I Know I Should Know Better 4
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female Reader, references to past Colin Shea x Female Reader & past Johnny Storm x Female Reader
Word Count: ~3.5k
Summary: Curtis has been working as your body guard for almost two years now. Standing by and watching you work and party your life away is becoming more and more difficult, but is there anything he can do about it?
Warnings: Angst, adult themes, complicated power dynamics, minor age difference (not explicit in this part, but reader is mid-twenties and Curtis is early thirties), drinking & implied drug use, explicit language, bad boyfriend (Colin continues to be awful, even though we haven't actually seen him since part 2), self-destructive behavior, anxiety, negative self-talk. She's still having a bad time, you guys. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
A/N: Well, here it is! As I currently have it planned, this will be seven parts, so we're officially past the halfway point now. This part's a little shorter, but I'm hoping you'll think it's worth it.
Big thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down the new character here! (If you don't remember doing that Carly, it's because it was ages ago 🤣)
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screaming at me. 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
The drive to the restaurant was uncomfortable. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you. Sitting in the backseat alone, while Curtis and Jensen quietly conversed in the front, you felt ridiculous. You should learn how to drive. You were a grown woman who couldn’t even get herself anywhere—just another way you didn’t know how to be responsible for yourself.
You stared at Curtis in the front seat. It’d been a few weeks since your boundaries conversation. You hadn’t spoken to him much since. He was right. It was better. Cleaner. But you missed being able to talk to him.
Something had changed about the way he watched you though. You would swear that it was more intense now, the way his eyes followed you around the room. And it always seemed like he had something to say, he’d just never say it. He didn’t make any sense.
You took a breath. You were nervous about this lunch. You weren’t entirely sure what the purpose of it was, aside from the fact that Marnie Reynolds had wanted to meet. You hadn’t seen her in years and then she just texted you out of the blue two days ago, asking if you wanted to have lunch. You assumed she was going to pitch you something. Why else would she want to talk? You hoped it’d be something easy to agree to. It would make Wilford and Tanya feel better if someone actively wanted to work with you, at the very least.
The restaurant wasn’t the kind of place you normally went to. It was nice, but tucked away, not designed for those who wanted to see and be seen. Marnie had chosen it. She was waiting for you at a small table in the back, even more private. She stood as you approached and enveloped you in a warm hug. She was just as glamorous as you remembered, suddenly hit by memories of sitting in her trailer while she let you try on her jewelry. She’d always been so nice to you. “Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you,” she said as you both sat down.
You smiled and nodded. “It’s good to see you, too. How are you?”
“Oh, good, good,” she said with a big smile. “Just got back from a shoot in Greece. Happy to be home.” Her eyes lost a little of their luster as she asked, “How are you, darling?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” you said. You could tell she wanted you to say more, but you just nodded and shrugged.
“Well,” she looked at you carefully, “I can’t get over how grown up you are. I know it’s silly, but I think I’ll always see you as the sixteen-year-old I met at the table read ten years ago.”
“You and all of America,” you said dryly before you could think better of it.
Instead of chastising you, she just nodded. “I’m very grateful I didn’t have to grow up so publicly and then have to make that transition to being an adult. I can’t imagine how hard that is.”
You shrugged again. You didn’t really know what to say to her.
“Which, speaking of, I owe you an apology.”
Panic rose in your chest. Oh, god. Had she sold a story about you? Said something private in an interview? Blocked you from a new role? You weren’t sure you could handle one more thing right now. “Oh?” you asked shakily.
She nodded, seriously. “I should have done a better job of keeping in touch with you after we’d finished the movie. I owed you that much. I’m sorry.”
You furrowed your brow, confused. “That’s fine. You’ve been so busy. I didn’t really expect you to remember me. I mean, you won an Oscar. I know how much work that takes.”
“Mmm,” she said, “and you sent me flowers.”
You shrugged. You just kept shrugging. “Well, you were always kind to me, and I was so happy for you. It seemed like the least I should do.”
“You were always so sweet. I’m so happy to see that hasn’t changed.”
At the sincerity on her face, you looked down at your menu. You didn’t know what to say to that.
“How’s your mom?” she asked, her tone strangely cautious. “Is she still your manager?”
“Oh, no. Wilford helped me get a new one when I turned 18. He thought I needed someone more experienced.”
She let out a breath, almost like she was relieved. “I have to admit, I’m happy to hear that.” You gave her a confused look and she continued softly, “She was always so hard on you. It was part of why I always invited you to my trailer. It seemed like you could really use a break from her.” She gave you another impossibly warm smile. “Plus, you were such great company. I loved making that movie with you.”
You couldn’t hide your relief when the server chose that moment to take your orders. You didn’t know what to do with the fondness in Marnie’s eyes.
Once you were both done ordering, you decided you were ready to talk business. “So, what’s the project?” you asked.
She looked confused. “Project?”
“Uh, yeah. Whatever you wanted to pitch me? The reason you asked me here.”
“Oh, honey, no, I’m sorry. There’s no project. I just wanted to see you.”
That didn’t make sense. That she didn’t want to work with you again made sense. No one did, so of course she didn’t either. But then why else were you here? “I don’t understand,” you said quietly.
She let out a sad little sigh. “I’ve seen some of what’s been going on with you, online, and it just seems like you need a friend. I want to be that for you. I think about you more than you know.”
“Oh,” was all you managed to say.
She grabbed your hand over the table. “There’s so much going on for you right now. I can’t imagine how hard it must be, and then to have to deal with it in public too.”
You didn’t say anything, just looked at your joined hands on the table. Then, finally, still looking down, “Uh, yeah. I’m having a pretty hard time.”
She squeezed your hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m here to listen if you ever want to talk about it.”
You finally looked up and nodded, but didn’t say anything else. You weren’t sure you could.
She looked at you carefully. “Have you thought about taking a break at all?”
You were reminded of Curtis, sitting on your couch, looking at you so earnestly, talking about taking a year off. You shook the image out of your head. “No,” you said. “It isn’t a good time. My reputation isn’t great right now, so I need to get back out there and show people that I can do the work. I need to fix it.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, “that sounds like agent speak.”
“Well,” you shrugged, “he’s right.”
“Remember, though,” she said, slowly, “that you’re a person, too. Not just a career.”
You just looked at her, blankly. Your career had been the most important thing about you since you were nine years old. You didn’t know how to separate the two. Luckily, that was when the server returned with your food, and Marnie graciously took it as a sign to take over the conversation for the rest of your meal. She talked about the movie she’d just finished, how her kids were doing, and the large garden she was planting at home. It was nice. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a meal out with a friend like this.
Still, you left the restaurant feeling raw and restless. You weren’t sure what to do with that conversation, the hard parts of it. The way she looked at you like she actually saw you. There was an itch in you now that just made you want to run.
Instead, as soon as you got home, you poured yourself a glass of sangria from the pitcher your housekeeper kept in your fridge and took the latest script Wilford had sent you onto your deck. You could feel Curtis watching you as you moved through the glass doors. That was his job, you told yourself. It was just his job.
The script fucking sucked. It was awful. The opposite of what you wanted to do. But you knew what Wilford would say. Beggars can’t be choosers. This was your fault. You were the one who’d destroyed your reputation. You had to be the one to fix it. And if making shit like this would fix it, then that’s what you had to do. Too many people relied on you for you not to do whatever you could, take whatever paychecks you could get. You hated it. You hated it so much. But you would do it.
You picked up your phone. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed. It was well into the evening now. There was a text from Michelle an hour ago, letting you know she’d left. And a few minutes ago, one from Nikki, a girl you partied with sometimes, that just said ‘Fuck them both!’
What the hell did that mean? Panic began to crawl up your throat and your hands started to shake as you typed your name into Google and clicked on News. Your stomach dropped. Johnny Storm, that snowboarder you’d barely dated over a year ago, apparently had a podcast now. And the latest episode, posted that day, featured Colin Shea as its guest. Shit. Fuck. You couldn’t even look at what they’d said. There was no point. It was all just the same old bullshit.
You felt tears start to prick at your eyes. Why couldn’t everyone just leave you the fuck alone? You weren’t even that interesting. How could they possibly have anything to talk about?
Fuck that, you thought, as you stormed back into your house. You distantly registered Curtis calling after you, but you didn’t pay any attention. You were too focused. You headed straight up to your bedroom. They wanted something to talk about? You’d fucking give it to them! You charged into your closet and grabbed the sluttiest, shiniest dress you had. Fuck yeah. You could do this. You would be exactly who they wanted you to be. If they wanted a show so fucking badly, you’d give them one.
You ran back downstairs, looking for a particular pair of earrings that a costar had given you as a wrap gift a couple of years ago – huge dangly ones that said Fuck on one ear and You on the other. There was nothing subtle about what you were going for tonight.
You’d have to think of someone to call, too. Someone suitable for the kind of scene you wanted to make, the kind of big mistake you wanted to fall into. You were so fucking tired of holding it all together. You were done. Your mind immediately landed on Lucas Lee, your costar in that dumb action movie last year. He was awful but so hot. Nothing but trouble and always up for whatever. Perfect.
As you entered your living room, your eyes landed on one of your jewelry boxes on the coffee table. There they were! As you picked up the box, you realized Curtis was sitting by himself on the couch. You saw him take in your short, sparkly dress and grimace. You weren’t in the mood to analyze it. “I’m going out,” you announced. “Have Jensen get the car ready.”
You were already moving through, headed back upstairs when you heard Curtis rasp, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
You turned on a dime. “Excuse me?”
“I think,” he said slowly, so calmly you wanted to break something, “that going out right now, in the sort of mood you’re clearly in, would be a very bad idea.”
What the actual fuck? “Since when,” you asked, your voice quiet with seething anger, “is it your job to tell me what to do?”
He shook his head and you didn’t know how to react to how sad he looked. “I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m asking you to stay home tonight. For your own safety, which very much is my job.”
You just stared at him, dumbfounded. You didn’t understand him. He told you you weren’t friends. He was the one who said he was just your bodyguard. So what the hell was he doing now?
In the moment you stood frozen, just staring at him, he took a cautious step forward. “Did something happen?” he asked barely above a whisper.
You shook your head furiously. You felt like you could barely form words. You were so angry and lost, and scared, and sad, and confused. You were feeling more than you thought your body could contain. And you knew, you knew, the only way to get these feelings out would be to go out and get as wild as you could. And here Curtis was, not letting you. You were afraid you were going to explode. “That’s fine,” you finally got out, ignoring his question. “You don’t have to come with me. Jake neither. I’ll get a fucking Uber.” You took a step towards the opening of the room. “Go home Jake!” you shouted through the house. “I won’t need you tonight!”
Curtis sighed your name. “I’m not going to let you go out by yourself,” he said firmly.
You threw your hands in the air. “Then make up your goddamn mind!”
Jake appeared in the doorway, looking confused and Curtis turned to him. You took the opportunity to get back to the safety of your room, leaving your security detail to figure their shit out. Once back in your room, you dug through the jewelry box until you found the earrings you were looking for. You heard your back door open and close. Good. Jake, at least, was gone. You knew Curtis would be harder, but you were fucking determined.
Just as you were opening Uber on your phone, Curtis appeared in your doorway. “What,” you growled.
“Would you just listen to me for a minute?!” He said, not quite a yell, but not not that either, as he barged into your room. All of his practiced calm from downstairs was completely gone. “Something bad is going to happen if you go out tonight! It is, I know it is. And I know you can feel it too!”
“Why do you care?!” You shouted at him. “No one else does! Why do you care so much?!”
“You know why!” he shouted back, and took another step toward you, but then suddenly stopped. Much, much quieter, much softer, and with eyes so pleading, he said “You must know.”
You didn’t. You really don’t think you knew until that moment, when the realization slammed into you. Every look, every sigh, all of the moments of him that hadn’t made sense. You took a step back. “What?” you breathed, barely realizing that you were shaking.
He took a step forward to follow you, then stopped. He opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head at him. “No,” you said. “You can’t.”
“I can’t?!” he asked, incredulous and upset again.
“No!” you shouted, but it was so much weaker now. “I just– Why would– I’m such a fucking mess!” You were starting to cry, the adrenaline of the last half-hour finally leaking out of you, replaced by that same bone-deep exhaustion that you’d had for too long. “I barely have a high school education. I don’t know how to do anything for myself. No one wants to work with me. I am barely keeping it together and everyone knows it. I’m a trainwreck! Why would you–” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words that you knew he meant. “Why would you have feelings for someone like that?”
The sadness was back in his face. You looked away, unable to bear it. In your periphery, you saw him take a cautious step forward, then pause. When you made no move to run, he eliminated the distance between you, standing directly in front of you. He slowly, gently, carefully brought one hand up to touch your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I know all that and I still love you. Because I also know that somehow, despite everything, you are one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. You are so kind. And thoughtful. You let everyone see your soft spots, even when all they do is hurt you. You have every reason to be awful or bitter or mean or any of a thousand things. But you aren’t. It’s all of it, it’s all of those things and the ones you said too. All of it together, that’s why I love you. I love you because you’re you.”
You wanted to sob. No one had ever said anything remotely like that to you before. Not anyone in your family, or a single one of your exes. No one had ever cared enough to say any of that. Except for Curtis. He’d always cared, hadn’t he? Since that first day he’d showed up, when you’d been so scared about the possibility of a stalker, he’d taken such care with you. He was the most caring, thoughtful, beautiful person you knew. You took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. You could see his worry, but also the deep conviction with which he’d just said all that to you. You couldn’t help yourself anymore. You surged forward and you kissed him.
He made a noise of surprise—you didn’t know how he could possibly be surprised after all that—but after just a moment he was kissing you back, bringing both hands up to cradle your head. You were getting your tears all over him, but he didn’t seem to care. He was soft and gentle and passionate. You needed more. You needed all of him.
You took a step back, breaking the kiss. You did what you could to brush the tears off your face. You grabbed the bottom of your dress and pulled it over your head, then tossed it on the floor. You stood in front of him in the lingerie you’d picked out to fuck Lucas Lee of all people and couldn’t understand how you’d ever been able to think about anyone but Curtis. But you did know how when you stopped to think about it. You’d never been able to fathom that you might deserve this man. That he might actually want you.
He stared at you. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re–” you braced yourself for what might come next. So hot or fucking sexy. You’d even gotten beautiful once or twice. He only took a second before he finished his sentence “–incredible,” with such awe on his face that you actually felt your knees go weak. You had to look away. He was too much.
He took your face in his hands again and placed a soft, short kiss on your lips. “But would it be ok if we slowed down?” he asked.
You couldn’t keep the disappointment out of your voice. “Why?”
“This is real for me,” he said. “And if we do this, I want it to be real for you too. I want you to be sure. And for now,” he stroked one thumb over your cheekbone, “right now I just want to hold you. Is that alright? If I just hold you tonight?”
You didn’t know how to respond to that. Sex had always been the best, most important part of any of your relationships. It’d been the biggest thing that any of your previous partners had wanted from you. You weren’t sure you knew how to do it any other way. But he was holding you so gently, looking at you so softly, all you could do was nod.
He kissed you once more. Then stepped back and started to take off his clothes. You made your way to your bed and got in, watching him as he shed his clothes. He really was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Nothing on any movie set you’d ever been on, any party you’d ever been to could compare to him.
Once he was down to just his boxers, he crawled in next to you and pulled you close. Your lips touched his shoulder as you asked, barely audible, “You really love me?”
He kissed your forehead. “Yes,” he whispered. “I really love you.”
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