She huddled tighter in her chair, because he’d ensured there was no way to misinterpret what he’d said, no spin that could explain away or disguise his loathing of his employers. The power brokers in Hollywood wouldn’t forgive such open disloyalty. She knew almost nothing about the entertainment industry, but even she understood that.
There was a moment of silence, and she was afraid to look.
“No, that’s everything.” Alex’s words were muffled through the ringing in her ears. “I’m done.”
Then he was gone. The crowd erupted into scattered applause, then shocked laughter and conversation—Can you believe what he said about the scripts? I’m looking at his AO3 handle, and holy shit—as Lauren continued to sit in her special damn chair, motionless.
Minutes later, as a new crowd began to fill the hall, her phone buzzed. Slapping away the wetness on her cheeks, she read her incoming text.
It was from Alex.
Marcus ordered me to go to our suite and call everyone in my camp. Come on up, Wren. It’s a party! After a moment, another message appeared. I know you aren’t happy with what I did, and I’m sorry for that.
He was sorry for her unhappiness. Not for the damage he’d done to his career.
Then again, he had years ahead to mourn that. Decades. The rest of his life.
Her legs shook as she got to her feet and headed for the exit. She was going to her room, because nothing she could say, nothing she could do, would help Alex now. With one exception.
In the elevator, she texted him back. Promise me you’ll listen to what your team and Marcus say. Promise me you’ll do your best to salvage this situation.
He wrote back immediately. I promise. Unless they tell me to do something that’s wrong. In which case, I won’t budge.
It was a deliberate echo of what she’d said about her experiences at the hospital. The times she’d run afoul of her colleagues or patients or supervisors.
She sagged against the elevator wall, bereft.
Another buzz. Where are you, you intolerably plodding harpy?
She didn’t answer.
When she got to her room, she let the door slam shut behind her. Her phone buzzed several more times as she emptied the few drawers she’d filled with clothing and other odds and ends, but she ignored the peremptory summons.
Once she was completely packed again, she checked her inbox, just to confirm.
Ron’s email had arrived five minutes before.
I should have known you weren’t capable of doing such a simple job, he’d written. You’re fired, and we’re not fucking paying for your hotel room or the guesthouse anymore. Good riddance.
She could check out over the phone, so she did. Then she caught a cab to the airport and took the first flight back to L.A. A seat in coach, of course. She couldn’t afford more, and it was where she belonged.
By the time the small jet took flight, she’d texted Alex one last time—On the plane; I’m so sorry—and turned off her cell, because he needed to concentrate on salvaging his career, not on her, and his increasingly agitated messages hurt.
The bruises forming on her thighs, pressed into her flesh by the armrests, hurt less. Which was saying something.
She’d almost forgotten how it felt to squeeze into a space too cramped to contain her comfortably. She’d almost forgotten the specific pain of attempting to make herself as small as possible, contorting her arms and legs in a way that hurt her joints and made relaxation impossible. She’d almost forgotten the reality of her life.
In the end, despite all her attempts to be small, despite the discomfort of those attempts, she’d still have bruises. Pain following pain. It was unavoidable. Inevitable.
She’d accepted that for herself long ago.
But Alex hadn’t been willing to accept it for her.
He’d witnessed her pain, and destroyed himself to avenge it.
For that reason, and for that reason alone, she wished to God she’d never met him.
Gods of the Gates Cast Chat: Friday Night
Ian: I want Alex kicked off this cast chat
Ian: I fucking told you, and so did Bruno Keene: cast poison
Ian: Our future careers may depend on the success of Gates, and he just shit all over it because he thinks he’s too good for us, the ungrateful motherfucker
Carah: Oh, give me a fucking break, Ian
Carah: We all know everything Alex said （and wrote） is true
Carah: And yes, maybe making all those things public knowledge wasn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made, but I’ve never seen him THAT angry without damn good reason
Asha: I’ve worked closely with him for years now, and yes, this