Chapter 14
1269words
A text message popped up immediately after, it was from Ryder.
"Did you see? We did it."
I laughed, my fingertips tapping on the screen: "Crazy proud of you, rock star. Remember to thank me in your acceptance speech for those terrible temporary tattoos I used to draw on you."
He replied almost immediately: "They were the beginning of my rock career. See you at the Oscar, Jules."
I turned off my phone and tucked it into my pocket. In my heart was a pure, warm joy, like seeing a long-lost family member reach the summit. We had taken different paths, but we were both shining brightly in our respective worlds.
"Break's over!" The set director's shout pulled me back to reality, "Jules, we need you! The alien bishop's blood pump seems to be clogged!"
I grabbed my toolbox and rushed toward the
actor covered in blue silicone prosthetics who was looking at his chest in frustration as no blood was seeping out. "Don't move, I'm coming!"
This is my world. Full of glue, silicone, fake blood, and endless creativity. Here, I'm not that self-conscious girl covered in pimples and wearing braces; I am a magician, a shaper of dreams.
A few months later, that alien bishop won us the Oscar for Best Makeup and Hairstyling.
My name, Juliet Lim, as one of the core team members, was announced. At that moment, the entire world turned into a blur of golden light and deafening cheers.
My life with Leo has no earth-shattering drama, just the flowing, plain truth like water.
We live in a loft in the city center, converted from an old warehouse, with huge windows that allow sunlight to pour in freely. The air is always a mixture of the turpentine smell from his paintings, the clay scent from my model-making, and the ever-present aroma of coffee.
He found his own artistic language. No longer that angry, sharp-lined struggle of the past, but becoming more tranquil, more introspective. He began using extensive light and shadow and blurred outlines to explore the boundaries between memory and emotion. His works caused quite a sensation in niche art circles, and several top galleries extended olive branches to him.
We often worked side by side, each occupying a corner of the attic, immersed in our own worlds, yet feeling incredibly secure knowing the other was nearby.
"Jules," he would call out without looking up, "do you think this shadow should be deeper?"
I would lift my head from a pile of prosthetic limbs, squinting at the light and shadow on his canvas. "A bit deeper, as deep as that fifty dollars you owe me."
He would laugh, waving his brush in the air, "Looks like I'll have to paint it black then."
We share breakfast, argue about what to have for dinner, watch old movies together late at night, and then make love on sheets stained with paint and latex. We fight over stupid little things, like who forgot to buy milk again; then we make up with a kiss or an awkward hug.
He is my solid ground, ensuring I never lose my way amid my flights of creative fancy.
And I am the first light on his canvas, illuminating what was once his dark world.
This is happiness. The ordinary happiness I never dared to dream of.
On the night of the Oscar ceremony, all of Hollywood was like a giant, illuminated jewelry box.
I wore a simple black silk gown, personally selected by Leo, who said the color resembled his favorite ink.
"Are you ready?" He stood behind me, helping me arrange my dress. His fingers were warm and strong; through the thin silk, I could feel the heat from his palm.
I looked at myself in the mirror. No heavy foundation, no exaggerated eyeshadow, no concealer to hide flaws. I had only simply outlined my eyebrows with a pencil and applied a layer of transparent lip balm.
The woman in the mirror had fine laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, some scars from adolescence on her cheeks that had faded to almost invisibility, and some stubborn little freckles.
This face was proof of my struggles, pain, and insecurities.
It was also the medal of my final reconciliation with myself.
"I have never been as ready as I am now," I turned around and said to Leo.
He gazed at me, those deep eyes filled with what seemed like all the starlight in the universe. "You're so beautiful it takes my breath away, Jules."
The red carpet was an ocean of flashing lights and screams.
I held onto Leo's arm, and with each step, I could feel countless cameras mercilessly shooting at us. In the past, this would have been my nightmare. I would have panicked, instinctively tried to hide my face with my hair, and silently prayed to become invisible.
But now, I straightened my back.
I could hear some reporters whispering.
"Is that Juliet Lim? From 'Interstellar Bishop'?"
"My God, she's almost bare-faced..."
"Her skin... but she looks... confident?"
I ignored those voices. I just held Leo's hand tightly, smiling, looking ahead. The spotlights felt like warm sunshine, not swords of judgment. I no longer needed makeup as armor, because my inner strength was enough.
When the host announced the winner for "Best Makeup and Hairstyling Design," my heart skipped a beat.
《Interstellar Bishop》.
We won.
My team and I embraced each other, screaming, laughing, and walking onto the stage with tears in our eyes. I stood in the spotlight, holding that heavy, cold little golden statue representing the highest honor, looking at the sea of people below.
I found Leo in the crowd. He sat there, not applauding, just quietly watching me, his eyes filled with pride and love enough to melt everything.
In that moment, I understood that what I had truly conquered wasn't anything else, but that little girl who once cried in front of the mirror and hated herself.
After the award ceremony, we declined all the extravagant celebration parties. Leo took off his crisp suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, while I kicked off those painful high heels and walked barefoot with him on the empty Los Angeles streets in the early morning.
The street lamps stretched our shadows very long.
"We should go buy some junk food to celebrate," I said, waving the Oscar trophy in my hand.
"A woman holding a little gold man wants to go eat Mexican burritos?" he said with a laugh.
"This is real life, Mr. Vance," I replied.
The morning sunlight finally broke through the horizon, golden light flooding the entire street. The sun shone on my face, revealing those freckles and tiny scars clearly under the light, like unique markers on a map.
Leo stopped in his tracks. He said nothing, just reached out his hand and gently caressed a shallow scar on my cheek with his fingertip. It was from when I accidentally cut myself with a tool while making a monster's tooth model.
His gesture was full of cherishing and tenderness.
Then, he lowered his head, kissed my forehead, and then kissed my lips.
I looked up at him, facing the brilliant California sunshine, and broke into a big smile.
In this smile, there wasn't the slightest hint of pretense or timidity, only genuine and radiant beauty overflowing from the depths of the soul.
