Hey, lovelies!
Another outtake for you.
I look into her eyes and try to feel ... something. Any glimmer of connection that will help prove to Irina I'm not an emotional black hole.
Olivia and I are practicing the mirror exercise. She holds up her hand and moves it slowly to the side. I mimic her as I breathe. My emotional EKG is a flat line. It seems appropriate, considering this fucking exercise is going to be the death of me.
It's the one thing standing between me and something I'm still able to get passionate about. I've auditioned for The Grove twice now and been knocked back both times because of this exercise.
So now I'm desperate to nail it before I strike out for the third and final time.
It sucks that I can feel Olivia willing me to do well, even though I treat her like crap. I'm aware it's not fair to her, but that's what I do. Punish other people for my pain. Play the bad guy so I don't have to pretend to be good.
"Picture your chest opening up," Olivia says as she continues to move. "Like there's a giant spotlight inside you, and it's shining into me. That's how I feel when I'm performing Juliet. I mean, Liam is lusting after some blond he won't even talk about, but when he's playing Romeo, he loves me, totally and completely. That's what Irina is looking for in this exercise."
"Sappy stage love?"
She rolls her eyes. "Tuning yourself in to the other person. Connecting with them."
She should know. She auditioned last year and got in. I'd like to say I'm a big enough man to not resent her for that, but I can't. Of course, I didn't even know her back then. We met a few months ago, when we both auditioned for the Tribeca Shakespeare Festival's production of Romeo and Juliet. She got Juliet, I got Mercutio, and now we're in our final week of rehearsal before opening night.
I don't know when we officially started dating, or even if what we're doing could be called dating. We got drunk one night after rehearsals and made out, and it sort of went from there.
She's a nice enough girl, but she wants more than I can give. Story of my life with women recently.
It's pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that I'm an asshole. I don't try to hide it. Yet I have more girls trying to be with me now than when I was still mostly decent. It's like they're begging to get hurt.
And I do hurt them. Every time, without fail.
I shoulder the burden of my actions, but they're to blame, too. It's not like they don't know what's going on. I'm honest with them from the start. I tell them I'm not interested in a girlfriend. I make it very clear I don't want a relationship. Occasional make-out sessions and sex is all I'm after, and even then it's more like I'm an android play-acting at being human. Physical pleasure is the only thing these days that convinces me I'm still capable of feeling anything other than anger.
And so, as soon as they start pressuring me for more, I dump them. Short. Sharp. Definite.
Painful for them, freeing for me.
No wonder Irina keeps flunking me. Not many roles out there for man-shaped pieces of shit.
I bring my attention back to the exercise and focus on the image of opening up my chest to reveal my "light." A heart light. Great. Now I'm fucking ET. In my mind, it's a sputtering flahlight in a dank, drafty cave.
I'd laugh at my lameness, if I wasn't so fucking terrified.
Come on, Cullen. There's got to be something in that shriveled organ you call a heart. One little corner of normalcy. That's all you need to display. One, small oasis of sensation in your endless desert of numb.
Olivia narrows her eyes. "Edward, come on. You're not even trying."
If she knew just how fucking hard I was trying, she'd be horrified.
I drop my hands and sigh. "Forget it. I have to go. If I don't have it now, I'm never going to get it."
She looks at me with sympathy. "You can do this. You just have to believe you can."
I have an urge to hit something. There are lots of things I believe about myself, but being able to do this exercise isn't one of them.
"Yeah, sure. Thanks." I need a drink. Or ten.
Before I can turn away, she gets up onto her toes and kisses me. I try to kiss her back, I really do, but even though I move my mouth and grip her back, it barely raises my pulse. My fucking heart light is more like a ten-watt bulb.
When she pulls back and says, "Call me later and let me know how it goes, okay?" I nod, but I know I won't. I never call. After all, I'm not her boyfriend. Plus, I doubt I'm going to be capable of talking to anyone after my audition today. If I get cut again, there's a very good chance I'll crawl into a bottle of Jack Daniel's and not emerge for days.
When I arrive at The Grove, I spend a good fifteen minutes in the men's room purging my nerves through my stomach.
I've never been this nervous before, but it was never my last chance before, either, so I figure my nausea is justified.
I made a deal with my old man - if I don't get in this time, I'll give medical school a go. Once upon a time, I thought I wanted to be a doctor, but now I realize that was just my father projecting his ambition onto me. The first clear memory I have is when I was three and dad bought g me a toy medical kit. He'd have me examine all of my sister's dolls to see if they needed treatment.
We'd always spoken about my medical career as if it were a foregone conclusion, because in dad's mind, it was. "You'll have to starts thinking about your specialization soon," he'd said when I was eight. For my twelfth birthday he gave me a copy of Grey's Anatomy–the textbook, not the TV show. And when I was in high school, and the school nurse called Dad to say I'd gotten nauseated dissecting a fetal pig for biology, he didn't speak to me for a week.
That's when I knew that no matter how much you tried on other people's dreams, they're never going to fit.
As soon as I discovered theater club, I knew med school was a bust. I needed to act. Crawling inside a character was as easy to me as breathing. Some people called it talent. I called it escape. Maybe it has something to do with my crappy self-esteem, but I'm happiest when I'm not myself.
So here I am, about to head into this audition like my life depends on it, which it kind of does.
As I walk down the hallway, I hear them, the other auditionees, cackling and twittering like a pack of fucking hyenas. Why do they all have to be so freaking loud all the time? It's like if they're not the center of attention for five minutes, they'll cease to exist.
As I reach them, I notice a loud blonde holding court. Her personality is a fake as her Lycra-clad tits. Nonetheless, everyone is clamoring to hear. A posse of sycophantic drones circling the Queen Bee du jour.
Wait. Not everyone.
There's a girl sitting opposite the hive. Her eyes are closed, and her head is back against the wall, and Jesus Christ, the sight of her sends a jolt through my entire body that I can't explain.
My heart kicks into overdrive, making it pound heavy and thick behind my ribs. I put a hand against the wall and take a deep breath.
What the fuck is going on?
Panic attack?
It's possible.
Clearly, nerves are making me bi-polar. I just need to breathe and keep my shit together until this day is over.
I glance over at the girl. Again, the jolt hits me.
For fuck's sake.
A shaft of light has pushed through the trees and envelops only her, making it seem like she's got her own personal lighting effect. She still has her eyes closed, and the way the sun hits her skin makes me want to run my fingers down her throat. And her chest.
Another jolt. This one, much lower.
What the hell? I'm fantasizing about a girl I've just laid eyes on?
This audition must be screwing with my brain.
It's not that she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I mean, she's gorgeous, but there are plenty of attractive women here. There's just something ... different ... about her.
As I watch, the obnoxious blonde tries to draw her into the conversation. Sun-girl snaps her eyes open and registers the hive watching her. She doesn't seem happy about it. She stammers something about where she's from, and then blondie makes snide remarks about her lack of acting experience. I want to slap the sneer right off her lip-glossed mouth.
But sun-girl sees what she's up against and decides sucking up is preferable to being sneered at. She strokes blondie's ego like it's a vicious dog, and I get a bad taste in the back of my throat on her behalf. Her whole energy changes. She morphs into one of them, desperate for attention and acceptance, and whatever uniqueness she had fades behind a layer of carefully constructed bullshit.
It pisses me off.
That she feels the need to do that makes me want to shake her and hug her at the same time, and that blows my mind, because I haven't wanted to hug someone for a very long time, especially not a girl.
When she gets up and starts dancing around like an idiot with one of the gay dudes, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. And when the guy grabs her hips and thrusts against her, heat rises from my chest. I push down the urge to grab the little shit and throw him against the wall.
I take a moment to exhale and uncurl my fists.
Dammit, what is it with this girl? I've never had this sort of reaction to anyone before, let alone someone I haven't said two words to.
With a flip of her hair, sun-girl turns and catches me staring.
Great.
At this point, any normal person would look away, but not me. I continue staring at her like a fucking creeper.
She freezes mid-thrust and stares back at me. Her whole posture changes, and I do my best to ignore the burst of heat that hits me when our eyes meet.
With effort, I turn away and slump against the wall. When I feel her still staring at me, I yank my book from my pocket and pretend to read.
I can barely focus on the words.
This is the last fucking thing I need today. On top of my nerves and the likelihood of this audition destroying my chance at an acting career, I have a bizarre reaction to this goddamn girl.
I concentrate harder on my book.
Screw this. And screw her. And screw everything that isn't me nailing this audition to the wall.
All distractions are now banned, especially the one still staring at me and making my palms sweat and itch.
The auditions are as brutal as usual.
Irina hovers around the room like the angel of death, and swoops whenever someone even hints at faking it. She's quick and deadly, and she scrutinizes every interaction with her eagle eyes.
I push down my nerves and commit. Make bold choices. Channel my energy into each and every curve ball she throws me. For the most part, I knock it out of the park.
Even so, as the day winds down, I know the instrument of my downfall is coming.
Irina switches up our partners, and that's when I'm paired with sun-girl, only now she has a name. Bella Swan.
How appropriate.
I don't know much Italian, but I know 'bella' means beautiful.
I look over at Swan-girl, and tension coils in my muscles.
She's goddamn beautiful, all right. No one has any business being that fucking attractive. What's worse is she's also talented. Like, way too freaking talented. Out of all the girls here, she's the one who doesn't give a shit what she looks like. She just goes for the pure emotion. Lives in the moment. Fearless in her vulnerability.
It's possible I hate her.
"For this last session," Irina says as she paces, "everyone will be given the same task. Your scenario is 'Mirror-Image.'"
Here we go.
"It won't be easy."
No shit.
"This exercise is about trust, openness, and making a connection with the other person. No self-consciousness. Just raw, pure energy. If you don't relax into it, you'll fail, and if you don't make a connection with the other person, I'll know. Neither of you leads nor follows. You have to sense each other's movement. Got it?"
I rub my eyes. I can't believe my entire future comes down to this. No pressure or anything.
"Right, let's go."
The first pair steps up to the plate. It's the loud blonde, and a dude with bad skin. I'm ashamed to say, I smile when they screw up. Somehow, it validates my failures to know others also suck at this exercise.
The rest of the couples don't fare much better. A few tenuous connections are made, but on the whole, no one nails it. I take consolation in the fact Irina can't cut all of them or there'd be no one left for callbacks tomorrow. If I can just manage to suck less than at least one person, I may be in with a chance.
Irina makes sure I know it, too.
"All right, you two," she says when it's our turn. "Last chance to impress me." She turns to Swan, who looks as green as I feel. "He moves, you move, Miss Swan. Understand? Breathe his air. Find a connection." She glances at me. "If you don't find the right balance, this isn't going to work. You have to let her in, Edward. Don't think about it, just do it." Let her in. Sure. Like that's something I can do. "Three strikes and you're out, remember?"
I remember only too well. I'm also aware that my performance will affect the fate of my partner, and although I don't know this girl, it's clear she deserves to be admitted to this course, even if I don't.
"You have three minutes to prepare."
When Irina leaves, I try to push down my nerves and get on with the task. Swan looks like she's about to hyperventilate. I try to think of something comforting to say, but I'm out of practice, so instead my douche mouth says, "Look, I need this, okay? Don't screw it up for me."
Excellent way to offer encouragement, loser.
She fixes me with a stare that makes my balls tingle. I guess she's not one of those women who fawns over douchebag guys, because she volleys my attitude right back to me and fairly points out I have just as much of a chance of screwing up. She doesn't know the half of it, but she's about to find out what kind of hypocrite I am. She'd caught Irina's comment. Yeah, I guess I shouldn't talk about her screwing up, when I'm Mr. Three Strikes.
I explain to her about The Grove's policy, and my med school agreement with my father.
She frowns. "Why haven't you gotten in before? You're really good."
Such a simple sentence, yet no one has told me I'm good in a long time. I tell her about my issue with connection, and how Irina rides my ass about achieving it.
"She's auditioned you before?"
"Every year. She wants to offer me a place, but she won't give me a free pass. If I can't prove I can do this particular exercise, which I've completely sucked at each time I've auditioned, then it's over."
Right then, Irina yells, "One minute!" and any sort of calm vanishes in a flash of renewed panic.
Swan fixes me with a desperate stare. "Listen, just do whatever it takes to 'connect' with me, okay? Because if I don't get this, I have to go back to my overprotective parents, and I seriously can't fluffing cope with that. So you're not the only one with something to lose here."
My panic is momentarily distracted. "Did you ... did you just say 'fluffing?'"
Her whole face turns red, and she tells me to shut up. It's been so long since a girl's done that, it makes me smile. Both the blushing and the shutting up.
"Seriously? Fluffing?"
"Stop it! You're wasting time."
Even though I know she's pissed, she's also done the impossible and calmed me down. As disturbing as my reaction is to her, I'm grateful.
She, on the other hand, now looks terrified.
"Look, Swan -"
"My name is Bella."
It feels too intimate to call her that, so instead I say, "Whatever. Just relax, okay? We can do this. Look into my eyes and ... Jesus, I don't know ... make me feel something. Don't lose concentration. That's what's screwed everyone else so far. Just focus on me, and I'll focus on you. Okay?"
"Fine."
"And don't say 'fluffing' any more, 'cause that shit cracks me up. You know it's a porn term, right?"
She exhales and yet again, I want to put my arms around her. This chick must be a goddamn voodoo princess. Only logical explanation.
"Hey," I say, and content myself with touching her arm. "We can do this. Look at me."
She does, and fuck me … ET phone freaking home. I found my heart light.
"Holy shit," I say, because there it is. Spark. Jolt. Connection.
Seven-alarm fire.
With her, it's so simple.
And terrifying.
She closes her eyes, and everything goes cold and dark.
"Swan?"
"Bella."
"Bella." Her name feels so decadent on my tongue, I want to say it again. "Stay with me. Please. I can't do this without you." One of the most honest things I've ever said.
She gives me a nervous nod, and when Irina calls time, we take our positions in the center of the room.
This is it.
I take a few deep breaths.
Before meeting this girl, I would have sworn up and down I had zero chance of pulling off this exercise. With her, all bets are off.
"Ready?"
She gives a nervous sigh. "Yeah. Sure."
Then she turns her remarkable eyes on me, and everything else fades into the background. Some weird synthesis occurs, and a shaft of energy so powerful it feels solid, forms between us.
On instinct, my chest constricts and I want to run, but I don't. Instead, I stand there and let myself get lost in her.
The next few minutes happen in a blur. For once, I don't think, I just feel. All I see is her. All I feel is her. It's like my life begins and ends with the sweep of her hand. The tilt of her body. Her mouth lifts into a smile as she realizes what's happening between us.
I've never felt anything like it. The power makes me feel high. Or drunk. Or both.
And through it all, I feel invincible. Like the mess of insecurities that usually snake through my mind are finally purged. Sleeping or dead.
But then, she touches me. Or I touch her. Whoever initiates it, the result is the same. That simple act of our hands pressing together sends a shockwave of sensation through me, and every insecurity I've ever had, plus a few new ones, roar to life and remind me of how wanting someone like her is the last thing I should let myself do.
I already like this girl, and experience has shown that's a sure-fire path to destruction.
Like, love, attraction, seduction.
It all equals betrayal.
No.
No way.
Not again.
I step back and look away; break the connection and deal with the Arctic chill left in its wake.
"Are we done?" I ask Irina, and fuck, that came out ruder than expected. Screw it. I am rude. The sooner Swan sees that, the better. "Nobody else went for that long. We're done, right?"
Irina stares at me for what feels like a hundred years.
Christ, lady, come on. Let me get away from this freaking lightning rod beside me.
When I glance at Bella, she's breathing heavily and frowning. She flexes her hand and curls it into a fist.
Irina tilts her head, and I want to swear up a storm. My heart is pounding, my face is hot, and my palm is still tingling from where it touched Bella's.
Fuck this. "Are we done or not?"
"Yes, Mr. Cullen," Irina says as she glances at my partner. "You and Miss Swan completed the exercise. Well done. You two have some interesting chemistry there, don't you?"
Chemistry? We have the entire fucking Periodic Table, for Christ's sake.
At last, Irina says, "You may sit down. Everyone, give them a round of applause."
I take my seat, and my whole body shakes with adrenaline and anger.
Wait. Not anger. Anxiety.
Fear.
I've never been a believer in anything mystical, but right now, I know the feeling of prophecy. It seems crazy, considering I've just met her, but at this moment, I have no doubt Bella Swan is going to be the death of me.
Already, I have the urge to touch her again. Not just her palm, either. Every part of her. I can taste her name on the back of my tongue like fine whiskey. I want to get drunk on it. Say it in as many ways as possible. Whisper it as she lays her hands all over me.
I drop my head into my hands.
I'm in so much fucking trouble.
I squeeze my eyes shut, because all I want to do is look at her, and I know once I start, I won't stop. I recite my Queen Mab speech from Romeo and Juliet to distract myself. The words stumble and falter in my brain, but I push on. I need to ignore this girl. I really freaking have to.
I silently recite the speech until it's blocked out all other thoughts, but when I open my eyes, the first thing I focus on is Bella.
Suddenly, every one of Mercutio's lines fades from memory, and only Romeo's words fill my mind.
"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes. Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet."
Bella meets my stare with a concerned glance before looking away.
I want to launch myself at her and kiss her. Wrap her up in me and never let go. Protect her from idiots who want to make her feel anything less than singular and spectacular.
I squeeze my eyes shut again.
Fuck.
Yep. Madness.
As if I could be her protector.
Without a doubt, I'm the one from whom she'd need protection.
Only six weeks to go until BAD ROMEO hits book shelves and kindles. ACK! To say I'm freaking out would be an understatement!
Pre-orders are now available! (Links on my profile.) Don't forget, a sneaky peek of the first chapter is already available on Wattpad for you to read, and the second chapter will go up soon. There's also another EXCLUSIVE outtake on Wattpad, under the heading BACKSTAGE PASS. (**You do NOT need a Wattpad account to read. Just sayin'.** See my profile for the linky.)
If you haven't yet liked my Facebook page, and would like to win free stuff, now's the perfect time to come and say hi. Weekly giveaways of books and swag will be happening leading up to the launch. Let me give you things! (Surprise, surprise - link is on my profile.) :)
I can't tell you how excited I am to share these books with you guys. You're the reason all of this is happening, and I'm immensely grateful. I *may* have gotten a wee bit teary writing my dedication to you all in the front of the book.
Hope you're all well and happy, and I can't wait to talk to you soon.
Love, Kiya x