The Storm

By nightfall, the snow was coming down in sheets. The driveway was gone. The road was a memory.

Sienna was pacing the living room. Her phone had no signal.

"They can't get here," she said, her voice rising in panic. "If the roads are closed, the paparazzi will charter helicopters. They'll use drones. I can't... I can't be seen like this."

"Sienna, nobody is coming tonight," I said from the armchair. "Relax."

"Relax?" She spun around. "My career is over, Leo! Do you understand? The pictures... they ruin everything. The studio is going to drop me. The brand deals are gone. I’m thirty. In Hollywood, that’s geriatric. If this scandal sticks, I’m done."

She was hyperventilating. She clawed at her neck, as if her silk blouse was strangling her.

"I can't go back to being nobody," she gasped, sinking onto the rug. "I can't be invisible again."

It wasn't a performance. It was a collapse.

I got up and knelt beside her. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

"Hey," I said gently. "Look at me."

She looked. Her eyes were wide, terrified, swimming with tears.

"You're not nobody," I said.

"I am," she sobbed. "Without the lights... without the noise... I don't exist. I hollowed myself out, Leo. I gave them everything."

"You didn't give them everything," I said. "You kept the parts that mattered. You just forgot where you put them."

She lunged forward, burying her face in my shoulder. She smelled like expensive shampoo and fear. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her while she shook. It felt painfully right. Her weight against me. Her hands gripping my flannel shirt.

"I missed this," she muffled against my chest. "I missed the quiet. I missed... I missed you."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her.

She pulled back, her face inches from mine. Her eyes searched mine, looking for the validation I used to give her freely.

"Leo," she whispered. She leaned in. Her breath ghosted over my lips.

I froze.

I remembered the interview. *I’ve never really been in love.* I remembered the empty apartment she left behind.

I pulled back.

Sienna looked like I had slapped her. She sat back on her heels, hurt flashing across her face.

"I can't," I said, my voice rough.

"Why?" she whispered. "You still feel it. I know you do."

"I do," I admitted. "But I can't be your hideout, Sienna. You come here when the world gets too loud, and you leave when you need the applause again. I have to be your home, or nothing."

She stared at me. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

"I don't know how to be home anymore," she said brokenly.

"Then you should get some sleep," I said, standing up. "Take the bedroom. I'll take the couch."

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