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“Some people have trouble differentiating between character and actor, but I certainly did not believe you would be one of them.”

He’s joking, I know, but it makes me flush nevertheless. “Heh, sorry. I forgot how kind and gentle you are, really.” I look down at the ground, smiling. How many years has it been? I still can’t look at him when I speak.

“Just docile, actually, and I believe that’s more attributed to age.” Sure, age. It’s sort of funny in that cynical not-actually humorous way. No pissy demeanor, no bum leg, no American accent... it's just funny.

“Yeah, poor you. It must be so difficult being over forty in this business. All the pressure from the studios to keep your girlish figure...” There it is, that laugh that comes so easily to the man who plays a character that rarely laughs. The floor gets another smile from me.

---

I’ve always felt that eating cottage cheese plain is sort of, you know, disgusting. That’s why I try to refrain from thinking about it while I’m doing it. My feet are cold, so I push them between the couch cushions, feeling guilty and more than a little lazy. I could always just get up and find a throw or something. That would be the proper thing to do, considering Gabby hates when I do this - says it’s bad for the couch or some such thing. I think she just finds it strange.

The television drones on, and that feeling of the world dimming sets in. I momentarily consider getting up and put the empty cheese container and spoon in the kitchen, but it’s just a fleeting consideration. All I want to do now is sleep.

---

Tsk. Tsk. Huh. Huh. Tsk. Tsk. Huh.

“Are you quite alright, Maurice?” I ask, shoving as much sarcasm into the words as possible. I can’t help it. If he’d have tsk’ed or huffed one more time, I ... well, nothing really. It was just insufferable to listen to.

“Stop moving so much, unless you want to look like shit," he snaps, and smudges some foundation on my cheek, unnecessarily hard. I begin to say something, then stop. He’s right - I am twitching, jittering like some crack addict. I stiffen my body and focus on the mirror in front of me, watching Maurice as he works. He’s usually extremely gentle, a little bit flirty - spending more time than he needs to - and his demeanor is normally deferential. I must have really annoyed him. I sigh and close my eyes.

---
If watching Sean Connery-era James Bond films isn’t chicken soup for the soul, I don’t know what is. I could be reading, or writing, or getting some sort of exercise - sex, even - but here I lie, almost comatose. My stomach feels upset, but not painful, just unpleasant. I feel anxious, almost depressed. I begin to sigh shakily, and the sigh rolls into a repressed yawn. I’m sleeping too much, I know. I should see a doctor. At least the sleep comes quickly.

---

“I’m upset, yeah! Profoundly, intensely sad and empty and... miserable. I’d like nothing more than to just. To just.” I’m huffing, my face is burning, tears are starting to well up. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, a child watching tornado approach. He can’t deal with these sorts of situations. If it, the outburst, was caused by his actions, he’d have some snide remark packed away, ready to call up; if it was caused by another person, he’d tell me implicitly to get over it, or just ignore me altogether. If. But that’s not it. It’s me. There is no reason.

“They have pills for that,” he almost-whispers. He is fidgeting, leaning on his cane, not looking at me for any prolonged period of time - just small, nervous glances.

This is so fucked up. My life is so fucked up. My relationships are so fucked up. I could change this. I can’t change this.

“Yeah,” is all I can manage.

---

I wake up, suddenly, but not as if waking from a nightmare, just abruptly. Fantastic, now I’m dreaming about the damn show. Having trouble separating realities - well, not really. Not yet, at least. I don’t know why. I don’t wish for his - that entity’s - life. I love my life. I’m happy, truly happy, I am. He’s not. I’m just a fan, I’m just taking pity. It would be fine if only. If only every time I look in the mirror, he isn’t there. My nose. His nose. My body. His body. I sound like him, I am identical to him, superficially. You’re supposed to become your role, but not like this. Not when it completely consumes you.

Gabby tosses in her sleep and makes a mumbling sound. Please don’t wake up, I plead silently to her, please don’t ask me what’s the matter. I can’t explain it. I don’t even know.

[END]