The red recording light flickered to life and naturally drew Alice's eyes.
"Hey, can you look up here for me?" The man's voice, calm and practiced, floated from behind the bulky camera.
Alice's gaze shifted, catching on the fingers wiggling above the lens. Her lips pressed into a thin, reluctant line before she gave a small nod. "Sure. Yeah."
She tried to remember his name, but somehow, she'd forgotten it already. It was... Nathan? Maybe Peyton? Something close to that.
"Perfect. So, can you tell me your name and age?"
"Uh, yeah, my name's Alice--" Her face froze mid-sentence, realization crashing over her like a cold wave. She felt herself wince. "Wait, no. Sorry. Can we start over? I just said my real name, didn't I?"
The man chuckled softly as the red light dimmed. "No worries, just a warm up. Are you maybe a little nervous? Want some more water, maybe a soda?"
Alice shook her head quickly. She didn't really want to spend any more time here than she needed to. "No, no, I'm fine. Sorry."
His tone dipped into something almost playful. "Well, you look very pretty."
Her lips twitched into a forced laugh, brittle and unsure. "Oh. Um, thanks."
"There we go. That's a nice smile. Try to hold onto that for me, okay?" The recording light flickered back on. It felt a bit like an eye... judging her. "Let's go again. Hey there, can I get your name and age?"
Alice--no, Ellie now, she reminded herself--squared her shoulders and sucked in a shallow breath. Her nerves buzzed under her skin, but she pushed through it. "Yeah. My name's Ellie, and I'm twenty years old."
"Great to have you here today, Ellie. You're a college girl, right?"
She nodded, a little too quickly. "Oh, uh, yeah."
The man grinned behind the camera, his voice dipping into something cheerful but rehearsed. "Go Stings!"
Her smile twitched, faltered, and slid off her face before she could stop it. She felt the crack, the way it exposed her discomfort in front of the ever-watchful lens. "Mhmm," she mumbled, before forcing herself to speak louder. "Actually, uh, can we maybe edit that out? I don't really want people to know where I go to school."
The man's tone didn't change, but something about it felt firmer, an edge wrapped in sugar. "Our production location's public info, sweetie."
Ellie hesitated, her eyes darting back to the glowing red light. She bit her lip, searching for the right words. "Okay, but, like... can we edit all this out?"
The silence stretched out for a beat too long, the kind that made the air feel too heavy. The man behind the camera didn't answer right away. Instead, there was a shuffle of movement across the room, the faint click of a button. The red light went dark again.
"Ellie," he said at last, his tone softening as though he were leveling with her. "Look, I get it. You're nervous. Totally normal. But you've got to trust me, okay? We're professionals. You've got nothing to worry about."
His words were far too smooth.
Ellie didn't say anything, so he kept going, his tone dipping lower, quieter, like he was sharing a secret with her. "I was just trying to break the ice a little, warm you up. Editing? That's what we do. I promise, we're only keeping the parts where you look good because that's what our audience wants too. And the other part of our job? Making sure you're comfortable, relaxed, feeling good about yourself and all this. It's in our interest to help you enjoy this so you look good and so you want to come back and work with us again.
Especially
with you, since I can tell you're cute and a lot of fun under those nerves. Alright?"
Ellie stared at him, her throat tight, her mind whirring with the weight of his words. She didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but the explanation felt too rehearsed. He'd said it before. Who knows how many times.
"I--yeah, okay," she said, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. She hated how shaky she sounded, like she needed his reassurance to get through this.
He cleared his throat, his demeanor bouncing back to cheerleader mode. "You're doing great. And, by the way, showing up? That's the hardest part, I swear. You wouldn't believe how many girls no-show. But the rest once you're here? That's easy. Nothing new for you. Right?"
Ellie forced a smile, the corners of her mouth trembling with the effort. "Right. Easy."
"Perfect," he said, the red light blinking back on. "So, let's pick it back up. Relax your shoulders. Big breath. There you go. Ready?"
She wasn't, but she nodded anyway. The room felt smaller now, the air thicker, hotter. It wasn't a real filming studio or anything even vaguely legitimate. They were in some crappy studio apartment in some shady apartment complex. Whatever air freshener they were gassing the place with didn't entirely mask the smells: mildew, cheap weed, and other more bodily scents she didn't want to think about too much.
"Ready." She said.
"Alright, let's roll. Name and age?."
She exhaled, her voice steady even if her hands weren't. "Ellie Amber, and I'm twenty."
"Twenty, terrific. You're a college girl?"
"Uh-huh."
"Go Stings?" He prompted. She realized he was testing her to see if she was playing along.
Ellie hesitated but nodded. "Go Stings."
"That's what I like to hear. What would you call your hair color?"
She shrugged slightly, her fingers fidgeting. "Auburn... dark auburn?" she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty even though she obviously knew what her own hair color was. "It's natural."
"And you've got pretty blue eyes?"
"Last time I checked." She blinked at the camera and tried a smile.
"And I'm supposing you're sober, consenting, clean, and permitted to work in these great United States?"
"Yep."
"Good girl," he said, the words coming out light but landing heavy. Ellie's stomach churned, her forced smile faltering just enough to feel it in her cheeks. She tightened it again, trying to mask the reaction. His fingers twitched above the lens, drawing her eyes back to him as if he were pulling strings. "So, Ellie, tell me something
fun
about yourself."
Ellie blinked, the question catching her off guard. Something fun? Everything she could think of felt wrong, too personal, or too revealing. The heat of the red light burned into her, insistent and unyielding.
Apparently, she was taking too long. "Do you go to games? You look pretty sporty."
"No, not really. Uh..." She shifted in her seat. "I--I like music, I guess?"
"Music?" The man's tone perked up like he'd just hooked a fish. "What kind? Do you play something, or are you more of a listener?"
Ellie swallowed hard. The question was harmless, easy even, but her brain was still stuttering. "I, um, play a little guitar. Nothing crazy."
"That's awesome," he said. "I can tell you're being modest. I bet you're pretty good. Acoustic or electric?"
"Acoustic," she shrugged. "Mostly just covers, though."
"And what's your favorite song to play?"
Her mind blanked again. The truth--that she mostly fumbled through half-finished Taylor Swift songs--seemed too embarrassing to share. She let the silence stretch a beat too long before blurting out, "I, uh, don't know. It kind of changes, you know?"
"Are you a music major?" he asked, his tone casual, yet probing.
Ellie stiffened, her shoulders squaring unconsciously as the question landed too close. The answer was simple--no--but it felt like he was testing her limits. She caught herself staring straight at the lens again, the weight of its unflinching gaze pressing against her chest.
"I don't want to give that kind of personal info," she said, her voice firmer this time, carrying a flicker of defiance. "Not on camera."
The man behind the lens shifted, adjusting something she couldn't see, but his practiced tone didn't waver. "Fair enough," he said, smooth as ever. "We'll keep it light, then. Just trying to get to know you a little better, Ellie. That's all."
He didn't wait for her to respond before switching gears effortlessly. "Bet you sing, too?"
"No," she said quickly, letting out a short, sharp snort of laughter. "No one wants to hear that."
"Maybe you'll use some of the money you're going to make on lessons," he quipped.
Fuck you
, the thought rose like bile inside her.
As if she would ever even consider doing anything this demeaning for herself.
The heat in her chest flared, but she wrestled it back down, opening and closing her fingers to keep the energy from spilling over. She forced her face into something neutral, something that might pass for polite, the kind of blank smile she'd been rehearsing in the mirror.
"Yeah, maybe," she said lightly. The words left a bitter aftertaste, but she made sure they sounded sweet.
"And maybe you'll come back and sing us something? Although I imagine you'll be a bit too big for our rinky-dink production pretty quick." He laughed sharply. "Has anyone told you that you have the face of a star before?"
"No," Ellie replied, shaking her head slightly. Her words were sharp as she said them. "I don't really want to be famous. Especially not for..." She cut herself off before she could give him anything he could turn back on her.
"Your boyfriend hasn't told you you look like a star?" He pressed.
"I don't want to talk about my boyfriend on camera. Or at all, really." She shot back, and to her relief, recording light faded.
