The Director's Cut Js Taylor (e reader comics .txt) 📖

I am shrieking with shocked laughter as he lifts me up the last two steps.

“You didn’t think I’d let you win, did you?” he growls, whirling me around by my waist. “Not with a prize like that.”

“Put me down!” I laugh.

“Oh Isabella,” he says, setting me to the floor but keeping his arms around me. “You have put yourself in serious danger.”

“Oh have I?” I push a lock of dark hair out of my face.

He kisses my mouth, slowly.

“Yes,” he whispers, pulling back a little. “But I’m guessing you knew that before you started the bet.”

He shakes his head. “Gambling with me over a running challenge, Isabella. Very foolish.”

“How come you run so fast?”

“With an opportunity like that at the finish line?” He grins. “I would have won with lead weights on my legs.”

We wander through the rest of the park, conscious that our time together is drawing to a close. James has scheduled at actor’s meeting this evening, in lieu of dinner. He’s already explained to me that food will be provided, but the main agenda will be work.

I sigh at the thought of giving him up. Even for a few hours.

Now seems like the right time to bring up the Natalie issue. So I raise it tentatively.

“I saw something,” I say, “in Natalie’s bag.”

James’s face flickers.

“Oh?”

“Natalie had some… medication of some sort,” I continue. “She seemed quite keen to hide it.”

“I imagine you would too,” says James levelly, “if you were taking medication for a mental health issue.”

His voice sounds calm, but there is just a touch of danger behind it. As though he’s warning me not to push the issue further.

I weigh up what I saw, and what he’s telling me. James knows then, that much is clear, that Natalie is using prescription drugs. So I’ve nothing more to worry about, I suppose. Though I can’t help but have a lot of questions.

How can James work with her, when she’s taking drugs – even prescription ones?

“Natalie can be difficult to understand,” says James, conceding to my unspoken curiosity. “At the moment, she needs medication. Your friend Lorna has medication for her diabetes. I don’t see the two issues as particularly different.”

He sighs. “I’m hoping that Natalie will become a little more likable. Right now, she’s battling some serious issues.”

I feel a childish stab of jealously that he seems to know so much about Natalie. But something in his tone warns me not to ask any more.

We’ve walked back onto the main street now, and there’s a large elaborate church just across the street.

“You want to go in?” asks James. “It’s beautiful. Inside.”

“Sure,” I shrug, happy to have a reason to change the subject. The church is Catholic, which is my mother’s religion. I’m not a devoted practitioner of Catholicism, but I feel comfortable in Catholic churches.

We cross the road, and James pulls out his phone and clicks it to silent as we near the entrance.

I cross myself as we enter the church, and James smiles at me.

Inside is quiet, peaceful. And I feel myself slip into a thoughtful mood with James beside me.

All this devotional beauty has put me in another frame of mind, and I find myself thinking seriously about our future together.

In the short time I’ve known James, I’ve fallen for him hard. There is no question in my mind that I am deeply in love with him.

Of course, I’ve never thought about marriage, or what it might be like to live with him. It’s too soon.

But I’m suddenly realising, with a kind of shock, that I can’t imagine my future without him. The church seems to be prompting these thoughts, and I don’t try to dispel them.

We walk through the nave, keeping a silent respect for the church. And come to a standstill in front of a collection of flickering candles.

“Would you like to light one?” asks James quietly.

My mother and I always used to light a candle for my father. It’s been years since I did that. But standing with James, I feel strong. I feel as though I want to remember some of the things I tried so hard to forget.

“Yes,” I whisper.

James pushes a handful of euros into the box and passes me a candle.

Keeping my gaze centred on the flames, I tilt my wick into the fire and watch as it blazes to life. Slowly, I press it into place, amongst the other burning lights.

As I watch it burn, a few faint memories of my father swirl in my brain. I let them rise and fall in the candle flame. Thinking of him feels comfortable.

Then unbidden words pop into my mind that I haven’t heard for a long time.

Papa. Why did you leave us?

The memory shocks me so rigidly, my entire body freezes. Then I see that beside me, James has lit two candles and is placing them reverently with the others.

Two candles. One for his mother. Who is the other one for?

Suddenly I know, and the thought fills me with horrified outrage.

The ex-girlfriend. The one who died.

I know I should feel respectful for his loss. But the anger rises up so quickly, I hardly know where it’s come from. All I know is that I don’t want this. I don’t want these feelings which come so thick and fast when this man is here.

Why is he always making me think about painful memories?

And before I know what I’m doing, I turn and race out of the church.

“Issy!” James is stumbling after me as I run, blinking into the sunlight. “Issy! What’s wrong?”

He catches me in his arms, and I wriggle to be free of him, but he’s too strong.

“I don’t want this!” I shout, not caring who hears. “I don’t want any of it!”

“Shhh.” He pulls me closer, and I feel my body begin to convulse in sobs.

“It’s your stupid method, isn’t it?” I accuse, although some of the anger is coming out of me now. “Your acting method. You want