Bonus #6: Complicated

He isn’t coming.

I repeat to myself as I splash some more warm water on my face.

Ugh, what the hell was that sickly sweet champagne Magnolia guzzled down my throat in ‘celebration’? If she wants me to be drunk and embarrass myself, all she has to do is say that.

A sigh escapes me at my tired expression in the bathroom mirror.

My face is flushed, yet despite how tipsy I am, the hurt from seeing him arrive with his ‘ex-fiancée’ cut too deep to be blurred with liquor.

Ever since the production ended, I woke up to sex dreams where Marko would bind me, trap me somewhere and have his way with me mercilessly.

Of course, I would plead that he free me because, let’s face it, I would only plead that he does not touch me so that I could be regarded as sane. Because who in the hell would want to be bound and f*cked mercilessly by someone who all but regarded them as a slut?

Guilt always devours me at the end of the vulgar dreams, I guess they are about to worsen now that he is with his ex-fiancée, with whom they have a complicated relationship.

A dry laugh finds me.

Most actors are moving on to something new, and I seem to be the only one stuck with these feelings.

I need to capitalise on my growing popularity and maybe star in a movie where I do not have to grind my genitals against a co-worker—I don’t want to feel this way again.

The sound of the bathroom door opening stills me into pretending I was done with the sink.

"He is wonderful, isn't he?"

A familiar voice utters from behind me, making me lift my gaze subconsciously.

Bridgette?

My gaze roams around me, but there is none but us in the space.

Is she referring to Marko?

Does she know my relationship with Marko?

Of course, she does; why else would she start the conversation that way...is she here to gloat, then?

"Nice to meet you, Miss Bridgette. I do not think we had a chance to meet formally-"

"You don't recognise me? We met at Mariette's show—well, met in passing anyway.”

When a frown decorates my face, she continues.

“The investors meeting ended around the time your interview began, so we used the same elevator-"

"Investor? You are an investor in the Mariette show?"

Of course, she is an investor. Of course, she is wealthy enough to stand beside...

"Cute..."

She utters with a smile, interrupting the pessimism claiming my mind.

"I want you all to myself, Alba."

"What?"

She nears me, and the scent of her perfume’s expense lingers cleanly in my nostrils before her perfectly manicured finger lands on my chin.

"I want you. I love it when my partners have low self-esteem."

What the

Her phone buzzes, breaking the tension and causing her to move slightly away from me.

I swear, she was about to kiss me.

She reaches for the device with an irritated frown, and a picture from the text finds my gaze.

A blonde girl, blindfolded, tied and gagged.

"Oops...”

She meets my startled gaze.

“I need to leave. Listen, if things don't work out with Marko, call me. I was here to help him, but you are quite the treat."

"Wait...what is your relationship?"

The question spills before more of my brain cells escape me.

A smile forms on her lips before she tucks her phone into her bag.

"It's...complicated."

**

Complicated? Complicated?

What the f*ck does that mean?

One...two...no four.

This is my fourth cup, right?

Despite his fiancée being here, I saw no sight of him, which didn’t help.

What the hell does complicated mean?

Open relationship?

I don’t want to be involved in an open relationship.

Christ, the room is spinning, and the laughs and chatter are starting to feel mocking.

A wave of nausea washes over me, so I rush back in the direction of the bathroom from the table Rhett left me standing next to before an attractive red-haired girl winked at him.

It was not easy now that the lights were dimmed to add to club-like vibe to the lounge, even without the blaring loud music.

I shouldn't have drunk this much.

"I've got you."

Marko's voice sounds next to my ear as strong warm hands wrap around me, stabilising my wobbly body.

"Don't touch me."

My words should have come out in a more forceful tone, but they came off slurred and whispered.

Why does he smell so good?

"Let's get you some fresh air."

"Bathroom."

I utter, my hand now digging into the flesh of his chest for his urgent attention.

I hate how taut his muscles are. Can one even pinch them?

He doesn’t listen to my request, merely guides me elsewhere, and only when a cool breeze washes over my face do I realise I am outside.

The nausea washing over me erupts, and all that is left is wetness and the sickly sweetness of whatever Magnolia had me drink from before.

Ah...f*ck.