Acting The Part

I stared out the window of my tiny Hollywood apartment, the view offering nothing but the back of another dilapidated building. The city of dreams, they called it. Funny how dreams seemed so far away when you were stuck living paycheck to paycheck, barely scraping by. 

I leaned against the windowsill, feeling the heat of the late afternoon sun on my skin. For a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the warmth distract me from the gnawing anxiety in my chest.

Bills. Rent. Mom.

The familiar weight of it all pressed against me. I rubbed my temples, trying to push the thoughts away. I had to keep going. I had to prove them all wrong—everyone who said I'd end up like mom.

"Megan, are you listening to me?"

I turned to see Britney standing by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, her face set in frustration. She was still wearing the oversized sweatshirt she'd slept in, her short blonde hair a mess. Britney had been with me since I arrived in LA two years ago. 

We were both from the same kind of place—a place people were supposed to escape from, not return to. She'd been working the streets when I met her, and I'd helped her get out of that life. Now, she was my assistant, my friend, my only real support in this city of strangers.

"Sorry," I muttered, running my fingers through my hair. My wavy brunette strands fell over my shoulder, long enough to brush the small of my back. 

I knew I looked put together—my curvy frame always seemed to draw attention, no matter how simple I dressed. But on the inside, I felt like I was falling apart.

Britney sighed, walking over to the couch and flopping down beside me. "Megan, we need to talk about this. We're running out of time. We barely have enough money to last the month. And your mom—"

"Don't," I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. "Don't bring her into this."

Her face softened, but her eyes held a truth I didn't want to hear. "I'm just trying to help. I know how much she means to you, but… how are we going to afford her treatment? You can't keep doing these extra roles forever."

I bit my lip, feeling the familiar sting of frustration rise in my chest. "What do you want me to do, Britney? I'm doing everything I can."

Britney hesitated, her gaze dropping to her lap. "There's… there's another way."

I frowned, crossing my arms. "Another way? What are you talking about?"

She looked up, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You know what I'm talking about, Megan. Noah Rodriguez. He's been after you for months. If you just… if you agreed to what he wants, your career would take off. You wouldn't have to struggle like this anymore."

I felt my stomach churn at the mention of his name. Noah Rodriguez, the big-shot director and producer who'd made it his mission to harass me since the day we met. He was powerful, untouchable in the industry, and he knew it. 

He expected women like me to fall at his feet, to trade our bodies for a chance at success.

I shook my head vehemently, stepping away from the couch like her words might scald me. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not going to do that, Britney. I'm not going to be a prostitute."

Britney's face crumpled, and she wiped at her forehead. "I don't want you to, Megan. God, you know I don't. But what choice do we have? We're out of options. You're out of options."

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming faster. I didn't want to hear this. I didn't want to face the reality I'd been avoiding for so long. I ran and ran, and now, I have no more road to thread on. 

"I'm going to make it," I insisted, my voice trembling but firm. "I don't need to sell myself to make it. I've worked too damn hard to get here. I put myself through film school. I've clawed my way through every shitty extra role, every condescending casting director. I'm not going to throw all of that away just because some asshole with too much power thinks he can buy me."

Britney stood up, walking over to me, her eyes pleading. "Megan… you're not like them. You're not like me. I get it. But I'm scared for you. I'm scared we're going to end up back on the streets. I'm scared you won't be able to help your mom. I'm scared that no matter how hard you work, it won't be enough."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She wasn't wrong. I'd been trying to ignore it, but the truth was starting to become impossible to deny. I wasn't getting anywhere. I hadn't had a decent role in months. 

My bank account was nearly empty. And my mom… she needed treatment, and soon. The cancer was getting worse, and every day I didn't have enough money to help her was a day closer to losing her.

I sank back onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. "What am I supposed to do?" I whispered. "I can't… I can't sell myself like that. I can't."

Britney knelt in front of me, taking my hands in hers. "I know. I know you can't. And I'm not asking you to. But we need to figure something out. Because right now, we don't have a roof over our heads. And your mom—"

I pulled my hands back, standing up abruptly. "Stop. Just… stop. I'll figure something out. I always do."

But even as I said it, I felt the weight of the lie. I didn't know how I was going to figure anything out. I didn't know how I was going to keep going.

Britney watched me, her face pale and her expression torn. "Megan…"

I shook my head. "I'm not giving up. I'm not going to be like her."

I turned away, staring out the window again. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the street below. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint sounds of traffic, the hum of a city that never stopped moving.

But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was standing still.

And I was terrified.