After we were done filming on Thursday, I went to the sink backstage to clean my brushes. I had my earbuds in, playing Nirvana at an excessive volume. I bobbed my head, rubbing the bristles of an eyeshadow brush between my fingers. It had been a long day. I'd been running around like crazy because one of the other makeup artists had called in sick. This meant I had less time to take care of Missy, Marshall, and Caleb. Caleb was understanding, kissing my cheek and shooing me out. I promised Missy that I'd call her later, as we'd become pretty close and didn't like to go a day without talking.

Marshall, however, was a different story. He seemed upset when I rushed in without greeting him, skipped a few steps of the makeup routine I'd told him about yesterday, and ran back out with no goodbye. He became even more upset when things went the same way on commercial break. Usually he was emotionless, throwing out an occasional sarcastic remark or maybe getting frustrated, but nothing beyond that. Today, he was sulking with his head down, snapping at anyone who tried to talk to him. Try as I might, I couldn't understand him.

Moving on to my contour brushes, I hummed along to the music, swaying back in forth in time. Suddenly, I felt a hand tap my shoulder and I dropped the brush into the sink. I swung around, throwing a hard punch.

I hit air. I put my arm down and Marshall popped up, making me pull back.

"You're lucky I can fight. If I didn't duck you would have hit me right in the jaw. I probably would've sued you." He tapped said jaw with his finger, looking at me disapprovingly. I took a deep breath, trying to slow my heart beat. I paused my music and took my earbuds out.

"I'm sorry. My music was so loud I didn't hear you come in. It was just an instinct. What are you doing here this late, again?" I asked, realizing that he should have left hours ago.

"Do you know a good record store in the area?" He ignored my question about why he was here .

"Red's is only a few miles from here. It's my favorite. Why?"

"You wanna take me there?" He ignored my question again.

"You want me to drive you to a record store? Just so you can, what, look around?" He nodded. This is officially the most bizarre encounter I've had with him yet.

"Pretty much."

"Um, okay. Give me ten minutes. Are we taking my car?"

"Yeah. I'll pay for gas. See you at the front." He turned and walked away. I guess that's all I'm going to get. I went back to my brushes, working quickly.

As promised, I met Marshall at the front about ten minutes later. We walked through the almost abandoned parking lot to my car.

"Where are all your people?" I asked.

"I told them they didn't need to be here today." He said simply.

"You just assumed I'd be down with taking you?" I asked, giving him a sideways glance. We got into my car and I pulled out, heading towards Red's.

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"I don't know, maybe because you've been pretty cold to me since we met. You've gotten a little better but you still don't show any emotion, or ever really talk to me." I'm not sure why I said that. It isn't like I want him to be nice to me. I don't care. I just want to do my job, get paid, and get out of there. But something about what I said made Marshall go quiet. He stared straight ahead, and we drove the rest of the way in silence.

We arrived at Red's and sat in the parking lot. Marshall pulled his hat down low, trying to cover his face. He got out and started to walk to the front door without waiting for me. I don't understand what got him so mad.

I followed him inside, jogging a little to keep up. I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of old wood and cigar smoke.

"Hello Addison!" The owner, Bertie, waved to me. He'd owned this place as long as I could remember. I'd spent a lot of time in here, especially when I was a kid, and we'd gotten to know each other pretty well. He always gave me a free record on my birthday, which I appreciated wholeheartedly. I walked back through the rows until I found Marshall again. He was flipping through the stack of classic hip-hop records thoughtfully.

"He knows your name." He said, not looking up.

"Yeah. I've spent a lot of hours and a lot of money in here." I responded. He pulled out Enter the Wu-Tang, holding it out to me.

"Wu-Tang Clan. 1993. It was their first album. It's a pretty good record."

I took it from him gingerly and brushed some dust off of the sleeve.

"It's in good shape too." He said, looking at me as though I was supposed to understand enough to agree.

"If you say so. It looks cool, but I don't know-" I was cut short by the sound of the door opening. We both turned to see who it was. A group of four girls with paper and pens in their hands ran in, shrieking incoherently. I looked to Marshall, who was frozen. I could see a few men coming in behind them with cameras. The girls must have tipped the paparazzi off.

"I can't deal with this right now." Marshall said, looking around frantically.

"Come on. There's a closet in the back. They might not find you there." I took his hand without a second thought, leading him all the way to the back of the store. I opened the door to an unassuming storage closet and shoved him in, following him and closing the door behind us.

I quickly realized that I might have overestimated the size of the closet. My head was about level with his chest, and I was forced to look up to avoid leaning into him. I could feel the heat radiating off of him. He was looking at me strangely. I could see something dark in his eyes that didn't fit the situation.

I tried to turn and put my ear against the door to  hear what was going on outside, but there wasn't enough space. Marshall tried to step back and hit his head on something I couldn't see, cursing under his breath and stumbling forward.

"There's no room for that shit Em. Just hold still." I whispered, surprising myself with my boldness.

"Alright. Then I'm not moving. Not one. Single. Inch." That wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Currently, I was sandwiched between the door and Marshall's body. His forearms were on either side of my head, and my legs were between his. He was watching me closely, almost begging for a reaction. I didn't give him one, staring back at him confidently.

I blinked, and he seemed to get closer. Maybe it was just my imagination, but he definitely looked like he was leaning in to kiss me. I bit my lip. I surely wasn't going to push him away.

The door swung open, and I saw a flash of panic in Marshall's eyes before we fell backwards out into the store. Marshall fell directly on top of me, crushing the air out of my lungs. Bertie stood over us, looking concerned. Consider the mood killed.

Marshall rolled off of me, standing up. Bertie offered me his hand, and I took it gratefully. I stood, brushing myself off and trying to avoid eye contact.

"They're gone. You guys should be good now." Bertie said, nodding to me and walking back to the front desk. This left Marshall and I to stand awkwardly together.

"Do you want to leave?" I asked quietly.

"You can go without me. I'll call a car. Someone will be here in a few minutes." And just like that, he walked away. All of the passion he'd had a moment ago was gone, replaced yet again by the cold and unfeeling Mr. Mathers.

I stalked out of the shop, getting into my car and slamming the door. I couldn't believe that he could switch up on me that quickly. I especially couldn't believe that I was angry about it. I have Caleb, so nothing he does should matter. Yet it did.

I called Missy the second I got home. She answered on the third ring, and I flopped down on my bed with a sigh of relief.

"What's up?" She questioned.

"Boy, have I got a story for you." I said, knowing she'd be interested.

"Does it have anything to do with your boyfriends?" There was no room for her attitude here. Only her advice was welcome in this situation.

"It has to do with Marshall, if that's who you're talking about. And Caleb, in a way, too. You better stop whatever you're doing and sit down."