KHALID'S POV
I've watched scene 47 twelve times.
Twelve.
I'm in my screening room at 3 AM with the door locked and I keep hitting replay on the moment she drops the robe.
This is pathological.
I know it's pathological.
I hit replay again.
---
The premiere was three weeks ago.
I lasted forty minutes before I had to leave. Made some excuse about a phone call. Went to the bathroom. Stood there gripping the sink.
I could hear the film through the walls. Could hear the dialogue leading up to the first nude scene.
I left through a side exit.
Haven't been able to sleep properly since.
---
Scene 47.
Full frontal nudity. The camera holds on her body for what feels like hours but is probably fifteen seconds.
I've seen her naked hundreds of times.
This is different.
This is her body on display for the world. This is every detail of her exposed and preserved forever. This is—
I pause it. Her body frozen on screen. Beautiful and vulnerable and mine except not mine at all because millions of people can see this.
My hands are shaking.
I hit play.
Marcus crosses to her. His hands on her shoulders.
I know it's choreographed. Know it's professional. Know he's gay and completely uninterested in her.
Doesn't matter.
All I see is another man touching her. Touching what's mine.
I want to break his hands.
Actually, physically break them.
---
There's a moment—maybe eight seconds—where the camera is tight on her face.
She's supposed to be terrified. About to confess something that destroys everything.
And she's perfect.
She's giving the performance of her life and I'm sitting here thinking: that's MY girlfriend. That's the woman who was in my bed this morning wearing my shirt. That's MINE.
Except in this moment she's not mine.
She's theirs. She's everyone's.
And I can't fucking breathe.
---
Scene 63.
They're in bed. Both naked. His hand moves down her side.
I've had my hand in that exact place a thousand times.
I know exactly how soft her skin is there. Know the small mole just below her ribs. Know the way she shivers slightly when you touch right there.
And Marcus fucking Chen knows it now too.
No. He doesn't. He's acting. He's professional. He probably didn't even notice.
But the camera noticed. The world noticed. Every person watching this film can see exactly what I see when I'm alone with her.
---
I called her at 2 AM after watching it the first time.
"Did you watch it?"
"Yes."
Silence.
"Khalid—"
"I can't talk about this right now."
I hung up.
She showed up thirty minutes later. Let herself in with the key I gave her. Found me in the screening room staring at a paused frame of her naked body.
"How many times?" she asked.
"Three."
"The whole film?"
"Just those scenes."
She sat next to me. Looked at the screen. At herself.
"Say something," she said.
What could I say? That I wanted to burn every copy? That watching it made me want to lock her in my apartment and never let anyone see her again? That I was aroused and enraged in equal measure?
"You're brilliant in it," I said instead.
"That's what you're thinking about? My performance?"
"No." I looked at her. "I'm thinking about Marcus Chen's hands on your body. I'm thinking about the fact that your naked body is preserved on film forever. I'm thinking about every man who's going to watch this and fantasize about you."
"It's just a movie."
"It's not just a movie. It's you. Actually you. And everyone can see it now."
---
I can't stop watching scene 63.
There's this moment where her hand is on his chest. Just resting there.
That hand was on MY chest this morning.
Those fingers were in MY hair last night.
That touch belongs to ME.
I watch it again. And again. And again.
I'm torturing myself. Purposely. Methodically.
Why?
Because I'm obsessed. Because I can't stop. Because even though it's destroying me I need to see every angle every moment every second.
---
My brother called yesterday.
"You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"The film?"
"Yes."
"You watched it."
"Multiple times."
"Why would you do that to yourself?"
Good question. No good answer.
"I had to see it."
"Once would have been enough."
"You'd think."
He was quiet for a moment. "You're obsessed with her."
"I know."
"Like, unhealthily obsessed."
"I know."
"And you're okay with that?"
Am I okay with it? With the fact that I've watched the same two scenes a dozen times each? With the fact that I can't sleep without seeing her naked on screen every time I close my eyes? With the fact that I want to physically harm a man who was professional and choreographed and just doing his job?
"No," I said. "I'm not okay with it. But I don't know how to stop."
---
Scene 47 again.
I've memorized every frame.
The way the light hits her collarbone (she has a small freckle there that I kissed two days ago).
The angle of her jaw when she looks up at Marcus (I know that angle, know exactly how her skin feels under my palm when she tilts her head like that).
The moment before she drops the robe where she takes a breath (that's the breath she takes when she's scared, I've seen it a dozen times).
And then the robe drops and—
I pause it. Stare at the screen.
Everyone who watches this sees what I see when we're alone.
Everyone.
---
I tried watching something else last night.
Couldn't focus. Kept thinking about the film.
Gave up. Went back to the screening room.
Scene 47. Scene 63. On repeat.
This is what insanity feels like.
---
She asked me yesterday if I regret letting her do the film.
We were in bed. She was tracing patterns on my chest with her finger.
"No."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying. I don't regret it."
"Then why do you look like you haven't slept in weeks?"
"Because I haven't."
"Because of the film."
"Yes."
She was quiet. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You were brilliant. You deserved that role."
"But?"
"But watching you be that vulnerable with someone else is killing me. Slowly. Methodically."
She kissed my chest. Right over my heart. "I came home to you."
"I know."
"Every night. I came home to you."
"I know that too." I pulled her closer. "Doesn't make it easier."
---
Scene 63.
His hand on her side. Her back arching slightly.
I know that arch. Know exactly what it means. Know the sound she makes when—
Stop.
I can't think about this.
I hit replay anyway.
---
I love her more now.
That's the fucked up part.
Watching her be that brave, that vulnerable, that exposed, even knowing Marcus was there, even knowing millions of people would see it—
I love her more.
Which makes zero sense. Which is probably clinically insane.
But it's true.
---
My business partner asked if I was okay yesterday.
"You've been distracted."
"I know."
"Is it the actress?"
"Her name is Roman."
"Is it Roman?"
"Yes."
"The film?"
"Yes."
He was quiet. "You need to let this go."
"I can't."
"You can. You're choosing not to."
He's not wrong.
I'm choosing to watch those scenes on repeat. Choosing to torture myself. Choosing to let this consume me.
But I don't know how to stop.
---
Scene 47.
The robe drops.
I've seen this moment twelve times now. Will probably watch it twelve more.
There's something about seeing her that vulnerable. That exposed. That brave.
It makes me want to protect her even though the thing I need to protect her from already happened.
It makes me want to claim her even though she's already mine.
It makes me want to erase every copy of this film even though I know how important it is to her career.
I'm contradicting myself constantly.
Welcome to obsession.
---
She's asleep in my bed right now.
I'm in the screening room at 3 AM watching her naked body on screen.
This is insane.
I know this is insane.
I queue up scene 47 again.
---
Here's what I know:
I'm never going to be okay with this. With millions of people seeing her the way I see her. With Marcus Chen having touched her even professionally. With her being that vulnerable for the world.
I'm going to watch these scenes obsessively until they're burned into my brain.
I'm going to love her more desperately because of it.
And I'm going to have to find a way to survive knowing that everyone who watches this film gets a piece of what I thought was only mine.
---
Scene 47.
Scene 63.
Again.
And again.
And again.