Chapter Five: Forever My Lady 

The fire had been bad, but not as terrible as it would have been without him. 

The toughest issue had been children who were afraid to fly and wanted their parents. He saved a few people from the smoke; only one was unconscious, in their bed, when he got to them. He tried to move quickly. Malik didn't want to be Beacon tonight. 

The lights. 

The cameras. 

The questions. 

These are all things he's had his fill of this week. 

The noises had been too loud, and he considered speaking to Edna, a suit designer, about some type of earplugs to help with the noises, but he realized his super hearing is needed for emergencies. He runs a frustrated hand down his tired face, sitting on a random bench in a park near the apartment. 

I can't be there yet. 

What he wants to do is pull his knees to his chest with his elbows on his knees.

My head is buzzing. There's too much noise. 

He needs some time to sort through it all. 

Malik closes his eyes. 

1, in, deep. 

Out, slow, controlled. 

2, in, deep, hold. 

Out, slow, controlled. 

He breathes, hoping to reset the pattern in his head. His therapist showed him this once, and it helps, usually. He remembers she said his body needed the space to feel safe before his mind would follow. 

Slowly, the images fade away. 

He's more relieved with each breath, but it's not the fire or the fall in it that needs chasing away. 

It's La'niia, the gala, and the moment he watched her share with Levi. 

She wasn't smiling at him. 

He repeats over and over, internally. 

She wasn't smiling. 

But she hadn't noticed him watching her from across the ballroom. La'niia is usually closed off in a way that makes her feel all his, but that night, she looked reachable. It looked like she wasn't waiting for him, and like something he's supposed to touch, within her, alone, wasn't in need of him to be filled. 

The way his stomach turns makes him feel the same unease that hasn't quite left since that moment. 

He covers his eyes with his leather-gloved hands and breathes deeply. 

The loop begins again. 

She wore her hair differently. 

Malik liked the center part updo on La'niia. She doesn't usually wear a middle part, but it left her cheekbones more visible, especially the left side, the sharper side that he favors. He liked the effect the change in part had on her face, but then again, he loves her face. Before she took her seat, she tugged on her dress twice to adjust it, he remembers counting. 

Her voice. 

It's one of the things he loves about her, and he remembers her voice when he spoke to Levi. She spoke formally and with caution. It was the kind of tone she uses when speaking to journalists and to executives; it wasn't a warm, familiar tone. She didn't use words like 'baby', not her real voice, the one she uses with him. 

He hadn't realized he so deeply knew the difference until he caught himself repeatedly saying it in his head. 

She didn't speak to him the way she speaks to me. 

His knuckles rest against the sides of his head as his elbows rest on his knees. This is a sensory weight that helps him sometimes. Sometimes his thoughts are too jumbled and too loud. 

This isn't the first time his emotions have felt so displaced. It felt like his heart holds them in an order, but they aren't where they are supposed to be. It feels like one of the emotions is moving without making a sound and won't be pinpointed within the disorder. 

He hates feeling this way even when he has all the information. 

I observed them. I know the facts. 

He realizes that La'niia hasn't texted him. He wonders if she fell asleep with the lateness of the hour. Sometimes she does that when he has to do a job this late. He anticipates walking in and hearing the news, low because she watches to see if he's safe. Her half-full wine glass will be on the coffee table, and she'll be rolled into a ball on the sofa, her hands folded under her head. He'll pick her up and place her in bed. Malik likes imagining this because it means she's close, safe, still his. 

He didn't send a message either, and it's not because he didn't want to. 

He doesn't trust his feelings, and he doesn't trust the oddness he's noticed in La'niia since that night. A different quiet has entered their relationship, and it's one he ruminates on how to be rid of. He didn't want to send the wrong message within this quiet. He didn't want to ask her if she had fun with Levi. He doesn't want to ask her what she thinks of the photo that's going around. 

I'd ask about it all, so wrong. 

And he swallows hard because if he asks so wrong, and then she answers too lightly, too thin, too defensive, or too closed-off, things won't feel right. 

He chooses to do nothing because in doing nothing, he still has her, and he can try to figure out what this is between them. 

So, Malik takes a deep breath. He focuses on his breathing once more and then focuses on her voice. This time, he doesn't use his memory; he uses one of his saved videos. 

Scrolling through his phone's library, Malik opens the folder "L" and opens "Braedon's Girl Interview". This is a folder he clips old interviews, Q&A's, and her panels. He plays one from five years ago about one of her lesser-known short stories. 

The closer the video gets to the twelve-minute mark, the more relieved he feels. Malik has watched this clip over and over. He knows her words and her mannerisms almost by memory. At twelve minutes, her eyes light up as the interviewer asks her something absurd and hypothetical. She laughs in the classiest, yet natural, real way. Her hand quickly raises to her necklace to control the laughter and be contained. When she does that gesture, it always kinda takes his breath away, kinda makes him wanna kiss her,

Malik's eyes close. 

If there is one thing he can't live without: 

La'niia's smile. 

________________________________________________________________________________

He was there this morning. 

It made it hard for La'niia to leave bed at around 3:30 am to begin preparing for the 9:00 am interview with a 7:30 am call time. She wanted nothing more than to stay there, wrapped in his arms and warmth. She misses the kisses he peppers on her shoulders in his sleep. Her lips still buzzing with the kiss goodbye she gave him before exiting. 

She arrives at 7:15, her hair styled and makeup complete. La'niia's wearing a custom blouse. It's crimson and made of a satin material. She's paired it, tucked into wide-legged trousers, and is wearing the small gold diamond hoops Levi gifted her a few years back for one of her birthdays. 

She smooths the pant legs, hoping the outfit is sharp, professional, and highlights her strength while complimenting her beauty. La'niia doesn't wear rings, bracelets, or a necklace. She wants polish, not to be flashy. 

The colors hadn't held any particular meaning for her. 

Not until that remark: 

"Red looks good on you; that look's gonna break the internet for sure." The host's assistant says the words, and La'niia's stomach twists. 

She feels tension as she looks into the mirror, blotting her lips and applying more gloss. Breathing slowly and steadily as she uses a puff to dull areas of shine on her face that won't be favorable under the studio lights. She swallows hard. 

The chairs chosen for the interview are low-sitting. She shakes her head, not appreciating the choice because it was made to minimize her height, and all she sees is another ploy to make her appear ditzy and pretty; nothing more than that. However, that's not her main concern, so she takes her seat, pushing all nerves out of her head. 

"And we're on in five.. four... three..." 

Live interviews are not my favorite.

"We're here with best-selling author La'niia Pierce." The host speaks with that chipper over over-melodic tone that these daytime sorts have. "Her novel Deadly Silence has been film-adapted and is arguably the best-selling film of the year. Critics have gone mad, and audiences are captivated and then terrified. La'niia, thank you for coming and congratulations." 

La'niia doesn't feel cameras on her; she feels eyes and smiles pleasantly enough. 

"Thank you for having me, and many thanks to Waven Cresten for bringing me on the project." 

"Okay, so let's get into the work before anything." The host gestures with her hands while speaking. "Your horror is something we haven't seen in a while. It isn't outright gore and mystic, but there is a psychological edge you've tapped into that everyone can't get enough of. The works are layered, intelligent, with this certain tightness held throughout until the bubble pops. Do you feel that people are finally aligning to your voice?" 

La'niia works not to make a face. 

It's a backhanded and condescending remark coated in sweetness. 

She's definitely one of those 'the movie is better than the book'  people. 

"Well, I think visual media opens up doors to audiences that are different than what pages do. I think Waven did a phenomenal job of consuming the material and visualizing it. He portrayed the story accurately, and as an author, he's given me the movie we dream of." 

"That's beautifully said." The Host props their cheek on their fist, elbow on the high side table next to the chair, as to express being riveted with La'niia's presence. "You are downplaying your involvement in the film. You are credited as a director." 

La'niia blushes. "I can't express how much of a blessing and privilege it was for Waven to trust me with one of his babies. We know he's an eccentric, and his work ethic is the stuff that makes legends. When he told me that his vision was for me to direct him in making my perfect movie, I was floored. So, once again, many thanks to him and his brilliance." 

"I know for me, and maybe for Waven, there is an intense pull to the characters. They feel lived in and like you know them. You paint such intimate fears; handled with a sort of underlying desperation, and yet polished with control. Do you draw these characters from life?" 

La'niia sips her coffee. 

"As creatives, I think we are inspired by life whether we notice or not." 

The smile on the host gets a little brighter. A little bigger. 

"Speaking about life, Miss Pierce, you are becoming something of a fashion icon. You look like a standout crowd favorite from the recent Beacon Gala. And speaking of the Gala..." The host turns a bit in their chair toward a screen behind them. "There's this photo that is all the topic of conversation." 

Breathe. It wouldn't have taken a brain surgeon to know that this was a possible interview topic. 

"Anything to share with us about it?" 

La'niia leans into the playful persona she uses to feel relatable. "Come on, you know I don't make remarks about rumors." 

"I know, I know, but come on. Levi Sloan. That is arguably one of the most sensational men of the day and recognized heroes of the world, and you're trending with him." 

La'niia turns to meet the host, like she's being open, smoothing her hand down her thigh. 

"You know, when I think about trending...I always hope it would be for my works and efforts, not something as simple as who I sat next to." 

The host now does that little micro tick that shows they feel a little cut down. 

With a tight voice, they gather themselves and continue. "You know, that's very fair to say, and hopefully you don't blame us simpler folks for being so curious. You're a very private woman, Miss Pierce. We know little about the daily details, and suddenly this moment happens to a hero. I mean, even now, we're wondering if you're giving us a little easter egg by sporting the red and gold. Are we witnessing Clark Kent get his Lois Lane?" 

An unusual nervous chuckle leaves La'niia as she realizes the gravity of her outfit. 

No, this can't be. 

Usually careful and thoughtful of all details, La'niia's brain scrambles to understand how she got this decision all wrong. 

"No, no." She crosses her legs with a forced smile, tossing her hair to appear playful and flattered. "I don't dress for anyone but myself. I'm only intentional with my words." 

The segment continues. The energy drops a bit but finds its footing. La'niia performs wonderfully, although her mind is whirling. This host made a comment that could make the photo an even bigger speculation versus die down. She wholeheartedly throws herself into the fan Q&A, grateful that no one asks about Firebrand or the gala photo. There is a wonderfully done reel of her book covers shown and a clip of the movie that's been acclaimed, which Waven gives La'niia's direction on set, the credit for. 

The host returns to the initial brittle and slightly false smile that began the interview, and La'niia feels the relief of its ending when sudden commotion takes place behind the crew. 

A movement so quick. 

Bright red and gold. 

Suddenly, there stands Levi Sloan, in full hero attire. 

He stopped directly behind the camera crew, so as not to disturb their work, saying nothing but observing the interview. His hands clasped behind his back, his face seemed to hold a look of wonderment that comes with appreciation. 

The host claps, and La'niia's blood is pumping in her ears. 

"Omg, is that Firebrand?!" The host exaggerates their surprise, their palms on their cheeks. "Levi Sloan, what a surprise!" 

The sounds of camera shutters and video recording on phones is immediate. 

La'niia cringes in her seat. 

She doesn't hear. 

The last thing she pays attention to is Levi pointing to her book cover on the main screen. In the roar, he offers her a private smile. The cameras and the eyes of the people are off her. She feels glued to her seat as she can barely wrap her mind around the implications of this appearance. At some point, he joins them on stage, but the words are a blur to her anxiety-riddled mind. 

Even now, about thirty minutes late, La'niia sits in her car with an unsettled gut feeling.  

She scrolls through her mentions, and her heart stops at the newest tagged photo: 

She's seated, wearing gold and red, with Firebrand standing behind her. 

The caption: 

When the story writes itself. 

Oh hell no!

She screams inside. 

She can't believe she fell into this rumor. The colors, the timing of the picture, and the implications of it are all wrong. 

But it all looks right.