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Simon walked through the corridors of the bustling studio. The day was done and the episode was a success, even the producer seemed happy. He felt the excess energy conjured for the show pour of him and seep onto the floor. He couldn’t wait to go home to his boyfriend and recharge with a hot bath and maybe a book.
That’s when he noticed her.
Amy Winehouse, sitting alone in her dressing room, staring at her drink contemplatively. Her thick black hair, and dark tattoo markings contrasting with her pale white skin. She was pretty. Even under the harsh lights, smudged makeup and wild hair, could you ever hide those big wide eyes and angular features.
“Amy?” he blurted out questioningly. It was a miracle she was still here. The rest of the talent were all probably gone by this point. Yet here sat an international superstar, sitting alone like the last child to get picked up from school.
She flinched out of her reverie at the sound of her name. “Alright Simon?” she said and to his dismay, knocked back her drink in one gulp.
“What are you still doing here?” he asked, ignoring the twinge of sadness he felt in his chest.
Amy held his gaze for a moment, her face completely unreadable for a second, before breaking into a wide grin.
“I told you I didn’t want it to end, didn’t I?” she said laughingly.
He grinned stupidly. When he’d first met her he’d actually formed a bit of a crush on her. This loudmouthed, intelligent gorgeous, Jewish girl, with a bright happy smile who could sing like an angel, cuss like a sailor and drink anyone under the table. A girl he convinced, (pretty easily) to throw a rock at a Dido poster on national television.
Amy kept giggling and swaying as she looked into her empty glass mournfully. That’s when he noticed the empty bottle perched behind her, previously filled to the brim with golden liquid.
He missed that girl.
He watched her, as she slipped into internalised delirium, her small form seeming to struggle under the pressure of her own body weight. That was the problem wasn’t it. She was still there, sitting right in front of him. Still everything he remembered, loud, cranky and beautifully talented.
But there was just…less of her.
“Guess you found that drink after all”, he said. The tone were light, but the words tasted bitter in his mouth.
“Leave it out” she said, sighing. They’d been over this, on air and off.
“It’s a bit hard when it’s right in front of me” he replied.
“Let it die, please Simon” she said, before fiddling with the glass. “It might be easier without the cameras”, she said so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.
He felt himself step back in shock. The words cut deeper than he thought they would.
“I’m sorry…about all…I just want you to…It’s just my jo-”
“Just leave it out Simon” she said angrily. “Just fuck off!”.
There was so much more he wanted to say to her: you need to stop Amy, this is getting out of control Amy, just leave him Amy, you need to get better Amy, before this…before this kills you Amy. There was so much he wanted to say, wanted to do, wanted to stop.
Instead he turned towards the door and didn’t say a word.
“It was nice to see you again Amy” he said at last. Walking out of the room before she had a chance to answer.
“Wait”, he heard a voice call out.
Simon turned to see Amy jogging towards him, before he could ask what she was doing. She crashed into him and wrapped her arms around him in an affectionate hug. The momentum of her body pressing onto his made a thudding sound, and he let out a surprised laugh that echoed through the room. Warmth enveloped him and he sagged almost instantly into her body. She was so warm, so little. He wanted to pick her up and spin her around, but he didn’t dare spoil the moment. Instead he let his body melt into hers. Her grip was strong, one arm around his middle and the other across his shoulders holding his neck.
“Don’t forget. In another life, we would’ve been married”, she whispered into his ear.
“I’m holding you to that” he replied. In that moment never wanting to let her go.