11. Selene

11

SELENE

I contemplate Schrodinger’s Cat, or should I say, Schrodinger’s Dane. Right now, laying on the bed in his bugout with the warm sun in my face, all I can see is the red of my own backlit eyelids.

When I open them, Dane will either be lying in bed next to me, or he won’t. But at this very moment, he both is and isn’t here in bed with me. From a physics point of view.

Part of me wants to return to sleep, but I know that ship has sailed. There’s nothing to it but to rip off the band aid quickly and see if he’s here.

I think I’m prepared for the swell of disappointment when I open my eyes. But seeing the rumpled, empty sheets cuts deep anyway. With a sigh, I roll out of bed to begin as much of my morning routine as I can, under the circumstances.

It takes me a while to find my toothbrush and stumble into the bathroom on slumber-thick legs. I look at myself in the mirror and see my smudged makeup, and the torrid memories of last night come flooding back. The heat is tempered by Dane’s absence. He left at some point in the night and I don’t think he ever came back.

A tiny seed of fear digs itself into the soil of my subconscious and sprouts into a bloom. Dane said he was going to check the compound. What if something happened to him?

I know it’s ridiculous, because Moreno and his family don’t want Dane. They want me, so once my bodyguard was out of the way I would be next. But it’s still a relief when the savory smell of hickory bacon hits my nostrils.

I doubt the bad guy would be making me breakfast.

I enter the kitchen and pause in the doorway. Dane stands before the propane stove, watching the bacon while giving a pot of what I suspect is oatmeal an occasional stir. His muscled, tattooed back ripples with every movement.

My heart beats faster. He’s a gorgeous specimen of a man. Even with the demonic visage tattooed across his shoulders and back. Or maybe because of it. A lot of things about Dane scream ‘stay away.’ From his propensity to withdraw, to the tragedy I see dancing behind his emerald green gaze, to his choice of vocations. He chose the path of soldiering where you keep maximum distance from everyone else.

But that just makes me want to get closer to him. Is he a good man? I think so. I hope so. If he’d let me in, I might be able to find out.

Dane hasn’t noticed me yet, or if he has, he’s given no sign. I cross the floor, and the timbers beneath my bare feet creak. Dane tilts his head slightly in my direction. Now that I know he won’t be startled, I cross the floor and seek the connection we had last night.

“Good morning,” I say, surprised by how sweet my voice sounds. I start to reach for him, then stop myself. Is this appropriate? Where do we stand? I split the difference and put my hand on his shoulder instead of giving him a hug.

“Morning.”

He just stands there and keeps right on cooking like I’m not even there. When he goes for seasoning, he pulls away and my hand drops limply to my side. I know he’s busy, but he could spare a hand for a second to hold one of mine. Or maybe even take five whole seconds to spin around and give me a proper hug, maybe even a kiss.

I brushed my teeth especially .

But instead, he just…cooks. The food might be hot, but I’m simmering down. With a sigh, I release him and seat myself on one of the industrial kitchen chairs.

“Smells good,” I say when he remains silent. Great, he’s gone all moody and quiet. Eventually he mumbles a thanks.

Dane lays out the breakfast spread of bacon and eggs, oatmeal, and a halved grapefruit. He pours us each a mug of divine-smelling coffee and thunks down a ceramic urn of thick cream with a little spoon scoop shaped like a cat.

“This is cute,” I say as I use the spoon to turn my coffee from jet black to a proper tan hue.

“Thanks.”

His green eyes don’t look my way. Instead, they stare out the window.

“Dane, are you all right?” I ask.

He flinches, and looks my way.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

I roll my eyes. “Because your despondency radiates on the visual spectrum. Are you…you’re not…do you regret last night?”

“What?” His face scrunches up in annoyed confusion. “No, of course not. Last night was great.”

He pats my hand, awkwardly, and goes back to eating. This isn’t the connection that drew us together last night. This…sucks. He’s completely cut himself off from me.

What to do, what to do? Why do I always attract emotionally distant guys? Is it my perfume? The leftover aroma of latex applications from my day job? Karma? What?

If I try to force the issue, he’ll probably act confused. Or defensive, like he hasn’t done anything wrong. Then it will just push us further apart instead of bringing us closer together.

He serves up the meal, chock full of proteins and carbs, but I gobble it up all the same. I didn't realize how empty my stomach had grown.

We eat in silence, because I can’t muster the gumption to start another conversation. He clearly isn’t interested. Is he like this with all the women he sleeps with? Is this a Dane thing? Or am I just lucky?

It hurts, being shut out after he seemingly let me in last night. I bury my nose in my phone, trying to ignore Dane. I’m surprised to see a text from my producer, because the show is on a production break.

We need you on set today. The streamer wants some stock footage of zombies they can use for promotional purposes.

I frown, and send a text back.

Can’t they just use footage from the show we’ve already shot?

His reply comes quicker than I expect. He must be in full networking mode.

Can’t do that, legal reasons because of the original comic creators contract. It has to be all new footage we haven’t used in the show yet.

I’m on my way.

“Who are you texting?” Dane asks.

I can’t help being a little snarky.

“My boyfriend.”

“What?”

It’s worth it, for the look on his face. Maybe he’s not as ice-cold on the inside as he’s trying to seem.

“Just kidding. It’s my boss. I need to go to work today.”

He scoffs, dropping his fork onto his plate and giving me the stink eye.

“Do you have a death wish? Moreno and his thugs are looking for you. They’re going to know exactly where you work.”

“Security on the studio lot is tighter than the Pentagon or the White House. You think spies are hard to keep out, try internet podcasters who want to post spoilers about the upcoming season. I’ll be fine, just get me there.”

Dane pouts, his brows coming low over his green eyes. He looks like a tiger flustered by iron bars separating him from prey.

“Absolutely not, it’s not safe. I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?” I sputter with laughter. “Dane, sweetie, you need to remember the dynamics of our relationship. ”

He starts at the word ‘relationship,’ but I keep right on rolling.

“You see, I’m the one paying you, so that kind of makes me your boss.”

Dane shovels a mouthful of sausage and biscuit into his mouth and chews carefully before responding. His green eyes pierce right through me, but I can see the corners of his mouth fighting off a smile. He won’t admit it, but he likes my sass.

“It’s like that, huh?” he says at length.

“Yeah, it’s like that. So go get my car ready, bitch.”

I slap him firmly on the ass as he gets up to take the dishes to the sink. He turns around and gives me a look, then lets a tiny smile onto his face. A moment later, the smile vanishes, and it’s like I can see the barriers coming up to cut him off from me again.

“All right, I’ll agree to this, though I don’t think it’s a good idea. But only on certain conditions.”

I sigh. “What kind of conditions?”

“One, if I don’t feel like the lot is safe, we’re leaving. Two, if I tell you to move, you move, without hesitation or stopping to ask me why. Three, you will not go anywhere without me within sighting distance.”

“Fine. I agree to your terms, or whatever. Can we go now?”

Oh well. For a second or two, we were back on the same page.

We don’t talk much on the ride to the studio. I squirm in my seat, my emotional discomfort manifesting itself physically. I want to talk about last night. He said it was great, so what does that mean? It was great for a one-night stand, or it was great as in I want to do it again?

If he wants anything more than a physical tryst, he’s not giving any signals. I’m confused, but his cold attitude makes me hesitant to broach the subject. So instead, I don’t say anything.

Once we reach the studio, my job becomes an instant distraction from my problems. Moreno, Justin, and Dane all fade into the background noise as I hop to work with my team. I have three actors in my queue that I have to get zombified in less than three hours. Yikes.

Dane stands back at first, his eagle-like gaze searching for any sign of danger. He spends a good deal of time watching me work, though, as I turn a beautiful young actress into a hideous mockery of life replete with rotting flesh and dripping gore.

“You’re really good,” Dane says. “I’ve seen a lot of bullet wounds, and that’s very accurate.”

I glance over at him and chuckle as I apply a little more fake blood around the edges of the cratered wound.

“Thanks. I’ve spent a lot of time studying these things. When I was in high school, I printed out a bunch of pictures of cadavers, surgical procedures, wound care journals, you name it.”

He laughs softly. “They must have thought you were a serial killer. The other kids, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. I didn't exactly have a lot of friends.”

“No way. I don’t believe that. You had to have guys all over you all the time.”

“Not really, not as much as you’d think.”

I peer at the actress and stare hard at my seams. They seem to be holding with minimal cracking.

“Do me a favor, scrunch up your face like you just drank lemon juice.”

She does so, and the prosthetic holds.

“All right, hon, you’re good to go. You can hit wardrobe and then come back here for finishing touches.”

She nods and looks at herself in the mirror. The actress staggers off in character, much to the delight of Dane.

I pick up my phone and cycle through my pics until I find one from my high school days.

“Here,” I say, holding the screen so Dane can see it. “You can see that I might have scared the majority of boys off.”

He stares at the pic and chuckles. “You were a goth.”

“Or whatever the kids are calling it these days. You probably think I look pretty silly, right?”

“Hell no. You pulled the look off, and then some. I’d have asked for your number.”

I laugh while cleaning up my work station .

“I’d have probably said something really mean to you. I was like that back then.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t have given up so easily–”

His gaze darts to the side. “No fucking way. Just a minute, I have to take care of this.”

My heart beats faster. Did he see one of Moreno’s boys? Should I hide?

Instead, he walks over to some of the extras who are playing National Guard troops in the stock footage and takes their prop gun away.

“What is this utter bullshit? You can’t have a bump stock on an H and K semi-auto. And what, exactly, is this scope supposed to do? It’s positioned in a way that if you tried to sight down it, the recoil would explode your eye like a grape! And…what the fuck is this? Who in their right mind thinks that a gas vent looks like this? It would burn the skin right off your hand.”

“Ahem.”

I cringe as Roberta, the director, comes to stand behind Dane.

“Excuse me, Sir, but what are you doing on set?”

“He’s my boy…uh…guard. Boyguard, that is, my bodyguard.”

Roberta snorts. “I don’t care if he’s the friggin’ pope. He’s annoying my talent, and the last thing I need is a visit from their union rep. Give him something to do so he stays out of the way. Otherwise he’s outta here.”

“Something to do? Like what?” I ask.

Roberta scrutinizes Dane. “I dunno, make him a zombie or something. Preferably one that can’t talk.”

I take Dane’s massive, tattooed arm. “Come on, big guy. You heard the woman.”

“No way. How am I supposed to do my job wearing a bunch of makeup and prosthetics?”

I give him the stink eye. “How can you do your job if they eject you from the studio lot? Besides, you’ll be the perfect bodyguard, disguised as one of the extras. No one will suspect you until it’s too late. ”

Dane eyes me dubiously, but he nods his assent.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Just wait until I have you in my clutches, and you’ll find out. Mwah ha ha.”

He gives me a look that says he can’t tell if I’m joking or not. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.

I guess we’ll find out.