Chapter Four: Just Another Scene
She stopped counting how many hands had touched her.
It was easier that way.
Easier to breathe.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiqC12ekci1
Easier to undress.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZH4d3jUEbn
Easier to forget.
“Maui, ready ka na?” the assistant director called out from behind the flimsy curtain.
Mia glanced at herself in the mirror. Red lips. Smoky eyes. Skin glowing under powder and sweat. The same face plastered on thumbnails across hundreds of streaming sites.
She nodded. “Coming.”
The set was cold despite the glaring lights. Her co-actor—some new guy with muscles and no lines—barely looked at her as he adjusted his robe. The script was thin. The plot was thinner. But the paycheck was heavy, and her family needed groceries this week.
“Wet look muna tayo, then we go raw emotion—intense, ha?” the director said, snapping his fingers like he was ordering food.
Mia didn’t flinch.
She’d done rougher, wilder, weirder.
Her body was trained—like a machine—to arch at the right angle, moan at the right tempo, and smile like she wanted it. No one cared about consent here. It was in the contract.
When the camera rolled, Maui came alive.
Not Mia.
Maui arched her back. Maui whispered dirty lines. Maui took the weight of a man she didn’t know and pretended she craved it.
Mia floated above them all, her mind detached, thinking about laundry, bills, and if Pia’s field trip fee had been paid. It was survival, not surrender.
“Cut!”
She pulled the robe over her shoulders quickly. Her inner thighs ached, her jaw was tight, but her expression was blank. Numb. Efficient.
“You were great, Maui,” the director praised, already looking at playback.
She didn’t smile.
She didn’t need to.
Her manager handed her a towel and an envelope. ₱25,000. Higher than usual. It was a “no cut” scene—meaning, no edits, no stops, no breaks. Real-time. Raw.
“May bago next week. Parang ‘Gonzo’ style, intimate close-ups. Interested ka ba?”
Mia didn’t answer immediately.
She checked her phone.
No load.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Z6uHmvXEF
Seven missed calls from her mom.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbKJZbvYQfR
A message from Pia: “Ate, okay lang ba kahit secondhand lang na shoes?”
She looked up.
“Send me the script,” she said.
That night, she showered for an hour. The water ran over her skin but didn’t reach the dirt inside—the kind that clung to her bones.
She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.
She wasn’t disgusted.
She wasn’t proud.
She was just… empty.
Just a girl doing what needed to be done.
Because being used wasn’t a nightmare anymore—it was a routine.
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