The Director's Cut by Js Taylor (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud txt) 📕

hotel with me, right now,” he says. “And you’re going to tell me everything.”

Chapter 29

By the time we’ve reached James’s hotel room, I’ve mastered some of my emotions. But I still feel like a glass which has been shattered.

James leads me gently into the room and seats me on the bed.

“I knew you had sadness in you,” he says. “I didn’t know how much.”

He pauses for a moment.

“You need to tell me, Issy,” he says. “You need to tell me what happened to you.”

He takes my hands and looks into my eyes.

“What you’re carrying could overwhelm you,” he says. “You need to talk about it. Believe me. I know.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” I feel lost, drifting, but some stubbornness remains.

James sighs.

“Tell me about your father.”

Just him saying the words sparks an electric bolt of pain.

I close my eyes, letting it ride out. But when I open my mouth to speak, no words come out.

“You can do this,” says James gently. “You’re brave, Issy.”

I am. I am brave.

I swallow. “My father,” I begin. “I was eight when he died.”

I take a long, ragged breath, trying to keep my words straight.

“He died in a car accident. The police came, to tell us. And the first thing I felt, was anger.” The last words come out as a distraught whisper, and tears fill my eyes, threatening to overwhelm me.

James holds my hand and says nothing. I sit silently, letting the warmth of his skin soothe me.

“I was so angry with him,” I breathe. “I know it was wrong. But that was all I could feel. No grief. Nothing. I blamed my father. I thought he could have done something, to prevent the accident. He should have known, not to go out that night. I was furious, that he left us.”

I turn to look in his face, expecting to see horror, even disgust. But there is nothing but patience and understanding.

“My mother fell apart,” I say, my voice still wavering and choked. “My father had always taken care of money, and bills. She just couldn’t cope.”

James squeezes my hand tighter.

“We ended up drifting, in and out of communal houses. Places where my mother’s friends were. They were artists, musicians. All struggling, trying to make it, in London. It wasn’t really the right environment for a child.”

I’m feeling stronger now, and my voice comes a little clearer. As I talk, I feel as though I’m exploring my reaction to it all for the first time.

“I think I’d dealt with his death,” I say. “But it was the effect on Mami, that was so hard.” I give James a little quivering smile, and he nods. “She was so grief-struck. And it kind of meant, there wasn’t any room, for me to be unhappy. I had to take on a lot of adult responsibilities, very young.”

I shake my head, remembering.

“When it first happened, I was so angry.” My eyes open wide at the memory. “I felt like I could have screamed aloud for a month. Then after a few years, living in communes, I don’t know how I felt. Numb, I guess.”

James is nodding his head at this.

“That’s very typical,” he says, “in response to trauma. It’s a sign that you’ve not dealt with the grief and pain.”

I look at him in surprise. He sounds like a therapist.

“Believe me,” he adds, “I know.”

Of course he does. James has his own demons.

He sighs and takes both my hands in his.

“Issy,” he says, “I can’t tell you anything to take your feelings away. And take it from someone who knows, it’s better in the end to feel them than block them out.”

He smiles at me. “What I can do is be here for you and listen to you without judgement.”

His green eyes are on mine.

“I love you so much,” he says. “Nothing you could say would ever make me love you less.”

I let his words sink in, testing them out.

My eyes fill with tears again.

It feels good to have his acceptance. So much of what I feel about my father seems shameful and wrong. But speaking out loud has helped. James was right about that. It was hard. But it wasn’t nearly so awful, as I feared.

“I can’t bear that you’ve been carrying this pain around,” says James. “And I’m privileged that you’ve let me in.”

Chapter 30

James carries me to bed and holds me, stroking my hair, until my eyes start to close.

“No wonder you’re so tired,” he murmurs. “It’s been an emotional day for you.”

“I’m not tired,” I blink up at him, warm in his arms.

He laughs softly and continues the slow stroking of my hair.

“I think you are.”

I try to answer, but I’m suddenly slowed with exhaustion, and the words don’t come out. Before I know it, I’m falling into a deep sleep.

I awake to early dawn light, wrapped in James’s arms. He must have slid off the green satin dress after I fell asleep, as I’m clad in nothing but satin panties.

That’s the second time he’s undressed me, I realise, after an emotional night out.

I wonder, for a moment, if we’ve both slept in. Since James starts so early on set. Then I remember that we’re due to start slightly later this morning. There were some traffic permissions to obtain, so filming has to wait until paperwork is completed at 9am.

I sigh into James’s warm body, inhaling the smell of him.

I feel different this morning. As though I’ve been cleansed. And the dawn light feels wonderful.

I know that I will always carry sadness from my childhood memories. But for the first time, there is a possibility that the numb pain, lodged deep in my heart, could melt a little.

I slip out of James’s arms, careful not to wake him, and pull on one of his T-shirts, which I find draped over a hotel chair. Then I walk over to the window. The Barcelona streets haven’t yet come to life, and I drink in the wonderful