A Night In
Scene One | Off-Camera
It had been fun having Adrienne around. Though it did a good job of dragging up old memories. It did a tremendous job of making her feel a little younger, a little more alive and a little happier too. But it reminded Luna of some terrible times and places in her life too. Addiction had been their lives, and though they had saved their sweet little Marigold from an abusive and overbearing partner. That had not saved Luna from the depths of her addictions.
So when she stumbled across that little bag of powder in their bathroom, it all came flooding back. Luna was vaguely impressed at the speed in which Adrienne had managed to find people pedalling stuff, but it also was a stark reminder of why she had distanced herself from the girl. It hadn’t been a pleasant conversation. Adrienne wasn’t much younger, but in behaviour and maturity. She was still a young party girl who didn’t understand the wrong she had committed.
She’d been asked to leave. Alex had to play the bad guy once again. Luna wasn’t in a state to be around her. She wasn’t in a state where that monkey called addiction wasn’t threatening to break her. She didn’t want to give up almost three years of sobriety for nothing. So Alex had asked Adrienne to leave. He’d given her the key to James’ bar and home, and had had a long talk with her. There were apology texts, and attempted phone calls. Maybe the verbal berating had gotten through to Adrienne.
Luna was a numb mess.
They were holed up on the couch for the night. Alex nestled in a pillow puddle in the deep corner of the L bend on the couch. Luna lay curled up on the short end, head in his lap, watching some mindless documentary that Alex had put on. They’d been better since that night. Since Adrienne had told her to go home. She suspected with Adrienne out of the house, they’d be better again. But there was still a need to talk about what happened. More than their car discussion allowed for.
But was tonight that night? No, not really. Tonight was to be… human for once. To not be the nasty and bitchy individuals that everyone seemed to see them as. To just be human for a minute. Not The Idol and The Napalm Kingslayer. To just be Luna and Alex, husband and wife, watching a crappy documentary, petting their obnoxiously cuddly beagle called ‘Duchess’.
“This show sucks.” Alex grunted, as he wiggled himself up a little. Reaching over her to grab the remote that was near her feet. She stuck her foot out in place of it, and made him grab a handful of her feet. The recoil in absolute horror that followed made it all worth it in that moment.
“I get to pick now.” He tickled the bottom of her foot briefly, making her body kick out. Sitting up as she did, lightly smacking him on the arm. The smile, the laugh, the flash of joy in his eyes. He leaned forward, and placed a kiss on her. A short, sweet and simple kiss. The kind that reminded her that even as she lay there, no make-up, messy haired and comfy clothes, she was the most gorgeous person in his world.
“I love you, idiot.” Luna said as she sat up a little. The dog takes this as a perfect time to crawl from being wedged into them, to being on Alex’s lap. Luna fake gasped, and Alex smiled, ruffling Duchess’s ears. She grabbed the remote, and sat upright, Alex’s arm draping over her shoulders.
She rested her head on his chest as she began to scroll, absent-mindedly scratching at the dog’s head. But in the moment of peace, there were flashes of that monkey on her shoulders. Had Adrienne remembered to take the bag from the bathroom? Had she remembered to clear out the drugs when she’d been asked to leave. What if the messages were her begging Luna not to go and check.
“I changed my mind, you pick. I need to pee.” Luna said, getting to her feet. Every part of her was screaming to tell Alex to go check the bathroom for her. The rational part of her mind begging her to not fall into the trap. To be free. To stay clean. But all the stress lately, the valium and the xanax prescriptions. The image of Alex with the gun pointed and held at Sullivan’s head. Her own screams echoing in her mind, as she played the thought over and over.
On the surface, a calm queen. Underneath, a struggling junkie who was looking for a fix. Alex eyed her with suspicion as he handed him the remote. The dog not moving, not deigning the need to follow her. Each step felt heavy, each step felt heavier than the last. What would she do if the ketamine was still there? Would she try and pretend that she was sober as she floated away into a world of happiness? Would she tip it down the drain and pat herself on the back? It wouldn’t even matter if Adrienne had remembered to…
It was gone. There was no little plastic bag on the bench. There were no lines, or glass. No cards and no notes rolled up. She smiled, but leaned against the doorway. Her mind racing. All these years later, and she was still a slave to it. Still a slave to the idea of floating away. There were no excuses that justified it, and yet. She just wanted to not feel like this for a minute. To not feel like the world hated her. To not be the bitch that everyone seemed to think she was.
She could feel the tears welling in her eyes. The anger, the frustration. The hatred for the world that continued to shun them, and made them out to be the bad guys. To be the bad guys for just trying to cope, to live. To move forward day to day. Every person needs to involve themselves. Every person having an opinion on who the fuck she was. Every which way she turned, there was just another person pushing her.
Krystal, Samantha, Mark, Christian, Ariana and hell, now even Harper. Everyone had an opinion on the actions they made, to keep themselves above water. To keep themselves from sinking, from just wanting to float. From just wanting to be alive, and to suffer in their own grief quietly. To suffer and bleed. To hurt in freedom. To mourn her fucking brother in peace.
An addict would run to the peace of their addiction. An addict had to fight every day just to be free of that monkey that sat on their shoulders. An addict had to be okay, and had to pretend that the world wasn’t forever attempting to push them down. To crush them under the heel of oppressive hate. She just wanted to be normal, just for a minute.
“Nothing fun to see in there, piss-pot.” Alex had somehow managed to come up behind her. Silent as a mouse. She jumped a little, but instantly relaxed as his arms slipped around her waist. Pulled her from the doorframe and onto him. Waddling them away from the bathroom. No judgement. There was never any judgement from him. How could there be? They were both addicts, just to different things. Cigarettes, alcohol, coffee. It just happened that her vice was downers, and his was… what was his addiction?
“I’ll be better one day, won’t I?” Luna asked, twisting around to face him. Arms up and wrapped around his neck, holding tightly to him. He tilted his head to rest against hers as she placed her chin on his shoulder, standing on the tips of her toes.
“You’re better today than you were yesterday, and you’re far better today than you were three years ago. We may never be fixed, Lu. But we’re better today than we were any other day.” Alex said gently, waddling them back to the couch slowly. Back into their little bubble of peace. The young couple, with their dog, watching shitty documentaries on Netflix. A bottle of wine, an ashtray with far too many cigarettes. Just them, being… normal.
“One day, you’ll be free, Lu. One day, we’ll all be free.” Alex said as he planted them back on the couch. She sat straddling his lap, much to the dismay of Duchess who tried valiantly to squeeze her way between the two of them. Nestling her body in between them. A hint of happiness.
“Tell me a story, Alex.” Luna asked, more a demand than a question. A soft demand. A gentle request. His arms tightened around her for a moment, feeling the warmth of Duchess pressed tightly against the both of them.
“There was once a boy named James.” Alex said softly.
Dear Samantha
Scene Two | On-Camera
“Dear Samantha, how beautiful it is that we are here again. I’d like to take a moment to talk to you. Dear Samantha, how wonderful it is to have you before me again, do you think we have a moment to talk? Hey Samantha, Luna again. I was just wondering if you’d take a moment to talk? Hey fuckface, it’s Luna. We’ve got some words to let loose, don’t we?”
“Dear Samantha, how’s the noggin’? Must be hurting after brass meets head. Hey Samantha, I’ve been thinking. What gave you the right to stick your nose into my business? Dear moron, I’ve got some ideas. Ideas on how we can save your career. Hey dickhead, it’s me again. Just wondering if you’ve got any idea of what you’ve started?”Luna is sitting at a writing desk, her hair hanging loose around her neck and shoulders. Paper and pens are sprawled out all over the desk. Samantha’s name scrawled in different coloured inks in various erratic scratchings and sizings across the papers. The pen in her hand gripped tightly.
“I understand the resentment Samantha. There seems to be this theme. You come into my life, you lose, and I win. That’s the way it goes right? You come into my life, I win the Internet Championship, you don’t. I punch you in the back of the head, cost you a match, and then I go on to win later that night. Even with your attempts to break my face, and hurt my arm. Even with your attempts to batter my pretty little head, I went on to win my match. Funny how things like this seem to happen, over and over.”
“It’s funny to me, Samantha. That here you are again in my purview. An afterthought the first time, and again an afterthought now. Funny how you had to stick your fucking nose into my affairs. Did Ben go running to you, begging you to watch his back? No, I doubt he truly thought it was necessary. No, I think, you Samantha. Are a perpetual nobody. What was it you said? That you deserve to be here. That my ‘crocodile mouth was writing cheques my canary rear end will have trouble cashing’. You learnt exactly what I was fucking capable of last time we banged heads Samantha. You learnt that in a pool of women your better, you came up short, and I stood as the victor. As much as women like Krystal Wolfe might want to try and take that away.”
“History says that Luna Pasilno is the superior woman. History says that Luna Pasilno is the lady to watch. History says that Luna Pasilno is the woman who will punch your fucking lights out, and you can’t even do enough to slow her down. How long has it been since you were fucking relevant? Three years? Four years? Seems like you fall into the same mouthy camp as the ratty Barossa Valley slag, Krystal Wolfe. Seems to me that you’re the one with a crocodile mouth, writing cheques that your canary rear end will have trouble cashing.”Luna pushes a few of the pieces of paper aside. A chequebook hidden beneath the pile. She opens it, the first cheque stating it is payable to SAMANTHA MARLOWE, for ‘Medical Costs incurred for being a dumb fucking bitch.’
“So I wonder, Samantha. What possesses you to think that you deserve to be here? I’m just wondering because I haven’t seen anything to make me think you are worth a dime. I haven’t seen a word from you worth listening to. I haven’t seen a step from you that makes me think you could go toe to toe with The Troll, let alone anyone else in this current roster of Bombshells. I’d hazard that you, just like Ben, are finding this renewed fire as a result of us. The Conspiracy sets our sights on you two, and suddenly you’re full of bravado, vim and vigour. Suddenly you think that you’re worthy of the spotlight that you are so wholeheartedly hogging.”
“But no, Samantha. Just like Ben, you are not worthy of the spotlight hogging that you are getting. This wasn’t a journey into proving that you were worthwhile. This wasn’t a journey to shine light on those who are missing a step. This was to prove that you didn’t deserve the opportunities thrown your way. So I want you to remember the feeling of brass against bone. I want you to remember what steel against skin feels like. I want you to remember what it felt like to come up short against Luna Pasilno, because you’re going to have to get real familiar with that feeling.”
“But that’s not what this week is about. No, this week, Samantha. This is your week. The week for you to show the world that you’re a half-step better than Luna Pasilno. That you can out-wrestle and out-think her. That the pretty little face is nothing more than an empty headed bimbo hanging on to the better of her sweet dear husband. Isn’t that right? It seems to be what everyone else thinks of me. That I’m just coming along for the ride on the wings of the better. Except for when it means to say that Alex is the better. In which case he's nothing and deserves nothing, a failure. But only when it suits them. When it doesn’t, he’s a multi-time champion, a man to be feared. Because then Luna Pasilno is just his little hanger-on. Or as Samantha so eloquently put it ‘Raven’s sick little whatever she is’.”She slams the pen down into the cheque book. Somehow managing to pierce straight through the entirety of it with one downward force. That iconic banshee scream rips from her throat, as she lifts and slams the penchequebook combination over and over onto the writing desk. The sheets of paper scrawled with Samantha’s name being thrown all over the place and knocked to the floor.
“I’m a fucking person, you dumb fucking bitch. Is that something that everyone seems to just magically forget? That beneath it all, I’m also my own fucking person. I’m a human being with a beating heart, and emotions. Fears, aspirations and everything in between. Clearly I’m not somebody to you, Samantha. I’m just ‘Raven’s sick little whatever she is.’ Just like I’m just Raven’s ‘hanger-on’ according to Krystal Wolfe. Sidekick, dropkick, whatever. It doesn’t matter as long as your attempts to dehumanise me work, right?”
“Doesn’t matter what you say about someone if they aren’t even a person in your fucking eyes. You want to know why I put my hands on Ben? So people would stop pretending that I am nothing. The only two people that ever saw me as more than just a piece of meat, a hanger-on, a bitch who needed protecting. The only two people were my fucking brother, and my husband. And I can’t hear my brother tell me that I matter anymore. I can’t ask my brother to remind me that I exist. No, I have to do it for myself now, and the more I try, the more people pretend like I don’t matter.”
“I’m in your sights now, right Samantha? I waved that red flag and made you come charging like a dog in heat. And now, you’re stuck with me. And I’m going to make sure you acknowledge me, Samantha. If it takes battering your pretty little brains all over the canvas, so be it. If it takes breaking the balls of your illegitimate partner, so be it. That’s the story, right? The married woman is having an illicit affair with her best friend. Oh, how juicy, Samantha.”With one last slam, she leaves the penchequebook combination in the middle of the writing desk. She turns away from the table, running her hands up into her hair. The anger etched across her every feature. Fury bubbling behind her eyes. Hell hath no fury like Luna Pasilno slightly vexed. Pulling her hair back behind her with one hand, she extends the other out in front of her. A soothing calm washing over her face as her eyes lock upon the wedding band on her finger.
“Upsetting when people say things that aren’t really true, isn’t it? Upsetting when people make assumptions about you because that’s just how it seems to them. Upsetting that someone would go out of their way to take away your humanity. To take away your personality. To reduce you to nothing more than the cheating harlot. You have my sympathies, Samantha. You truly do. An afterthought you may be, but a woman and your own person, you still are.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you again, dear Samantha. I’m looking forward to staring you right in the eye and telling you what I think of you. I’m looking forward to fighting you, Samantha. I’m looking forward to every step of the way, and you know why? Because then you can’t just think of me as the nothing that is only validated by the existence of someone else. I’m looking forward to making you see that Luna Pasilno is a human being. And that just like you, I bleed. That I cry. That I exist outside of the existence of someone else. Maybe it’s something you should try and do yourself. Maybe then, the world wouldn’t cast such aspersions on you.”
“Maybe temper your predictions this time, hey?”Luna sighs heavily, and slowly stands up. Still holding all of her hair behind her with one hand. Lowering the free one to the desk, and tipping it. Surprisingly effortless for how heavy the desk looks. All the sheets of paper and pens falling to the floor.
“The Conspiracy thanks you for your time.”On the floor, where all the pieces of paper had scattered. They’d fall in the shape of a large love heart. SAMANTHA and BENJAMIN scrawled across all the various papers. And in the centre,
SM + BJ. The implication is quite clear.
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
