I sighed, massaged my face with the palms of my hands.

I'd had a friend in college who'd complained whenever I did that because he thought it looked like I almost poked my eyeballs out. I hadn't been able to stop anyway. It felt good, pressing my fingertips over my eyes through my eyelids after having sneaked them under my glasses. I did that now before I put my elbows on the table in front of me, tied my fingers together, leaned my lips on my thumbs.

I was looking at my laptop screen which I had put on a desk in a room in the library. I was trying to convince myself I was here and not in the privacy of my own home because I needed a change of surroundings, that it was good to come out but who was I kidding; I was here because I hoped to see Izuna. The same reason why I had previously gone to try to find more books about pottery, casting glances at the study rooms on that floor while I pretended to be engrossed in my search. The same reason why I, when I realised I'd read them all, walked down to every other floor to see if I could find other books about anything, casting glances on the study rooms there as well. 

Now, I had chosen the room where me and Izuna had talked the first time in the hope that he would come find me instead, and was now trying to convince myself I wasn't constantly looking out the glass walls in the hope to see him arriving.

He didn't arrive.

I continued my Internet search on my laptop which I had brought because the things I searched should definitely be searched on a library computer. And I felt a pang of something that took away at least the edge of what I was feeling regarding Izuna; hope. I felt hope. 

I had searched for consent in the porn industry, and was surprised to find a lot of material. There was a movement building that was all for the consent-giving at porn shoots, websites and social media accounts that talked about it openly, that filmed what happened when the actors talked about their preferences and dislikes before a shoot so their co-stars would know, that posted well-made digital posters that were incredibly informative. I was fascinated. There was only one problem, one theme that went like a red thread through all of the directors partaking.

Those directors were unknown and seemed unable to climb up in the rankings.

I wondered why that was. Was it because without consent, the directors could ask for exactly what they wanted, thus creating their original vision without any disturbances of actors saying no? Was it because there was a correlation between kindness and lack of skill? Or was it all coincidence? Something else entirely? I didn't know. No matter what, I thought I had the capacity to change things, not only because of my stardom, but also because of my skills. I knew I was good in arts, and in college I had been part of the filming society, creating artful and abstract pieces of work that had even won awards.

I had never heard of a porn star starting to direct, but I knew the concept would be seen as interesting, that people would catch on. If I then sat down with the actors before each set and talked, and filmed it and made how I worked available online, I might change some things. Some fundamental things.

I found some contact details, dialled a number. I wanted to see how it worked with my own eyes. A director answered the number I had called, and I explained who I was, what I wanted from them and why. We decided a time to meet which suited us both.

In a week, I would see my first consented porn shoot.

It was truly empowering. What they did.

I had introduced myself alongside the director, his assistants and the stars. The stars then went over what they liked but, and maybe most importantly, what they didn't like. When they began filming, I found I was nervous, never having watched people having sex for cameras without participating myself before. But it was fine, not at all arousing but rather educative. I saw how the co-stars worked hard to cater for the other's desires and dislikes, how they asked questions and even laughed together. When I imagined myself in that situation I didn't feel excited or hungry as I usually did but rather calm and competent, maybe a feeling more suitable for work.

"Thank you for doing this."

I turned. The director was a girl, thirty-five or so, with shoulder-length, brown hair in a style that made me think she had once buzzed it and let it grow. She was curvy with glasses and gave all in all a very nerdy impression. I would never in a million years have guessed she was a porn director. Well, I would never in a million years have guessed I was into pottery, either, so who was I to judge.

"It was my pleasure", I said.

"No, I'm serious." She looked at her actors lovingly. "I've been working so hard for this. My social media accounts are getting more and more attention, and porn stars who've been traumatised but don't want to quit are contacting me, wanting to film with me. It's incredible." She looked at me. "Would you like to film for me? I mean, I know you're, like, super-famous..."

I smiled at how flustered she was. Was she starstruck?

"I have to decline."

"I understand, I-" she began.

"But-" I interrupted. "It's not because I don't want to film with you as a director. I just want to put participating in films on the shelf for a while. What I do want to do, however, is direct." She gaped a little. "Not because it's my passion, but because I believe I, like you, can make a difference."

"That would be amazing", she said.

"Thank you for this", I said.

But as I left the Air BnB where we'd filmed, I knew there was something else I needed to do.

I went directly to my flat, opened the door. I filled a jug with water, started watering my plants which I knew was a way to make time pass so I didn't have to do what I knew I had to do. I sighed as I watered my cactus, which I probably did too much.

"Maybe, I don't have to do it, you know?" I told Betty. She looked up at me from her bed. "Maybe, what I've done is enough. Nobody would blame me if I didn't. But still..." I didn't really want to keep talking, but Betty was looking at me so expectantly I felt I had to. "It's not for anyone else and it doesn't have to be. It's for myself. I need to see the other side. I need to see what truly happens on set, normally. I'm part of the problem I've decided to fix, and I wouldn't feel morally just if I didn't expose myself."

At this, Betty lay down again, as if she was satisfied with my conclusion. I sighed, took up my phone, and before I even had time to think, I had dialled his number.

"My star!" I was greeted.

"Hi, Will", I said. I was surprised at how dead my voice sounded. "If I said I wanted to become a director, would you let me come with you to a set and watch?" I didn't say it was because I wanted to see how not to do. "Not as an actor but as your apprentice."

"Anyone else, yes", Will said. "But you, no. Why would I help a potential competitor?" 

"I'll pay you."

We agreed on a date and time. 

I heard a sound I recognised vaguely.

Look... Come on, SEE!

It was futile; my vision was completely black.

I tried my uttermost to distinguish what was in front of me, really focus on shapes and shadows but it was impossible. My mind was buzzing, as if it was an old TV and someone was messing with the antenna.

I gave up. Instead, I tried to focus on that sound I recognised, that familiar soft sound. Rhythmical. Soothing. It took me a while to realise the sound came from me; it was my own ragged breathing. My throat tasted of blood and it felt as if though someone had tried to claw its way out of it; I had been screaming.

I can feel! I couldn't see but I could hear and I could feel. I felt the ground beneath my feet, clad in socks but free of shoes. Two sensations. The pain in my throat and the wooden floor beneath my feet. One sound. My panting. I should try to find a second sound to balance things out, I decided. Two of each; sensation and sound. I focussed, ignoring the panic that was rising up within me that I believed was what caused my temporary blindness.

And I heard it. Silently at first, as if it was far, far away, but then closer and closer. Someone crying. Someone was crying as if they were dying. As if they were in immense pain and needed to be saved. And they weren't at all far away but very, very close, actually in the same room as me. 

And they needed help now.

This realisation made something in my brain snap. I could see bursts of light through the curtain of blindness, the blackness slowly dissolving and ebbing away from the middle and out.

I recognise this room...

My own living room, with its white walls and shelves.

But it looked like a war zone. There were ceramic splinters everywhere. The wooden floor was covered in soil from the pots, the plants that had been thriving there spread all over the floor. Some shelves had fallen down. One shelf was even cracked in two. There was a crack in a wall as well, with a hole in the middle that was suspiciously fist-shaped.

Someone had gone berserk in here.

And there was the crying. A scream-crying that was turning my blood into ice, that made my soul try to escape from my body to the skies because it couldn't handle the heartbreak.

And the source of that crying was in the corner, curled up into a ball, protecting his head.

Izuna...

What was he doing in my apartment?

I looked down on my hands. They were covered in blood. I looked at Izuna, trembling, in an oversized black hoodie and baggy black jeans.

"Izuna, my love..." I murmured, walking to him.

He screamed then, pulled himself closer to the wall.

And suddenly, Betty, my beautiful, beautiful Betty stood in front of Izuna, her face to me, hissing at me.

She was protecting Izuna.

She was protecting Izuna from me.

What's going on?

I looked down on my hands. Covered in blood.

And suddenly, it dropped on me what had happened.

I was the one who had gone berserk in here.

I was the one who had created the war zone.

A sliver of Izuna's ashen face was visible under his tousled hair, and to my horror I saw his cheek was covered in blood.

"I hurt you..." I said.

Izuna stood up then, and slowly, slouched down, he dragged himself along the walls of my living room, as far away from me as he could get, Betty constantly protecting him, until he reached the hallway and could run to the front door.

Izuna opened the door, closed it behind him, and left.

Betty walked into the bathroom and did the one thing to make me realise how much she hated me now; she hid behind my washing machine. Betty was terrified of the washing machine, and she knew that I knew. She wanted to show me how much she loathed me by openly preferring her greatest fear above me.

I hid my face in my hands and sat down on the floor, trying to analyse the situation, but it was simple. I had lost control and hurt Izuna.

And I had no idea why.

Because I had no memory of it at all.