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hookedontaronfics · 5 years ago

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Honky Dancer series - Chapter 8

Chapter title: Consequences Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Trigger warnings for a subtle mentions of an eating disorder and some medical drama A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, and it’s quite dramatic. The chapter bears its name well; you cannot outrun the consequences of your actions, as our beloved Juliette will soon find out. I hope you enjoy this emotional ride! X

Night shoots, I quickly learned, were a special sort of experience. Most of us had tried to nap before the call time, and we were all standing around clutching cups of coffee, full of caffeine and running on adrenaline. The choreography for “Saturday Night’s Alright” required every dancer that was hired, and a cast of extras simply to fill the background too. The amount of crew and the rigging required to give the number an expansive feel also added to the sheer number of people on set at the moment. The volume level was almost too much, with everyone chatting excitedly.

I was standing with my usual group, minus Markus, who was giving me an extremely cold shoulder by not acknowledging my presence at all. I couldn’t blame him, though; I��d told him to never talk to me again, after all. But now that it was the next day and my simmering anger had dulled, and I’d managed to smooth things over with Taron, I wondered if I hadn’t acted out too irrationally. Blame the baby hormones, I thought ruefully to myself.

Being on that carnival set, amongst the twinkling lights and magical atmosphere, made us feel like we were transported somewhere else. And I certainly hoped that effect would come across on film when it was all said and done. My favorite part was the massive Ferris wheel, ablaze with color. I spotted Taron, talking animatedly with Dexter, and when he looked over I gave him a small wave, which he cutely returned.

“Ugh, adorable,” Leah commented, making me smile behind my coffee cup lid as I took another sip. After what felt like a waste of an hour, we were finally called into place. We discarded our coffees and dumped our jackets and bags and went through last-minute costume checks, the costumers nit-picking over the littlest details, adjusting collars here, snipping stray threads there. We had already been walked through some preliminary blocking, but now that the cameras would be turned on, we all wanted things to be as perfect as they could be. The less takes we all had to do for each beat, the better.

Still, that constant ripple of excitement and thrill ran through all of us and kept us going as the nightly hours wore on. Watching Taron in his element really felt like a treat though. How he managed to turn that energy on and maintain his performance level take after take after draining take was mind-boggling, really. And whether he was tired or not, he never showed it, and he stayed positive and kind to everyone around him. But even though the work itself was exhausting, I still loved everything about it.

The track itself was phenomenal, and Taron’s vocals were strong. I never got tired of listening to it no matter how many takes we did. Giles Martin was a genius, keeping the original integrity of the song but building segments of the different musical influences that Elton had been exposed to and incorporated into his music over the many years, and those flavors had also been used in our dance styles. The choreography was engaging, energetic and exciting, and being a part of this musical number certainly felt like being a part of something much larger than ourselves. The sequence was a crucial part of the storytelling, and needed to feel as youthful and adventurous as Elton’s life was during that time.

I had to admit that I was more than happy when they finally called that night’s filming to a close, as the first creep of dawn was just beginning to tinge the sky. I felt the exhaustion and soreness in every fiber of my body, and blearily changed out of my costume, located my bag in the pile, and wearily made my way off the set and toward the tube station before realizing someone was calling my name. I whirled around, nearly knocking myself off my own feet as I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Juliette! Hey, wait up,” Taron said, jogging over to me and sweetly brushing his fingers over my cheek, still somehow not looking exhausted. “Clara’s with her dad and your mum has Troy. Can I just drive you over to my place?” he asked, and I was so tired I didn’t bother arguing, and nodded instead, letting Taron slip his arm around me supportively.

“How are you not completely exhausted?” I grumbled.

“Well, I’m not pregnant, so that helps,” he quipped lightly. “But I’m also just used to it, I think. Not exactly the first night scene I’ve ever been in.”

“I can think of a few,” I smiled. “Bit of a fan of your work, here,” I teased lightly.

“Well you nearly have to be, now that you’re dating me,” he smirked back, and I cracked a smile despite my exhaustion. I sank gratefully down into the plush of the car seat, fighting off falling asleep right then and there. The last thing I needed was Taron taking it upon himself to carry me to bed, as sweet of a gesture as that would be.

“I think today went well,” Taron spoke into our tired silence.

“Really well, at least on our part. It’s always one thing to rehearse a dance. It’s another to see it in the place, in the world so to speak, the lights and colors and costumes. Something about that just made everything feel much more real today,” I replied. “And you… You totally killed it.”

“I don’t know if I killed it, but I wager I gave it everything I had,” he smiled, looking over at me.

“Well, I think, from what I’ve seen, you’re carrying this whole damn thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in the way he did when he felt humbled by something.

“Well I do,” I smiled, more to myself than anything.

“I am so ready to crash,” he yawned when we finally pulled into the drive and parked.

“You and me both,” I sighed wearily. We made our way inside, and I realized oddly that I hadn’t been in his home for a fair bit. It felt just as cozy as before as he led me to the bedroom, pulling me to him for a couple of sweet kisses before we both got ready for bed, too tired for anything more. He did his best to try and block the morning sunlight creeping across the floor, able to darken the room a bit, and we curled up together and were sound asleep within minutes, my brain for once too worn out to keep me awake.

The baby, on the other hand, had other ideas, waking me up a few hours later. I stumbled to the bathroom and wretched, hardly anything in my stomach to get rid of. I groaned slightly and splashed water on my face before returning to my slumbering boyfriend. I checked my phone briefly, scrolling through social media mindlessly, waiting for sleep to find me again, but hunger found me first instead.

I got up and, still too exhausted to make anything else, popped some bread in the toaster oven, rapping my fingers on the counter as I waited for it to be ready. I smeared some butter on, then took a few bites, chewing slowly, my hand resting on my belly. But then the part of my brain that worried about calories kicked in, and I found I couldn’t eat another bite. I tossed the rest of the toast in the trash and reminded myself I needed to stay away from carbs as I returned to the bed, not entirely satisfied but at least my stomach had stopped gurgling uncomfortably.

“Mmmm,” Taron murmured next to me, turning over and sliding his arm over my waist and nuzzling into my neck. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, cracking his green eyes open and looking at me.

“I got sick. And then I got hungry,” I smiled, as his eyes drew down to my stomach, his fingers splaying out under my sleep shirt and caressing my skin there sweetly.

“This will be worth it in the end,” he said gently, kissing my forehead. “Try to get some more sleep. Tonight will be difficult if you don’t.” I nodded at that and tried to let him soothe me back to sleep, and I eventually did end up drifting off again.

We woke with enough time to shower, make some dinner, and watch a little telly together before heading to set and doing it all over again. The second night seemed a little easier, but maybe it was just because I knew more of what to expect, the lag between scenes, the flurry of activity, the massive rigs swinging around and being readjusted constantly, the dead space where we had to try and keep our bodies warm, the constant makeup and costume retouches, the attempt to keep our energy up through the slog of what felt like a 14-hour night. We had fun with some bumper cars and there might have been more horsing around than actual dancing during that sequence.

The next two nights felt a little more laid-back, as a bulk of the large group shots were already done. The transitions into and out of the scene, with the bar and with Kit Connor, who played the mid-aged Reggie, were the focus of those days, so I spent more time sitting around than anything else, but that also gave me time to be curious about the behind-the-scenes machinations of putting a movie together. I found it completely fascinating, so different and removed from what I did on the stage when I danced professionally, a completely different set of lingo I didn’t quite understand. What was a grip? A racking focus? A polarizer? I had no idea, but hearing people talk casually about the technical aspects made me feel curious to know more.

Needless to say, I was grateful when night shoots, at least for that sequence, were done. It was kind of saddening to see the carnival get dismantled, but of course it had only been put up for the film and I knew that. I had to return to my own crazy schedule, my daughter and my own students and trying to balance that with further rehearsals for “Bitch is Back” and time with Taron as well, though the next few nights he spent at my home with me. It wasn’t even a conversation we had, he just showed up every evening, joining me in making dinner and helping Clara with her homework and walking Troy and just generally filling a space in my home I hadn’t realized had been empty. Eventually I thought it was high time he had a key, so I made it a point to make a copy and give him one.

“You’re in the special group of people who gets one of these,” I giggled as we cuddled on the couch together, long after Clara had gone to bed.

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And just how many people get a key to my girlfriend’s abode?” he chuckled.

“My mum, of course. Zayn, just in case something came up with Clara. Now you…” I smiled, as Taron flipped the key around in his palm slightly. He seemed a bit reserved about it, but then he’d been a bit reserved the past few nights. I chalked it up to just being knackered from night shoots until he sighed slightly and spoke my name in a hesitant manner.

“Juliette. I really need to ask you something,” he said, his eyes focusing somewhere just above the crown of my head.

“Anything, T,” I replied, even though a cold knot had formed in my stomach.

“Markus pulled me aside the other day and um, he wanted to pass along a few… things.” It was just like Markus to try and fuck everything up for me, even if we weren’t together. Even if I’d thoroughly ended things. Why could nothing in my world stay perfect, ever? I swallowed past the lump in my throat, willing my voice to not shake.

“I’m sure he wasn’t doing so out of the kindness of his heart,” I said coldly.

“Of course I took things with a grain of salt. We haven’t exactly had the best history, Markus and I, all things considered,” he said, finally focusing on my face, but the look of hurt that knitted his brows caught me off guard. “But he told me that you two were still together, that you slept with him again, when you had told me you wanted to be with me. When you were supposed to have broken up with him. And you never told me about that, and your nonadmission might as well have been as good as lying to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly.

“I… I’m so sorry,” I tried, my brain still processing what he was saying to me.

“I’ve been wrestling with this for a few days, whether to ask you about it or not. Whether to strike a divide between us or not. I’m forgiving, but relationships have to be founded on trust and communication, neither of which you’ve given to me, and that hurts.”

“I tried to break up with Markus. I tried to tell you that I failed. I felt so...humiliated and… ashamed. Of my history, of my weakness, of this shitty pattern I’ve never been able to get myself out of. I never meant it to hurt you, so I thought I could protect you from… me,” I said, stumbling over the words, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You have to believe that, please.”

“I believe you, it’s just a misguided principle, really. Relationships sometimes hurt. Sometimes you have to be raw, and open, and vulnerable, and ugly in front of the other person, and sometimes that makes them hurt for you, because they love you. I want to accept your flaws, your imperfections, but I can’t do that if you won’t open up to me. I can’t do that if I can’t trust you to be honest with me. I can’t do that if you try to protect me from the difficult, painful bits. I can’t do this, if you won’t extend that to me,” he said into the dead silence of the room. My heart was near pounding out of my chest and I felt the need to get sick.

“What are you saying, Taron? Are you breaking up with me?” I asked softly, tears already threatening in my eyes.

“I just need...some time. To think. To know where I stand. I am hurt, and you’ve got to learn that there are consequences for your actions. But I’m not leaving you, no,” he said as evenly as possible. “I told you I loved you, through the hard times too. I stand by that. I just need you to try and earn my trust back,” he said softly, brushing his fingers lightly over my chin.

“Okay,” I sniffled slightly, feeling the shame burning in my chest.

He leaned over and set the key on the coffee table, the clink of the metal against the wood top making me cringe slightly, before he stood up and turned to me.

“I’ll see you around at the studios. We’re not going to be strangers. But there is this wedge we need to deal with, and I hope you can understand that.”

“I created it,” I said, a couple of tears rolling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t pity myself; I had done this. I had turned Taron away from me, yet again. I had made a muddled mess out of something that should have been good and pure.

“Hey, no need to cry. We will work through this, alright?” he said, tipping my chin up to look at him, but his face was fractured into a thousand tiny pieces through my tears.

“Why would you want to? Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” I asked, pulling away from his touch, his arm returning to his side awkwardly.

“I was, at first. But I try incredibly hard to not act out in anger. It never leads to anything good; it tends to cause more problems than it solves. I also know that even while you had promised to choose me, you really hadn’t, not yet. I wanted to believe I’d be enough to convince you...” he trailed off.

“Fuck, of course you are, T. You’re the best thing that’s ever really happened to me. And I keep trying to ruin it, so maybe you’d be better off without me dragging you down,” I said harshly.

“Stop, stop. I won’t let you talk about yourself that way,” he said, kneeling down in front of where I sat on the sofa, directly into my line of sight again. “Your self-loathing won’t help anything. Please see that.”

“Maybe I’m one person you can’t fix. Maybe no one can,” I said shakily, and Taron sighed deeply.

“I hope this feels better in the morning, but going around in circles on it with you all night won’t help either. I’m going to take my leave, and you should get some sleep, and we’ll figure out how to move forward together. That is, if you still want to.”

I couldn’t give him an answer so the silence between us yawned open until he stood up and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before gathering up his jacket and letting himself out the door. I’m not really sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing, thoughts whirling around my head. Time passed me by unnoticed until Clara padded barefoot into the room.

“Mum?” she asked, and I startled back into reality.

“Yes dear?” I asked, trying to push back the edges of darkness I felt threatening to overcome me.

“I got sick in my bed,” Clara said, starting to cry.

“Oh, honey,” I said, instantly sweeping up off the couch and going to attend to my sick daughter, cleaning the linens and giving her medicine and crashing in my bed with her that night, her feverish little body shivering next to me as I held her tight. At least I had this; I could look at my bright, inquisitive, beautiful daughter and know I had a hand in bringing her up in this world, hopefully teaching her how to avoid the pitfalls I’d fallen into in so many ways. I was grateful she was still young, that boys still had cooties and she was still years from her first kiss, her first love, her first heartbreak.

By the time the morning rolled around, neither Clara nor I had gotten much sleep, as much from Clara’s illness as from my dark thoughts. I called my mum to see if she could watch my sick kid while I went to teach classes and later Rocketman rehearsals, and of course my mum was all-too-kindly available to come over. I tucked Clara in her own bed, glad that her fever had come down overnight, and called school to tell them she wouldn’t be in that day while I waited for my mum to arrive. I made some coffee, desperate for the caffeine boost, and when my mum finally made it across town I blearily stumbled through my day.

I couldn’t help glaring daggers at Markus’ back during rehearsals every time he wasn’t looking, which was most of the time, but I knew that was petty. It certainly wouldn’t make him apologize for ratting me out to Taron, and it wouldn’t take back what happened between us either.

By the time I got home I was completely exhausted, but Clara was feeling better and I couldn’t just crash out, even if my mum offered. I shook my head, telling her she’d done enough already for me, and sent her home with a thank-you pound note she tried to protest but I slipped into her purse anyway when she wasn’t looking. I ended up tossing a frozen pizza in the oven, but found it difficult to choke down the calories, while Clara didn’t seem to notice how little I ate as she chowed down on her slices. We watched a movie together, and I admittedly might have nodded off a few times, the Disney songs drifting in and out of my dreams.

I was so happy once Clara was tired enough to put to bed; I even skipped a shower just so I could faceplant in my bed that much quicker. I missed Taron’s warmth next to me as I pulled the blankets tightly around me. He promised we’d be okay, but what if he found more reasons to stay away from me in this temporary absence? What if he didn’t really miss me all that much? What if I was the one that was unlovable? I shivered slightly under the covers, the darkness creeping even closer than it had before in my mind, threatening to take over as I sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

That darkness that resided inside my brain manifested itself in my attempt to control my calories; every little thing I put in my mouth had to be accounted for, and controlling my diet seemed to help me calm my nerves. Even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control, this one thing I could have total control over. I had exactly one scrambled egg white and 8 ounces of a protein shake in the morning, a 150-calorie protein bar at lunch, a handful of plain unsalted nuts for a snack to sustain my energy, and usually made some fish and vegetables for dinner. Eating for two was an absolute myth; I was religious about my prenatal vitamins and making sure the growing baby inside me was still getting the crucial building blocks it needed. But overeating wasn’t going to help either of us so I stuck to my routine, obviously varying things up for Clara so she wouldn’t be bored or wrinkle her nose up at my dinners.

Over the next couple weeks of classes and rehearsals, I started to see an instant change in my arm and leg tone, and that made me at least happier. I had been needing to lose that unnecessary weight for years, and even if I couldn’t stop my belly from getting bigger, I could stop the rest of me from following suit.

As we headed full on into the summer months, the weather grew hot and sticky, as London weather was wont to do. We’d been rehearsing the Broadway musical-style choreography for “Bitch is Back” for a while in the studio, but were finally taking rehearsals outside, into the back lot to do some initial blocking. Taron was of course there, sporting some mockup cardboard wings that looked completely ungainly to manage. But somehow he did, as we danced our way through the piece and Dexter showed Taron and Matthew Illesley, who played the youngest version of Reggie, how the scene would operate.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, down my arms and legs, dripping off the edge of my nose. We were all allowed to wear our sunnies since it was a rare bright day in London and we weren’t officially filming yet. But when the production was able to secure the Pinner Street location, we would all need to be ready to go, so putting in this work now was important. They made us take a lot of breaks, providing Gatorade and water in massive jugs to keep us all hydrated, but I was beginning to feel rather sick to my stomach and had to fight through the nausea for the rest of the rehearsal.

Seeing Taron there, being so close to him and yet feeling far away, was painful. He acknowledged me, but it was mostly in a professional manner, and I could feel the difference in my bones. I wanted nothing more than to have him scoop me up in his arms and hold me to him, but that reality had been shattered. There are consequences to your actions, Juliette, the words popping into my brain and making my heart ache. I couldn’t run from those consequences; the only way to move forward was to accept them and move through them.

But how was I going to be able to prove to Taron that he could trust me, when we weren’t even spending time together? What grand gesture could show him how much he meant to me? I wasn’t really sure, and these thoughts hounded me throughout the day.

The next few days were much the same, the temperatures staying sticky hot and making me feel worse for wear. Pregnancy and heat did not go well together, and I found myself taking a few more breaks than everyone else, coming up with some lame excuse as I hadn’t told anyone on set I was pregnant. Only Taron and Markus knew that, and well, we all know who actually did his part to check in with me, concern written all over his face.

But then rehearsals suddenly ground to a halt, and we were left in a strange holding pattern as the production moved onto other scenes, keeping to its schedule and of course keeping Taron very busy. We had a couple short rehearsals to keep the choreography fresh in everyone’s brains, but there wasn’t much else for us to do. I focused more on teaching my classes, texting off and on with Taron when he’d ask how Clara was doing.

<She’s got a recital next week, if you’d like to go. She’d probably like that; she’s been wondering why you haven’t been around as much. I just told her it was because of work.> I responded one evening.

And be there he was, dressed in a sharp navy suit coat, a white shirt underneath, and pressed slacks, looking as handsome as he ever did. Sitting next to him was almost intimidating, stealing glances at each other, sharing awkward smiles with each other as we waited through student after student, some well-practiced, others not so much, waiting for Clara’s turn.

When she got up on the stage, I could hear a bit of an audible gasp from the crowd; my opinionated little girl had chosen to don a sequined, sparkly pink jacket over her recital dress, and she had on a pair of star sunnies too, “just like Elton!” she’d declared when I’d tried to convince her otherwise.

“That’s our Clara,” Taron grinned over at me with a chuckle, before looking down at my hand and slowly taking it in his. I sucked my breath in slightly, still staring straight ahead as Clara took a seat at the piano. “You look beautiful today,” he whispered in my ear, taking in the light summer dress I’d chosen.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing over at him, those dimples of his causing my heart to flutter again. That special thing we had, it wasn’t gone by any means. We sat through my daughter’s songs, Clara gamely making it through Bach and Debussey with only a few stumbles, before getting to play a chosen song. And of course she’d chosen “Your Song,” playing it with gusto to much applause and appreciation from the audience. She gave an enthusiastic bow after her performance and skipped off the stage, returning to us excitedly as we were still clapping for her.

“Lovely job, sweetheart,” I said happily, giving her a huge hug.

“I think Elton himself would be very proud,” Taron added, making Clara grin so big she was showing off her toothless gaps.

“Yeah, if only he’d been able to watch it,” she sighed, making us both laugh.

“He’s a very busy man, but maybe some day you could play for him,” Taron said, as I playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t promise her that!” I hissed slightly under my breath, but Taron waved it off.

“I’m sure I could get it arranged,” he said, as Clara fairly begged Taron to stay around for dinner. He obliged, and it turned into a really decent evening, the first one I felt I’d had in a bit, even after Clara commented “ewww, fish again?” when I served us dinner. He stayed long enough to tuck my daughter into bed, but said he probably shouldn’t wear out his welcome, though we lingered too long at the doorway, unspoken words and feelings passing between us.

I was actually at the academy when I got the phone call that the Pinner Street location had been secured, and that we’d be needed on set within a few hours. I scrambled to get my afternoon classes covered and made sure mum could pick up Clara from school before heading over to the studios, arriving just in time to get through hair and makeup. We changed into our costumes and were all boarded onto a shuttle and driven across the city, dropped off on a suburban street where crews were already busy setting up rigging for the cameras.

The place was an absolute blur of activity as us dancers huddled in the shade of some trees, trying to stave off the bright sunlight. We used each other to stretch and warm up, a steady hum weaving through the shimmering air as directions were shouted loudly, people running frantically to and fro. I hadn’t imagined this much chaos as the rest of the production had always been incredibly orderly. But I supposed this could happen with locations in the streets; it probably was a pain in the ass to secure city permits to shut entire blocks down for filming. When the city gave you a window of time, you had to spring into action; there would be no dragging feet here.

This sequence, of course, was an important element of the story that brought Taron into the picture as a sort of segue from rehab into his childhood years. It involved the other patients in rehab and the counselor, a brass band, and Taron in a bright orange neoprene Elvis-inspired devil costume with massive wings. The first time I saw him in it I nearly tripped over my own feet. The costume left very little to the imagination, but it was also somehow fitting to the vision of Elton that Dexter and Taron had created for the film. Elton at times played the devil, but he could also be the angel, and in many ways he was neither and both at the same time in his own story.

I loved the energy of this part of filming; the heat, not so much. The makeup crew constantly had to step in and powder us all between takes, and I’m sure our costumes weren’t going to smell very nice by the end of it. The filming day was kept short, as there were heat advisories and the production certainly didn’t want anyone to pass out. The heat sapped the strength right out of my body, and I wondered at how weak I felt as I made my way home, knowing I’d have to fight through the next few days in the same way.

The weakness in my body didn’t really abate the next day, and was joined by more nausea. Even if I didn’t get sick, I still felt turned inside out. I could barely stomach water, but I made myself push it down nonetheless. If my performance suffered for it, no one said a word to me. The third day, the dizziness hit me like a sack of rocks, making me stumble into another dancer and completely ruining the take. I mumbled my apologies and tried to concentrate the best I could. My muscles knew the motions; my brain couldn’t keep anything straight so I tried not to think too much and let my body do the work it knew by memory.

But some things you cannot win against, no matter how hard you fight. Weeks of undereating had caught up to me, leaving me emptied out; spots began to dance across my vision, my skin flushed cold despite the heat, and I found it difficult to breathe. I vaguely thought someone was calling my name, but I couldn’t hear them over the rushing in my ears. The music continued on, but my body did not; I dropped to the ground and stayed there. I don’t remember hitting the pavement, but I came to with my face burning, pressed against the hot surface. I was dimly aware of people gathered around me, and I thought I heard Taron yell at someone to “get these bloody wings off” before bright orange swam into my view.

“Juliette, can you hear me?” he asked as he knelt down beside me, the material of his costume stretching taut over his thighs. I don’t know why my brain focused on that, but I couldn’t move my head enough to look up at his face. The crystals glittered almost painfully bright in the sun as my vision went in and out of focus.

“She’s probably got heat stroke,” one voice said.

“Give her some space,” another added.

“Where’s the fucking medic?” someone else in the throng of voices shouted, my brain picking these out amongst the murmurs.

Did I really look that bad? I wondered, unaware of how crumpled I must have looked. Someone brought over an umbrella and at least shielded me from the sun; someone else tried offering water but I could neither hold the bottle nor swallow when it was poured into my mouth, vomiting onto the pavement instead, a strange thought that I should be embarrassed weaving its way through my brain, too wispy for me to grab onto.

I felt my body being moved as my pupil reaction was checked, my pulse taken, my body fussed over. Words were said that I didn’t understand and then I was being lifted through the air on a stretcher and pushed into the back of an ambulance. I flicked my eyes around at the faces staring down at me, the hands pushing IV lines into my arms, everything blurry and strangely in slow motion.

And then I felt the sharpest pain in my abdomen, making me cry out. I instinctively tried to curl into a ball but the straps held me down, and I started to feel panic rising in my chest as another sharp pain wracked my body. I clutched at my stomach, gasping out something incoherent; this wasn’t right, and I knew it could only mean something terrible was happening.

“Oh god, the baby,” I heard Taron say, his voice sounding too loud and tinny to my ears, my secret spilled out for everyone within earshot to hear.

What was happening to my baby?, I thought, as more hands poked and prodded me, more needles stuck into my flesh, more words were said I couldn’t make sense of. All I could understand was the shivers that shook me, the pains that tormented me, the blackness that threatened to overtake me. The noise was too loud, the siren, the beeping machines, the medics’ voices, the rattling of wheels over roads as we sped toward the hospital, the hush of the cast and crew we left in our wake, growing in a cascading crescendo inside my brain until, mercifully, there was silence.

I began to float into the void, the absence of noise, of feeling, of the physical realm, detached from what was happening to my body. The darkness came up to meet me, soothing me, warming me, easing me into slumber, the medicine working through my veins, easing the fire in my body. And then everything, everywhere, went black, and I was gone.

This is not the end of the story. Read Chapter 9 HERE.

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