Bang Bang - Robert House
Summary: You, an actress find yourself in an affair with Rob House, you are in need of 3 simple words, which he cannot give you.
Angst (i guess?) 2100-ish words
She woke slowly, the morning light soft against her eyelids. For a moment, she lay still, listening to Robert’s quiet breathing beside her. It was peaceful—almost comforting—no ache like the ones Thomas’s mornings brought.
With Robert, it was easier. Yet the ease was fragile, like glass—beautiful but prone to cracking. He wasn’t perfect. Their connection was tangled with moments of doubt, tensions that made her wonder if she was holding onto something that might slip away at any time.
Still, she preferred this struggle to the heavy ache Thomas left behind—something sharper and colder, harder to breathe through.
She did love Robert. Sometimes, when he brushed a stray hair from her face or caught her gaze with a smile meant just for her, she let herself believe Robert might love her too.
But she was no fool. She knew his reputation—his fleeting fascinations, his charm that never stayed. What made her different? The question twisted inside her.
The daylight was the reminder that their time together was running out. She placed a delicate hand on his cheek. Robert’s features were softened in sleep—his usually sharp gaze was now calm and relaxed, framed by tousled black hair and a faint smile on parted lips. Leaning in, she pressed a tender kiss to his lips. Robert’s face seemed to react to her touch, a slight twitch of his lips.
Reluctantly, she moved from the bed, standing naked where only the morning light could judge her. She began to search for her clothes, scattered haphazardly around the room. Each garment she found and slipped on felt like a step away from her escape, and as she leaved the room with no traces of her ever even been here, she stepped back into her reality.
~ It was 5:30 when she reached her trailer on the set. Robert would be awake by now, starting his day, while Thomas would still be sleeping, oblivious to the night she had just left behind. She greeted the makeup artist with a polite smile as she settled into the familiar chair.The ritual began once more, an almost mechanical process where the makeup would erase the remnants of her private life: a cleansing of the evidence of the night spent in someone else’s bed. If the girl had any suspicions about the night’s origins, she was smart enough not to ask. The unspoken agreement between them, between woman, was clear: some boundaries were to remain unspoken. She emerged, with the make-up as a mask, as the polished, professional image needed for the day.
Outside, Cooper Howard was waiting. She couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy as she observed how his eyes seemed to grow heavier with each passing week. The burdens of a domestic dispute, a divorce, alimony, and relentless public scrutiny had etched their marks on him. His struggles served as a stark reminder that dissatisfaction was a common plight and that truly happy marriages were a thing only reserved for the lucky few.
He reached out to her, more for himelf than anything, his heavy hand resting on her shoulder. “Another day, huh?” he said, his voice carrying the weight of his exhaustion. She sensed that this might be his final film, Thomas has told her that this might be true, his last contract before Hollywood moved on without him. She was there to make his last ride as pleasant as possible, and he was determined to leave with whatever dignity he could still take from it.
“Another day,” she said, matching his tired tone as they walked toward the set. Just like every day before, she was grateful for the chance to be here.
Thomas had pulled her out of some rundown diner couple of years ago, and put her on this stage. Without him, none of this would be possible. Still, even with that debt hanging over her, she was already thinking about walking away—half wanting to escape. That guilt stuck with her, but maybe that was what made her good at playing a character so torn up inside. The damsel turned villain, she saw the irony.
“There’s villainy behind those beautiful eyes of yours,” Cooper’s character said. Picking up from where theycleft of last time.
“There’s lies… yes,” she replied, her voice quivering under the weight of her own emotions. “But there’s also guilt.” The gun trembled slightly in her hand, but she steadied it, fighting the storm raging inside her.
“You don’t love me?” Cooper’s character pressed, staring into the dark barrel of the gun.
Her breath caught. The weight of her choice was almost unbearable. She struggled with the decision, the internal battle of truth versus facade.
“Tell me you love me or pull the trigger,” he urged, desperation seeping into his characters voice.
She mimicked a twitch of her finger, her heart pounding in her chest. The line between her performance and her reality blurred.
“I don’t love you,” she said, the words breaking through her turmoil. Then, with a dramatic bang, the gunshot fired, and Cooper’s character fell to the floor.
The fake gunshot unleashed a torrent of emotion she had been suppressing, and genuine tears began to flow. As the director’s shout of “Cut!” cut through the haze, she wiped at her eyes, helping Cooper to his feet with a trembling hand.
“That was intense,” Cooper said, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. His eyes, though weary, conveyed a deep understanding.
~
At the end of the day, she found herself back at Robert’s house. She watched as his Mr. Handy bot moved around the kitchen with mechanical efficiency, setting two plates on the table. Robert sat opposite her, his evening scheduled with a mere sixty minutes for dinner before returning to work.
Even with their limited time together, she couldn’t focus on him. Instead, her gaze drifted past him, and the robot approached, delivering the meal with precision but no warmth. It tasted fine, though; the bot was adept at its task.
She prodded at her plate, and Robert dismissed the robot with a casual wave.
“The robot’s done its job,” Robert said, gesturing to the plates. “We have an hour before I need to get back to the office. Let’s use it wisely. Anything you want to talk about, or should we just eat?”
His directness, his honesty, and the sheer practicality with which he spoke—traits that had been his hallmark—suddenly grated on her.
“Whatever you want, dear,” she replied, not hiding the edge in her tone.
Robert ignored the subtext, focusing on his meal. He glanced at his watch, then back at his food, and eventually set down his utensils with a sigh. She continued to stare off into space, her own utensils hovering over her plate, untouched.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, breaking the silence.
She paused, considering his request. Setting her utensils down, she reached for her wineglass. As she took a sip, she looked over the rim at him and murmured, “Tell me you love me or pull the trigger.”
“I didn’t catch that,” Robert said, leaning in slightly and retrieving a cigarette from the table.
“‘Tell me you love me or pull the trigger,’” she repeated, her voice laced with frustration and resignation. “It’s a line from Cooper today. It’s stuck in my head.”
“I see,” Robert said, lighting his cigarette. “It’s quite an ultimatum.” He took a drag, swallowing hard as he braced for the direction of the conversation. “Did you shoot him?”
She nodded and took a gulp of her wine.
“Hmm.” Robert considered this, the cigarette now hazily held between his fingers. The sharp smell of tobacco mingled with the aroma of their meal.
“I need you to answer the question, Rob,” she insisted.
Robert exhaled a cloud of smoke, his expression thoughtful but guarded. “I see. So that’s where we’re headed,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You want a direct answer, but it’s not so simple. I have feelings—strong ones—but they’re not easy to define or explain.”
Inside, she felt a sharp pang of disappointment. His reluctance to admit his feelings was a raw wound. “Bang,” she said, her voice trembling. She had hoped for clarity, some confession to solidify their connection. Instead, his words left her grappling with an emptiness she hadn’t anticipated. The certainty she sought seemed to slip further away with each passing second.
Her thoughts churned. Was she reduced to just a possibility, a sentiment he couldn’t quite grasp?
Finishing her wine quickly, she tried to steady herself. “Goodbye,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she stood up from the table. Leaving felt like an act of self-preservation. If he couldn’t give her what she needed, maybe it was time to move on, though her thoughts drifted beyond Robert to Thomas as well. She took a deep breath, trying to silence the ache in her chest.
As she passed the robot on her way out, its impassive stance at the door seemed to mock her with its perfect indifference. Once in the hallway, the weight of her emotions overwhelmed her, and she slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing through the house.
For a moment, she held her breath, her heart aching with a foolish hope that maybe—just maybe—he’d come after her. But that hope felt embarrassingly naive. She knew Robert better than that. He’d remain at the table, cigarette smoke curling around him like a shroud, the unspoken words hanging in the air, bitter and suffocating.
She knew he wouldn’t follow; he never chased after anyone. The sting of standing there alone, her car keys clenched tightly in her hand, hurt more than it should have.
It was a relief to be out of that house—beautiful and impractical, a monument to everything wrong between them. Luxurious, yes, but cold and impersonal.
At the edge of the driveway, she glanced back one last time, the empty ache in her chest still there. He wouldn’t be standing in the doorway, calling her back.
Climbing into her car, she slammed the door shut, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. The ache in her chest intensified as she fumbled with the car keys, her trembling hands struggling to fit them into the ignition. She tried to take a deep breath, but the tears blurred her vision, her frustration bubbling over.
In her haze, she didn’t hear the car door open beside her. Robert’s hand reached in, swift and deliberate, taking the keys from her trembling fingers. His touch startled her, and she looked up, breath catching as she saw him standing there, half-shadowed by the night, his expression unreadable.
“Stay,” he said, leaning into the car. “I want you to.”
She looked up at him. “Why should I stay?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why should I waste my time with someone who doesn’t even know if he loves me? If I wanted to stay in a relationship where I’m not appreciated, I could have stayed with Thomas.”
Her voice grew frantic, words spilling out in a rush. “Thomas might not be perfect, but at least he’s predictable. At least he doesn’t—” She stopped, taking a shaky breath. “At least he doesn’t leave me wondering if I’m just a passing distraction. You think I’m just going to sit here and accept whatever you’re willing to give?”
Robert’s eyes darkened with a mix of frustration and resolve. “I’m not here to play games or offer half-truths,” he said, his voice steady but edged with intensity. “I’m not good at these things—love, relationships, whatever you want to call it. I’m practical and deal in facts. But right now, the fact is, I want you to stay.”
He grabbed her keys with a decisive motion. “Don’t mistake my uncertainty for lack of interest.” She blinked up at him, struggling to reconcile his words with the forceful kiss that followed. It wasn’t gentle; it was a commanding, urgent press of his lips against hers that silenced her protests.
