My Ashes In His Sewer

It was the third year since Id been blacklisted when I ran into my ex-fianc, Marcus.
I was working as a stunt double on a dusty soundstage outside Atlanta. He arrived in a whirlwind of attention, the CEO of his own media empire, here to visit his supposed girlfriend. A prince among the masses, surrounded by sycophants. Me? I was just the girl in the rough muslin costume, covered in grime.
The scene called for his girlfriend, Avery, to slap me. In pursuit of "authenticity," shed taken the director's encouragement and slapped me more than twenty times. My face was numb.
The director finally yelled "Cut." Marcus walked over. He stood over me, looking down at my swollen, stinging face.
"Apologize to Avery. Kneel down and beg her forgiveness right now, and the part of the Ingnue in this movie is yours," he said, the corner of his mouth curving into that familiar, venomous smile. "Otherwise, jump off that two-story balcony. Give the crew a show."
I didn't hesitate. I turned and jumped, straight off the balcony and into the frigid, murky depths of the fake pond below.
1
As gasps echoed around the set, I heard Marcuss furious bellow.
"Sierra! Youd rather kill yourself than yield, wouldn't you? Youre a goddamn piece of work!"
I spat out a mouthful of the pond water, which tasted like chemicals, and hauled myself onto the bank. My body was shaking, but I held out a trembling hand to the unit manager.
"Hazard pay. You owe me the hundred dollars for the high fall. Cash now."
All the love, all the hatred, all the historyit was all just dust now. But that hundred dollars? It was exactly enough to buy myself the cheapest possible urn at the city crematorium.
The unit manager was frozen. He looked instinctively up at Marcus on the platform. Marcus didn't say a word, his face dark enough to curdle milk. The manager, scared, backed away.
I panicked. The tumor inside my head was throbbing, a frantic, rhythmic dance.
I forgot all about dignity. I dragged my heavy, soaked clothes, limping after him.
"Give me the money."
"The agreement was a hundred for the jump."
"Give it to me."
I must have looked like a deranged woman, clutching his sleeve, refusing to let go. The crew started pointing and whispering, their eyes full of scorn and pity.
"The former A-list star, reduced to this?"
"Risking her life for a hundred bucks. Shes completely obsessed with money."
"Serves her right, after that hit-and-run. Karma."
Id heard it all a thousand times. It didn't even sting anymore. I'd bark like a dog for this money if it meant getting it.
"Sierra."
Marcus was suddenly there. His polished leather shoes stopped right in front of me.
"Marcus, pay the man."
He let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his furious gaze.
"Are you that broke, Sierra? Making yourself look like a drowned animal for a hundred dollars?"
"What is it? Did the pretty boy dump you? Do you need the cash to support your little fling?"
The 'pretty boy' was the phantom lover, the imaginary 'adulterer' hed used as an excuse to torment me for three years. I wouldn't explain. He wouldn't believe me anyway.
"Just give me the money. I have to go," I repeated, a mechanical loop.
His anger flared hotter.
Thats when Avery strolled over. She linked her arm through his, then pulled a thick wad of bills from her limited-edition designer handbagabout two thousand dollars in crisp hundreds.
"Oh, Sierra. You're just pathetic." She wore pity like a designer scarf. "Take this and go buy some cold medicine. Stop embarrassing yourself here."
With a flourish, she tossed the money in the air. The pink bills fluttered down like vulgar confetti, scattering into the mud and puddles. The crowd roared with laughter.
Marcus watched, clearly waiting for me to lunge and scramble like a dog.
I did lunge.
But I ignored the clean, pink hundred-dollar bills. I scrabbled through the mud, digging for the few crumpled tens and the loose change that the unit manager had dropped in his haste. It added up to exactly one hundred dollars.
I clenched the money in my fist like I was clutching my last breath. I didn't spare the two thousand a glance.
I stood, swaying violently. A sudden warmth flooded my nasal cavity. Nosebleed. I used the back of my hand, still slick with pond water, to wipe the blood away quickly. I couldn't let him see.
Marcus exploded at my deliberate snub.
"Don't play the martyr, Sierra! You won't touch the two thousand, but you'll risk your life for this pittance? Do you think this act is going to make me feel sorry for you? Dream on!"
He kicked the scattered bills on the ground and pointed toward the gate.
"Get out! Don't let me see your face again!"
I felt a wave of dizzying relief.
"Thank you, Marcus."
I clutched the hundred dollars, bowed a shallow, mocking bow, and walked away, dragging my soaked, aching body out of the studio lot.
Behind me, Averys voice, sweet and cloying: "Darling, don't let her upset you. Shes not worth it"
Then Marcuss soft reassurance: "It's fine. Let's go get some expensive French food."
I heard them. And felt nothing.
My mind was on one thing: I finally had enough for my urn.
Outside the lot, the sky was darkening fast. I was shaking uncontrollably, the fever making my vision swim. But I couldn't stop. To save the cab fare, I rode my ancient, battered bicycle the twelve miles out to the suburban funeral home. The wind was a razor against my face, and the wet clothes had frozen stiff against my skin.
My phone buzzed. It was the manager at the crematory.
"Ms. Sierra, someone else is trying to buy that unit."
"The director says if you're not here in thirty minutes, the box goes to the other party. Its the last cheap one we have. You know the drill."
The line went dead.
Panic seized me. That was my final resting place. I couldn't bear the thought of dying and not even having a place to sleep.
I pedaled like a madwoman. My lungs burned; every ragged breath tasted of blood.
Suddenly, a black Maybach surged forward, cutting me off hard.
"Screech"
A violent screech of tires ripped through the night.
I went down, bicycle and body, slamming onto the asphalt. My knees hit the pavement and went instantly numb.
The hundred dollars spilled out of my pocket, scattering. I didn't care about the painI scrambled to gather the bills.
A polished leather shoe landed squarely on a crumpled twenty.
I looked up. Marcuss face was dark, a storm of suppressed fury.
"Where are you rushing off to?" he demanded, towering over me. "To see him? The 'adulterer?' Youre throwing your life away for him?"
I was kneeling, my hand reaching for the bill under his foot.
"Marcus, please. Move your foot."
"I need to go. Im begging you. If Im late, itll be too late."
My voice was a choked sob. If I didn't get there, I would truly have no home, not even in death.
Seeing my desperation only fueled his rage. He yanked me up by the wrist, the grip iron-hard.
"A quick errand? A quick hookup, is that what you mean? Youre repulsive, Sierra."
"I won't let you go!" I fought him wildly, my nails tearing streaks of blood across his hand. "I won't! Marcus, let go! I need to go to the funeral home! I have to buy the urn!"
I screamed the truth, raw and hysterical.
He just laugheda cold, brutal sound.
"Buy an urn? You couldn't come up with a better lie than that? Joking about your own death? Youll say anything to see that man."
He didn't believe a word.
How could he? In his eyes, I was a conniving liar, a manipulative woman who would use any trick for money.
I was shoved into the car. The door clicked shut, the lock engaging. It sealed me off from the cold wind, but more importantly, it sealed off my last shred of hope.
I stared out the window, watching the scattering coins and bills vanish into the distance. Tears finally streamed down my face.
Finished. It was all finished.
The clock on my phone was ticking down: five minutes left. We were miles away, driving into the heart of the city.
I collapsed against the leather seat, all the strength drained from me.
Marcus watched my despair in the rearview mirror, his lip curled.
"So, youre miserable without him? Sierra, you will never get away from me. Not in this life."
The Maybach pulled up to the familiar gates of the mansionour former marital home. He dragged me out and into the house. The heating inside was stifling, yet I felt colder than I had outside.
Avery was sitting on the Italian leather sofa, applying a hydrating mask. She glanced at me, a flicker of surprise, then pure smugness.
"Darling, why bring her back? She's filthy. Shell ruin the cashmere rug."
Marcus ignored her, hauling me straight toward the storage room under the main staircase.
"Go inside. Think about what you've done."
"When you decide to tell the truth, Ill let you out."
He shoved me in and slammed the heavy door shut.
Clack. The sound of the deadbolt.
Darkness swallowed me instantly.
I threw myself against the door, beating the wood with my fists.
"Marcus! Let me out!"
"Please, Marcus, Im begging you!" I cried until my throat was raw.
"Is that man really so important to you? Important enough to beg like a stray dog?" Marcuss voice was muffled through the wood. "Stay in there, Sierra. Get that man out of your head."
The sound of his footsteps receded. I heard Averys cooing and his soft, affectionate reply: "There, there. My Avery is always so sweet."
I slid down the cold wall, my knees pulled to my chest. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I fumbled for it, the light burning my eyes.
The message from the crematory manager: Ms. Sierra, the unit has been sold. Deposit is non-refundable.

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