For a brief moment, Anson's mind went blank. He couldn't react, suddenly realizing that Hollywood was crazier than he had ever imagined.
This time, Anson didn't hide his expression.
Brad noticed. He spread his hands, a bitter smile on his face.
"You can be as shocked or surprised as you want; I don't mind. Because I also think I'm beyond help."
He chuckled softly.
Before speaking, Brad had felt it was a disgrace. He had hoped to bury these feelings forever, praying that the assistant wouldn't tell anyone, wishing to take these secrets to the grave. But once he started talking, it wasn't as hard as he'd thought. Instead, he felt a sense of relief. Unconsciously, the secrets broke free.
He needed this release.
"It's not over."
"I felt humiliated, so I questioned the assistant, asking why she didn't respond to my messages. At the very least, she could have replied with a voice or text message. Maybe I'm a lunatic, but work-related communication should be responded to."
"She said she doesn't work on weekends; she has her personal life."
"She said that she may be insignificant, but she refuses to be enslaved by work. From Monday to Friday, 24/7, she's on call, always busy. So on weekends, she has the right to turn off her phone, computer, and email, to handle these matters later."
"Those producers and directors are all on vacation, partying, having fun. She refuses to sell her life to those demons from hell."
"Hah, haha."
"She has her own life."
"Obviously, she didn't want to deal with an actor's meltdown over the weekend."
As he laughed, the laughter suddenly ceased, leaving an unexpected silence.
"Anson, I'm sick."
"And it's serious. I need help."
Finishing his sentence, Brad tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his facial muscles were stiff, unable to laugh or cry. His brows contorted, revealing a hint of helplessness and bitterness.
The sunlight was still bright.
The sky, still vast.
Brad quietly bathed in the light, yet was more vulnerable than ever, as if the golden light might consume and destroy him at any moment. His desolation and bewilderment spread silently in the air.
Sometimes, Anson found it hard to tell whether they were victors or victims of the fame game. Or perhaps they were both.
Anson didn't speak, because he didn't know what to say, nor was he sure if he could help—
Or if he even should.
Brad rubbed his temples, taking a deep breath.
"I don't know. I don't know myself. I feel like a lunatic."
"This is everything I wanted, or at least I thought it was. But in the end, I have no idea what I really want. I just..."
Anson exhaled softly, "You want to be the most famous actor in the world, so everyone will love you, adore you, worship you, and remember you forever. But at the same time, they fear you and never criticize you, because they always have to look up to you."
Brad stared at Anson, stunned.
Anson continued, "I'm the same."
"There's no difference between us. This is the life we crave, tirelessly climbing to the top of the fame mountain, going higher and higher until we're all alone."
Anson wasn't judging from a high horse. He didn't think he was particularly noble or proud.
Abruptly, Brad broke down, his shoulders slumping heavily.
"But at some point, I—I don't know—I suddenly lost everything."
"No friends."
"I miss you, I miss Chris, I miss James. I miss the version of myself who, despite being furious at Hayden's abrupt departure, still believed in friendship."
"Anson, I want to find myself again."
His words were incoherent and unclear.
Perhaps, as Brad said, he didn't know what he was yearning for or searching for. He was lost, deeply trapped in darkness.
Brad raised his hand, rubbing his eyes in distress, trying to hide his sadness and struggle. He forced a smile.
"Anson, I miss my friends."
All along, Brad had been chasing, running at full speed, never truly stopping to reflect on himself:
Is this really what you want?
"I want to sit in the backyard with you all afternoon, chatting idly. I want to spend time with real people in real life. I want to grasp something real."
"Not a fleeting reputation or a group of people who flatter each other but forget one another as soon as they turn away."
"I want..."
He took a deep breath.
"I want to sit down. I want to know what you've been up to lately. What about Chris? Are you still single? Does James still change partners every day? I strongly suspect he has an addiction."
"Anson, I miss the old life."
The words seemed unfinished, but Brad didn't continue. They hung in the air, neither up nor down, full of melancholy.
Under Brad's gaze, Anson exhaled softly, a mix of emotions swirling on the tip of his tongue, difficult to articulate.
"...Thank you."
Anson said.
"Thank you for being honest, Brad. I really needed this moment."
"You know, I've always believed that life is long and lonely. We come into this world alone and leave it alone."
"On this journey, we meet all sorts of people. Some are strangers who pass by, some are enemies we never get along with, and some are like-minded friends who walk beside us."
"But the point is, we will eventually part."
"For various reasons, even the closest companions can only accompany us for part of the journey, and then we continue on our own paths. Ultimately, we need to complete this journey alone."
"Life, in the end, is lonely."
"But."
Anson paused, the smile at the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"But there's a difference. Some people walk with us longer than others."
"I sincerely hope our journey together can be longer. Remember when Hayden left without a word, and Chris and I stood there guessing, predicting the worst while reassuring ourselves it wouldn't happen?"
"Back then, I thought we'd keep walking together. The world of fame is such a lonely place."
"Later, I feared you'd become one of those friends who only walked with me for a short time before parting ways. I didn't want you to be just a brief companion. I sincerely hoped this friendship would last a while longer."
Such simple, straightforward words struck Brad deeply.
Brad looked away awkwardly, hurriedly trying to cover up his distress and embarrassment, but he couldn't control it. His eyes reddened slightly.
"So, thank you. Thank you for coming today and saying these words."