choke. I don’t care. But you made a promise. You signed a contract. Do you know how much the producers intend to sue you?”

“You think I care?”

“I care! Yes, I saved myself. My entire career is riding on this movie!” Karina shook her head at him. “I don’t believe this. You won’t do the nude scene because…what? You don’t want the world to know you have a tiny dick?”

“I don’t see the point of defending myself when you have all these assumptions.” Antonio mockingly applauded her. “Bravo, Professor. Very impressive. Top-notch-”

“Stop!” Karina shouted. “Shut up!”

Then she threw her glass at Antonio. Antonio managed to duck away in time, and it smashed on the opposite wall. As he opened his mouth to cut her down again, she flew at him.

“All my life men like you have been sneering at me, but you insult me like that again, you try tearing at me like you just did, and you will lose another arm. How dare you try to bring me down to your level, you little piece of shit. You ran because you were afraid, weren’t you? What’s the matter? You don’t want the world to see how ugly your shoulder is?” Without warning, she grabbed his right arm. “Is that what you want? For the world to think you’re ugly? Because it’s no picnic, Antonio. I barely survived. You won’t.”

Antonio snatched his arm back, furious.

“You lost an arm!” Karina yelled. “You’ve had one taste of the real world and you go hide in your mansion and run off to this ice age hole. Is that all it takes for the once-great Antonio Blake to be destroyed?”

“All it takes? Really? Well let’s see you lose your arm.”

“You lost an arm. You didn’t lose yourself!”

“And you would know.”

“Every time you’re a hateful shit tells me how afraid you are.”

“You think people want to see me act? Maybe half who’ll see the movie do for my dick. It’s big. But the rest of them want to see this.” He shoved his shoulder at her. “This! They want to see me broken. They’re lining up like I’m a circus freak. That’s how it’s going to come out, Karina. No matter how nicely you do it, this is what people will come for. The man that used to be Antonio Blake.”

“You’re still you!”

“How can you know that? You didn’t know me until this movie.”

“It’s an arm. It’s just an arm!”

“I was that arm.”

Karina looked about to protest again. He cut her off.

“Don’t treat my loss as nothing. Losing is never nothing. Don’t talk to me about things you know nothing about.”

He brushed past her and sat on the couch. It was still warm and dented from her body. He sank into it.

“Well.” Was all Karina could say.

He looked at her. She went to the table and retrieved her phone.

“If that’s that. Then I really should go. Tell the people I’ve failed and to face the consequences. You should get in touch with Anthony too and tell him to get ready. The producers intend to flay us.” She started pressing keys then pressed the phone to her ear.

Antonio startled them both with what he said next.

“Stay.”