Between Reel and Reality (Lesbian Romance)

Chapter Sixteen: (Dis)Unity

CIERRE

Over the past few days, a ten-second interaction between Amel and me has been circulating, sparking endless analysis. When Kerani sought our approval to upload the video capturing Von's Valentine's Day toast, I consented. Little did I know, she also captured me on camera asking my ex to open my water bottle. While it was an innocent post, people have taken the clip and concocted all kinds of fan fiction and theories.

Admittedly, I was tipsy in the recording, playfully nudging Amel's shoulder to catch their attention. Upon succeeding, I exaggerated a pout and sought their help to twist my bottle cap. Despite rolling their eyes, they obliged and even handed me a straw. I expressed my gratitude with my usual, occasionally misconstrued as flirtatious, "Thank you kindly." Their response was a smirk as they observed me sipping on my refreshing beverage. That's the extent of it. Without a forced storyline, the exchange is innocent and, at most, mildly suggestive. However, with the way rumors and implications are swirling around, you would think I mistakenly leaked the sex tape we filmed that night.

Viral posts such as: "Look how Amel opens the water bottle for Cierre. 😩 They still love her. 🥺," "Cierre knew she could've opened that. 😂 She just wanted Amel's attention. You fems ain't slick. 😭," and "Cierre and Amel are running it back??? 🤔 Let me hit up my ex. Don't run from me, pooh. 🤧😍" are harmless.

The irritating part is the presence of strange tabloid influencers at these pre-Grammy parties and events, scrutinizing and observing every interaction between Amel and me. They've been sparking rumors with sneaky photos of us laughing, talking, and hugging as if that's not what friends do.

Despite the chaos, our film producers see an opportunity to capitalize on our viral moment. They're announcing our movie, officially named The Forsaken Vow (thanks to my pushback), the day after the Grammys. Maybe people will quit fantasizing about me and my ex once they learn we've reunited to collaborate on a project.

Yeah, right. I have to stop being delusional.

Exhausted, slightly aggravated, and hungry, I stand on the red carpet, posing for the shouting photographers in a Versace gown. Taking over 600 hours to design, the earthy green dress is sexy but elegant, giving leg and just a dab of cleavage. The diamonds around my neck and ears glisten with each turn as I work my angles and serve my top poses. Switching between darling grins and fierce camera stare-downs, I have enough stellar shots for every platform on the planet.

I flash a smile and blow a kiss to the amazed photographers. Strutting in my high heels, I maneuver to the 360 glam cam. I pray my manager, Sydney, has scrounged and found me something to eat. I'm about to pass out and need fuel before I perform. I've sporadically performed "Almost There" for over a year, and tonight's my last contracted event. Thank the heavens. No more pressure to be a princess 24/7.

As I serve for the Glambot, the cheers behind me escalate, signaling the arrival of another star. Ignoring the commotion, I hone in on the vital task at hand: smizing for the camera. Outside of publicity, the photos are the leading benefit of attending these long, pretentious ceremonies. I'll have a panic attack later, trying to choose which images and videos to post on IG.

As I finish posing, I'm struck with an onslaught of different versions of my name, hindering my progress. What the hell? I know I look magnificent, but damn.

Amel motions for me to join them on the main carpet, beckoning photographers to grasp my attention. I figured they'd pull off Michael's iconic 1984 ensemble flawlessly, but the added touch of diamond-encrusted teeth and gleaming stud earrings leaves me in mannequin mode. Their long faux loc hairstyle rests in a high, intricately messy bun. A few locs dangle against their chiseled cheekbones. God is real, and I'm staring at His most heavenly brown angel.