All language subtitles for YOU - 5x03 - Impostor Syndrome.WEB.NF.en

Previously on You…

Joe… Goldberg, right?

-What's your name?
-Bronte.

How would you like to work here?

You're giving me an apartment?
I don't sleep with married men, okay?

No, this is nothing like that.

Why is Henry talking to a cop?

Because Henry is a monster.
He broke my daughter's nose.

He can't go back to Baisley.

There are other schools more capable
of dealing with a child with needs.

Kate wants you to kill him.

I think you had Uncle Bob killed.

You wrote about murdering a man
who ended up dead.

Those pages
and all your other murder fiction

can never see the light of day.

Promise me you'll burn them.

What we did with Bob, we're never
doing anything like that again.

My conscience is clean.
I did it for our family.

…it scared me.

Are you doing this to protect us
or is there something you can't control?

Stick to the plan,
find out what Reagan knows, kill her.

I am coming for everything.

Your job. Your son.
Your pathetic fucking family.

-Boo-Boo?
-Maddie…

You caged the wrong twin.

Well, you really fucked this one up.

What… What is this?

Maddie's not your favorite,
but she's innocent.

Where the hell am I?
Joe, what did you do to me?

Quick. Before she gets her bearings.

Before she realizes who you are
and what you're capable of.

Maddie, I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Blood splatters,

painting the glass crimson.

Hacky, gratuitous,
and ultimately useless murdering,

disappearing or faking Maddie's suicide
would trigger too much suspicion.

Especially with Reagan
already scrutinizing you.

And killing both twins
would just be a tonnage issue.

Think. You've done this before.

If you're so smart, why can't you
write your way out of this?

Honestly, sometimes fiction
is so much cleaner than reality.

There you are.

What the fuck? Joe, can you tell me
what I'm doing in here?

Hide your teeth. Play the fool.
Don't do anything she can't unsee.

Maddie, I messed up big time.

This is… It's all a misunderstanding.

Look, yeah, it's…

There's always been
something between us, right?

So maybe… maybe I have a little

crush on you.

And maybe I found out
you were with another guy.

And so I, you know…

Good people make dumb mistakes.

All the time, you know, jealous mistakes.

This is degrading.

If only you'd caged
the right fucking person, fucking moron.

-Joe… what the fuck is this?
-I didn't know the other guy was Harrison.

Yes, focus on her affair.
She's got something to lose here too.

So maybe if we can
pretend that this never happened,

I'm… I'm not gonna have to tell anybody

that you've been sleeping
with your twin sister's husband.

Oh, God.

And she bites. Good.

My sister was right.

Not good.

Kate had Uncle Bob killed

and you knew Reagan was on your trail

so you wanted to have her killed

and you thought I was her.

And this is where you were gonna kill her!

You sound crazy.

-You are not my Boo-Boo.
-I am your Boo-Boo.

-You are not.
-I am.

You are a fucking sociopath!

Help! Help!

Help me!

Shit. Retreat, regroup,

pray you figure out
some way this story ends

in anything, but a bloodbath.

Help!

His name is George,
and he'll talk to you about your feelings.

Why "George"? Isn't a therapist a doctor?

Well, uh, you can call him by his name.

So you both feel comfortable.

You and Kate may not agree
on everything, but in this you're united.

Henry deserves all the help he can get.

You'll do great, bub.

Now go. Shoes on.

Hey. Pay the toll.

-Daddy, stop.
-I know you're getting too old.

Thank you for getting on board.

Yeah, well, in the end
there's nothing to be afraid of.

Except for you.

Kill one asshole
and suddenly that's all your wife can see.

Are we positive we can't file
for child abuse charges against Reagan,

just to put obstacles between her
and Henry being expelled?

I'll consult with the lawyers.

Kate's grasping at straws.

You used to think her determination
to solve problems aboveboard was admirable

and now you see it's naive.

What if, uh, we…
We turn Gretchen against her mother?

Exploit another child.
Yeah, that's certainly one option.

I'd actually forgotten what it feels
like to be emasculated by Kate Lockwood.

Okay, I'm just gonna say it.
There are many good schools.

We preemptively
send little man to a new place.

He will be out of harm's way.
He will shine no matter where he is.

It would defang Reagan.

No, no, I'm sorry. We're not sending Henry
to a different school. He needs stability.

Okay. Heard.

Every minute Reagan's in our lives,
she's a threat to us.

The longer this drags,
the more danger we're in.

-Our child is in.
-I understand the situation, Joe.

-I will handle her.
-You mean "we."

I mean "I."

Why don't you spend some time
at the bookstore today?

You're so anxious about the opening.
You should put your mind to that.

-You're trying to get rid of me.
-I'm trying to protect you

from doing something
that you might regret.

Please, please, please.

Don't look at me like I'm a liability.

Prove you aren't one.
You just pitched leveraging a child.

I was spitballing.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The rejection is painful,

existential even.

Best to focus on what you can control.

You've had enough prisoners
to know hunger is the great motivator.

Morning.

I was organizing,
but I, um, got distracted.

Oh, wow. Insomnia?

Are you that frazzled? Play it off.
Keep moving. Not too urgent.

Yeah, I'm caught in a story problem.

Wrote myself into a corner.
It's writer's block, you know?

No.

Actually, I don't know.

Say more.

You don't get writer's block?

Honestly, if anything,
I have trouble stopping,

which isn't always great.

By the way, being blocked,
it's like more of a symptom than a cause.

I guess you're an overthinker.

Since when is thinking a bad thing?

I said "overthinking," which is
a classic sign of impostor syndrome.

"Oh, no.
What if I don't choose the perfect word

and they all figure out I'm a fraud? Wah!"

No judgement, obviously.

Everybody has it,
which means you're not special.

Which means
you don't have to be so precious.

Well, you know, when you're
not precious with your prose,

you get something like this.

-Uh… What happened to Ibsen?
-Oh!

Not to shock you,
but a girl can be more than one thing.

And this oldie-but-goodie,

is approximately
50% of your entire romance section.

So, what do you have against romance?

Excuse me,
I am a scholar of romantic literature.

Analysis is the opposite of enjoyment.

Oh, the passion of youth.

Unless you think I'm enjoying myself
too much instead of working,

there is an estate sale's worth
of used romance novels

at bargain basement prices
on this very day.

So…

Can I have the company credit card?
And car?

There is no company car. It's just my car.

No offense,
I don't trust you with my card.

That's fair.

Ugh! I did that to myself.

Um, okay, well, even if I could haul
all of those books from Queens myself,

I have a thing I can't miss later, so…

I guess this place
will stay decidedly unsexy.

She makes a case,
but you've got a prisoner.

Okay, yeah. Back to shelving. Got it.

No, it's… I'm sorry, it's not you.

How will you balance cage-time
with acting normal?

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to keep her away
from your prisoner for a bit.

You know what? I'll drive.

Oh, you're… coming with?

Yeah. I don't bite.

I got a project
I gotta check on downstairs.

Mind emptying the trunk for me?

Maddie…

I'm glad you're calmer.

I think I've found a way out of this.

I need dirt.

On Reagan.

The kind of thing that would ruin her life
and stop her from ruining ours.

The kind of thing
that only a twin would know.

And if you give me that…

then we can start rebuilding trust.

Maddie?

I was just a week shy of 16.

And Pôrto Seguro was supposed to have
one of the nicest beaches in Brazil.

So Daddy flew me, Rae,
and a few of our friends down

for this birthday party.

Okay, here it comes. The dirt.

And one night, Reagan got really drunk,

and she hooked up with her bodyguard,
and I was, like, so jealous.

Everybody else went to bed,
but I was super drunk on Gatorita

and I didn't even hear the footsteps
in the sand. Just… pain.

And then I woke up in a chicken shack.

Hands and feet zip-tied.

Sequestradores.

Where is this going?

This isn't an original, you know?

Reconstruction.

Chefe Breno needed something
to mail Daddy for the ransom.

But Breno had a thing for me.

Yeah, I wasn't just some rich girl.

He hated the whole abduction racket,

and he really, really wanted
to get out of it, but didn't know how.

And then one day, I asked him,

"How do you say, 'I forgive you,'
in Portuguese?"

And then he broke down in my arms.

And I cradled him like a baby.

That was the day I turned 16.

Breno shot himself in the head
three days later.

And I walked myself back to the beach.

The FBI had never seen anything like it.

-You're bluffing.
-Daddy bought me a new ear.

I made sure
nobody ever spoke about it again.

But some nights, you know,
right before the Ambien kicks in,

I wonder,
why did I have to go through all of that?

And now I know.

To prepare me for this.

Don't let her get in your head.
Use your leverage.

And be that as it may.

If you don't cooperate,
you don't get to eat.

That's your big play?

Aw, Boo-Boo.

Every minute you starve me, I get hotter.

And I know that if you could kill me,
you already would have.

Shit, she's reading you like a book.

Oh! And I guess you forgot I take insulin.

You're gonna have to go
fetch my little shots.

Otherwise things are gonna get
really messy in here.

Congrats on getting me
in your cute, little box.

But make no mistake, Boo-Boo.

You are the hostage here.

Fortunately, New York's one big pharmacy.

Maddie's insulin wasn't hard to come by.

Might be the twist your story needs.

She thinks
you're just gonna give it to her.

You'll bring her to the brink. Of death.

Force her to turn on Reagan.

-He prefers cash. Hundreds are fine.
-Ah, I didn't bring any.

Okay, um, let's go to an ATM.

Oh, so she can see your PIN?

Ugh. Joe.

-I'll push for Zelle.
-Thank you.

Bronte's alarmingly good
at getting what she wants.

You being here at all.
Re-hiring her after her basement break-in.

Her questions…

Why are you so suspicious of her?

Maybe because
you've known Maddie for years

and somehow completely underestimated her.

10% of you still think she's bluffing.

This is Kate Lockwood, leave a message.

Hey…

I, uh… I did some Reddit lurking,
if it helps the cause,

and this sounds insane,
but has Maddie ever been taken?

Like, by a… By not a rehab specialist?

It's probably a dumb Internet rumor.
I don't know. Call me.

Has a more impotent message
ever been left?

-Bye, honey.
-Ooh.

Little voicemail? How married of you.

Is that a married thing?

So you and the missus… Let's see.

Romance tropes.

Gotta be, like,
a "grumpy-sunshine" pairing, right?

You think I'm the sunshine type?

Uh, no. You would obviously be the grump,

but you've… You've tipped your hand now.

Two grumps.

No, Kate and I…

How we met was more enemies-to-lovers.

Oh! I love.

It's like anger and passion.
Slippery slope.

I have talked him
into credit and a discount,

because he recognizes you.

It's funny how the richer you are,

the more people
want to throw money at you.

Skip the discount and make the card
groan under the heft of the haul.

Oh. Charitable of you.

Uh, we need to make two trips.
Your car's too small.

Two grumps.
Your marriage can't be that blah, can it?

Henry can't be the only thing
that's kept you solid for three years.

And yet here you are,
sneaking around behind your wife's back,

hoping to fix your Maddie snafu
before Kate finds out.

While you, uh, grab the last box,

mind if I spend time
repairing the Frost manuscript?

Yeah.

You know…

Do you know who's lovely,
dark and deep, Joe?

Parts of our protagonist Calliope here?

-Calliope?
-Mm-hmm.

I think that you can learn something here.

No? Fine. TLDR.

Maximus brushes a lock of hair
from Calliope's face.

And that face, yeah,
he's missed so badly, right?

So she… bites her lip.

And then he has to kiss her,
of course, because lip bite.

And then something quivers,
and then more things quiver.

And then he shoves her.

Harder than he should.

But she pulls him in,

and she purrs in his ear.

And then he growls.

-Hmm?
-He growls?

-Mm-hmm.
-Respectfully, people don't purr or growl.

Women don't just flip their hair,

and men don't push women
against door frames

or whip their belts off
in kink-beckoning ways.

I'm aware that the Internet
has its idea of romance. Thank you.

I purr.

I'll… have to take your word for it.

Really? You're just gonna let me win
an argument in the lamest way possible?

-No, let's, um… Let's do this.
-What?

Hairbrush, lip bite, combo.

Right now. Let's do it.
Put it to the test. Hmm?

Okay, fastest way to put this to bed…

-Fine.
-Okay. I'm ready.

-Okay, so I just…
-On the face, here we go, right off.

All right, all right.

Huh.

I hope you took notes.

It's gimmicky, still not my style.

Okay.

You mind if I just take these 15?
You go get the box?

Gentle reminder,
she's your younger employee.

Don't be that guy.

Did you get to talk about your, uh,
your outbursts?

A little. George thinks
what I'm feeling is normal.

He said that?

Yep.

Well, good.

'Cause he's right.

Incoming! Juicy gossip.

Henry, game time. One hour, max.

Go.

You heard your mom. Go save the princess.

Tell me someone squealed on Reagan.

The personal accountant
you sent me to. Kudos.

Please tell me it's embezzlement.

It's embezzlement! Mm-hmm.

Oh! We love a brazen cash grab.

-Mm-hmm.
-And at a moment like this?

-Okay, say nothing.
-Mm-hmm.

I want to be looking in that cow's eyes
when I deliver the death blow.

-You want me to loop in Joe?
-No.

What, are you worried
he'll strangle her himself?

He's just angry. That's all.

Of course.

Ah, shit. The insulin withdrawal
is working faster than you'd planned.

Leverage her now.

You're not looking so hot.

Hey…

I got your shot.

So if you want it…

let's talk.

Joe. Please.

Glucose. Spiking.

I can't feel my toesies.

I mean,
do you even know how insulin works?

That's funny. My understanding

is that pretty soon your discomfort
turns into the real threat of dying.

Which is the thing
that you cannot let happen.

Wow.

So you disappear for a few hours
and this is what you come back with?

Did Kate sign off on this?

Even Maddie knows your wife disapproves.

Oh. Okay. That's a no.

But I lowkey love for you
this sad attempt at an ultimatum.

Kate and I are partners.

You're a sort of
soft-boy misogynist, right?

Control-hungry goblin
under a nice-guy smile?

The prince of polite
projecting "so dang supportive"

while coveting your wifey's power.

You couldn't be more wrong.
My marriage is not on trial here.

And yet I haven't seen
any Architectural Digest tours

of this cozy glass torture den.

It's for books.

Oh, so we are in the bookstore
that Kate is paying for.

This place is mine!

And once upon a time
it did hold more than books.

Not many people have made it.

Not many people
have seen this side of me and lived.

So fucking listen to me when I tell you

you need me
if you want to get out of here.

What is a tortured psychopath doing

tootling around like Kate's
neutered, purse dog?

Enjoy ketoacidosis.

Oh!

Aw, Boo-Boo did do research!

Can't believe you're
in a stalemate with Maddie.

If there is such a thing as a muse,
please, you could use some ideas.

Okay, that's the last of them.

You can, uh, like,
GPS yourself back to Mooney's, right?

You want me to leave you here?

It's later than I thought
and I have that thing.

It's only ten blocks away.

It's ten blocks. Let me drive you, please.

I… I wouldn't be caught dead showing up
to a dirtbag, literary salon in a car,

let alone your car.

"Dirtbag, literary salon?"

Uh, yes. We do it monthly.

It's like we get together,
read stuff we're working on.

It's loftier than an open mic,
but hornier than an author's reading.

Plus drugs,
I don't think it would be your scene.

At least let me walk you.

All right… Prince Chivalry.

-Just looking out for my employee.
-Mm-hmm.

This is what passes
for a literary salon in Bronte's world?

Not exactly the Algonquin Round Table,

the stench of sweat alone,

echoes of improv shows
and open mic poetry readings past.

Every meme-hungry,
no-shit conspiracy theorist

needs to believe this.

All this is a side quest that the…

What could be
better for your writer's block

than seeing a bunch of non-perfectionists

presenting their deeply flawed work
with fiery self-assurance?

So you're saying it's bad?

I said it's flawed.

It's navel-gazy.

It's, like, faux-hemian
shout into the void,

but… it's passionate.

Hey, you!

Hey, you.

I'm still not sure
how you got diagnosed as "passionless."

Every time she talks about your writing

it's like
she's talking about your marriage.

And right now both are blocked.

So why not open your mind?

…your own dead-eyed lives.

Is irony the only currency
of our generation?

Look at him,
baring his soul for all to see.

Come on, you're not a real writer.

Kate read your words.

Your vulnerable, messy fantasies
and told you to burn them.

Maybe that's what hurts so much.

Your wife is repulsed
by the most authentic part of you.

Behold the city of industry
that devours life itself.

-If you're really fucking successful…
-Hey, sorry. Bye.

When I was six, my dad…

Hey, uh, you stay, have fun.

I just, uh…
I forgot I have a thing, I have to go.

-Whoa, whoa, seriously?
-I, uh--

Wow… Hello, Bronte.

Great. Who's this guy?
And why she's so desperate to avoid him?

Joe, this is Clayton.

We used to fuck.

If you broke his elbow
you could shove that fist up his ass.

Joe.

Hey, bro, I know who you are.

Sweet upgrade. Gotta teach the rest of us
how to beguile a patron.

"Patron." Hmm. Sometimes you do feel
like a walking bank to her.

It's easy. Just get a job.

I thought you were in Vermont,

woodshedding your
"personal essay collection."

I finished early. It turns out I just
needed to admit I was the main character.

Says the walking footnote.

I'll be reading one tonight.

Sorry, but we've got a rule.

You can't watch if you don't share.

People are opening up veins in here,
you know?

-No vampires.
-Yeah, we were just leaving.

Ooh! But you already watched.

At least he did, and you're not a writer,
are you, Prince Charming?

No. He's not.

She's just trying
to keep you out of it, but ouch.

Then it looks like
you're up, "Brontosaurus."

I think I've got an old draft

of one of your little
dirty post-feminist one-acts.

Fuck, no. Clay, I shared those
with you in confidence.

Hey, I didn't make the rules.

Dare I ask what constitutes
a dirty post-feminist one-act?

You're about to find out.

It kills you to see her like this.

You wouldn't mind giving him
a face tattoo with a dull pencil.

Hmm, shit that's good. Bronte's right.
Inspiration everywhere.

"Aren't you ever afraid of it?
Your animal side?"

"I prefer to let my instincts guide me."

Poor Bronte.

Nobody wants
their early drafts read out loud,

let alone an out-of-context sex scene.

"I want you to come on me."

"I want you on my lips, my chest.
I want to drown in you."

All right, this isn't Mortified,
you fucking vultures.

Clayton, you…
God, you are such a narcissistic asshole.

Relax. She can take care of herself.

You know, I didn't agree to share,

but, um, I wouldn't expect you
to give a shit about consent.

Oh!

Strong attempt at being interesting.

You know, it's amazing the lengths
some people need to go to

in order to be relevant.

-Oh!
-Like calling yourself Bronte.

Hey, moneybags,

did you know her real name is Louise?

What?

Louise Flannery,
accredited dental hygienist from Ohio.

Picked the most "writerly" name she could

before she moved to the Big Apple
to start her big, bohemian life.

-Then she stole from me for months.
-No way.

Impossible.
Are you being grifted after all?

And you thought you were the impostor.

Reagan?

Reagan, there's no avoiding me, you--

Oh. Harrison. Trip with the boys?

No, I won't try to explain.

I'd love it if you did.

What does my side matter, Kate?
She's gonna control the story.

Kate…

Just perfect.

Oh, Gretchen would
love to see her favorite auntie,

but, uh, she's upstairs crying over
her daddy's incest-tinged infidelity.

Wait, what insanity is this now?

I got a call yesterday.

Security found Harrison half-naked,
locked in the supply closet at the office.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

Who with?

Madison's phone was on the floor.

Bitch must have run for the hills.

Fuck.

Wait, so…
Oh, that's why she's avoiding Teddy and I.

I'm sorry.

Are you still angling
for Teddy's stupid board seat…

-No, no. I didn't know. I didn't know.
-…at a time like this?

God, we are all
just like Dad at heart, aren't we?

Oh, no. Well, you more than me.

-Excuse me?
-Well, that's why you're CEO, isn't it?

He raised you to be a shark.

You love a little blood in the water.

I sometimes think
that you don't know me at all.

Oh, fine. I don't know
anything about anyone.

They've been going behind my back
for years, Katie. Years.

That is… That's gutting, Rae,
I'm really… I'm so sorry.

-Will you and Harrison--
-Oh, I am divorcing him.

Oh, and he better buckle the fuck up.

My fucking twin? Nobody humiliates me.

Nobody who lives to see the next day.

I'm sorry… that I've been

such a monster lately.

I think somewhere I must have
sensed something was going to blow up.

I'm sorry.

I mean, of course you'd come a bit undone.

Can we at least agree to
keep the kids out of this?

-You're using my trauma against me?
-Okay.

All right, let me rephrase that.

Leave the kids out of it

or your trauma will be the front page
of The Post tomorrow morning.

Fine.

I will fix things with the school.

Thank you.

I appreciate it.

As badly as you wanted
to chase Bronte down,

Maddie's insulin is more urgent.

wait much longer,
and she'll be too incoherent

to extract much of anything.

She really does have you hostage.

-Hey.
-Hello.

I was just wondering when you're
en route. It's been quite a day.

I'm packing right now.

Okay, well,
I managed to sort things for Henry.

Reagan is dropping the charges.

That's fantastic.

And massive news.

Harrison and Madison have been
carrying on a longstanding affair.

Wow.

You don't sound surprised.

Shit. Cover.

Yeah, I think I'm stunned.

Yeah, same.

He's leaving.

Divorce in the works.

Maddie must be in hiding.

I wish I had more to tell,

but I could hardly get a word in
through Reagan's crying.

That doesn't sound like Reagan.

What about her other threat to us?

Just give it time.
I'm… I'm working on her.

Time is on Reagan's side, not ours.

Let's chat when you get home.

Okay.

Fine.

Reagan's just buying time

to find something
irrefutably damning from our past.

Kate's aversion to violence
is going to cost you everything.

What is she trying to prove?

However, the outing of an affair.

Hell of a plot device, used properly.

There is one upside to Reagan
knowing about her sister and Harrison.

Is this inspiration?

It could be tropey, but don't overthink.

I can see
your body's finally working against you.

You're lucky I have news.

The kind that will
solve both of our problems.

Really?

Reagan knows about the affair.

She's filing for divorce.

No more hiding.

That means you and Harrison are free
to run away together as in vanish,

disappear to some tropical forever after.

I'm not your enemy, Maddie.

If you get your happy ending
and I was a part of making it happen,

we can go our separate ways.

Reagan found out?

Oh, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no.

I threatened to out your affair before
and you didn't flinch.

I was bluffing!

Maddie, this is good. The worst is over.

No, no, no. The worst is not over.

It is still coming.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Oh, my God.

Do you really think
that Harrison and I didn't think

about running away already together?

I mean, my God. No way!
She would destroy us! Oh!

What happened to expert hostage girl?

You can't seriously be
more afraid of Reagan than dying.

Yes, I can.

There are prenups, Joe,

and then there are
death sentences in legalese.

Oh, Reagan,
she's going to take everything.

Oh, my God, and Harrison, he's just like
a dead man walking.

And Gretchen…
Oh, God, poor, poor Gretchen.

We'll never see her again.
My baby, oh, my baby, my baby.

Is Gretchen yours?

Well, not legally.

But I carried Gretchen in my own belly.

Reagan bullied me into being her surrogate

because she didn't
want to get all stretched out.

And I said yes.

I thought that maybe, you know,
it would be like Harrison and me.

We would be
having a baby together, you know?

God, and Reagan.
God, she fucking knew how I felt.

She knew how I fucking felt!

And she conned me into it!

I'm so pathetic.

No happy endings. Not for me.

There are fates worse than death.

You might as well kill me.

You still can't,

but now you don't even want to.

A writer has empathy
for all his characters.

Even the pathetic ones.

You're out of leverage. Out of ideas.

Take this.

You've never felt more off your game.

What else is waiting
to bite you in the ass?

Might as well see
what dark secrets lurk in Bronte's past.

Louise Flannery.
Part-time dental hygienist.

Seven years. Okay, boring.
Her asshole ex said she stole from him,

but could have just been vindictive.

Her LinkedIn shows
a leave of absence before New York.

After a long battle with lung cancer,
survived by daughter, Louise, 27.

She lost her mom. Sad. Reasonable.

An out-of-date Goodreads. Good taste.

This you knew. Beck.

Your big revelation's
not exactly a "gotcha moment."

Everybody read Beck's book.

Bronte… Louise already told you

she read Sherry and Cary's
self-aggrandizing trash.

Either Louise lived a pretty basic life
and moved here to chase a dream.

Or… she is using you.

Only one way to find out.

Bronte?

I, uh… I guess I owe you
another explanation.

No, no. Not for that asshole's sake.

You know, um…

Clayton's right.

I talk a big game, but I'm a fraud.

I was so desperate when I moved here.

No friends. I burned through my savings.

I actually thought that I would just,
like, write some plays

and people would pay to see them.

Delulu.

I, um… I fell for Clayton hard.

And I believed him
when he said that he would help me.

And now I owe him a lot of money.

All a gift, of course,
until I stopped fucking him.

He's the reason that I…

No, uh, I'm the reason. I…

I lie.

Over and over. Just… I'm just so…

Ashamed.

I know something about wanting
to start over and be someone new.

Oh. Seems to have worked out for you.

Yeah, it wasn't easy.

There are days I… I miss the old me.

-When I had less to lose.
-Less to lose, yeah.

Well, you weren't just laughed at by
a theater full of your peers.

"I want to drown in you"? Fuck.

I thought that shit
was so hot when I wrote it.

Now all I picture is,
like, a tidal wave of cum.

I don't even know
if I wanna be a playwright.

No, no, no. Don't…
Don't let one cum wave stop you.

This is your dream.

It's a dream.

And I, um…

My mom died a few years ago.

I was her sole caretaker for five years.

Five horrible, monotonous years.

And at a certain point, I couldn't…

I couldn't
untangle my love from my resentment.

And then she died.

And, turns out, love…

is the only thing that matters.

I'm sorry. That sounds hard.

I just swore to myself

I would never be stuck
as one thing ever again.

I just want to live
as much and as fast as I can.

Part of me knew what Clayton was like.

And I liked being his wounded bird.

Selfishly, I thought
it might get me where I'm going faster.

And there it is.

Your moment to broach
the last of your suspicions.

And you knew somewhere deep
It was too good to be true

It was too good to be true

But you let yourself be…

But you let yourself be swept

…swept

Because he was the first
Strong enough to lift you

Because he was the first

Strong enough to lift you

Guinevere Beck.

-And you know she worked here, right?
-Yeah.

Guilty.

You know, of all the abandoned bookstores
in New York,

you'd think I just stumbled into Mooney's.

I saw myself in her work
when I was younger.

Would you tell me about her?

You don't know what you were
expecting, but this is not suspicion.

It's earnest. Curious.
A desire to connect.

Well, she was a light.

As beautiful.

Inside and out.

She's a true poet. So much potential.

We dated… briefly.

No way.

It was a tragedy…

…what happened to her.

I've never told anyone this.

I wish I killed Dr. Nicky.

Then maybe she would still be here.

I know when you read my writing,

I know all you saw was murder,
an anti-hero with no backstory.

But… now you know
that it doesn't come from nowhere.

I wish sometimes
I was as strong as I am on the page.

All the time.

If only… life were as tidy as fiction.

A lot of people deserve a little…
poetic justice.

Even without all the facts, she gets you.

A far cry from your wife,

insisting you light the most
interesting part of yourself on fire.

Well, for what it's worth, Bronte… Louise.

You can trust me… with all of you.

Maybe that's
what writing is becoming for me.

Maybe I want what's inside to come out.

To not just be seen, but to be devoured.

And, uh, at home?

Are you?

Devoured?

I'm not.

I should go.

I'm not your trope, you know.

Or, like, the "poor girl"
to your "rich guy" or whatever.

Whatever ingenue
you're projecting onto me.

-What?
-We're adults, Joe.

We can say the quiet part out loud.

I'm a mess.

And I don't think I can handle an affair,
as much as I would enjoy myself.

What have you done?

Please don't make me feel
like I'm the asshole here.

Oh, no.

I am the asshole.

Because you are right.

Now I see all of you.

The mess, the pain behind the bluster,

the ache to connect, breath shallow,
cheeks flush. Is that a hair tuck?

You're scared.

And so am I. Not of the fantasy,
of the reality that you could be mine?

Right here, right now.

I should go.

"Retreat, regroup."

Becoming my mantra lately.

What was that?

At minimum, certain urges.
Natural, healthy urges.

Not necessarily a thing
needing to be dealt with or worried over.

Worked through.

"Sparks." Sure.
Yeah, sure. I've missed that.

Damn it, there's a word for…

"Staring into your eyes,

was like finding myself."

"Your hunger pulling me into you."

"Desperate to know what I can do to you."

"For you. And what you could do to me."

So this is where you snuck off to.

Hey.

You can trust me with it.

It's…

It's so wrong.

-I know. I'm sorry.
-No.

I like it.

I want more.

I want all of you.

Drown me.

This is the best thing I've written yet.

Or the worst.

Not exactly
seeing things clearly right now.

I have a son.

A wife.

And something that's just for me.

Writing. And writing alone.

The page is the safest place
to explore my urges,

violent and otherwise
without liability or rejection.

You, my employee,
can stay in that small part of my brain.

And if you can embrace all of me,
maybe Kate can too.

No, thanks.

All right.

Did you speak to Maddie today?

Shit. She suspects.

It's almost like
I've been acting suspicious.

No. Why… Oh, my… my voicemail.

A part of me wants to tell her.

Maybe she'd understand. Help fix it.

As you would say, "delulu."

I'm sorry. I…

tried to dig up some scandal
on your sisters by myself.

It was harmless,
but I should have known better.

Nothing of substance
ever comes from a celebrity subreddit.

Besides, seems like you handled Reagan
well enough on your own.

You know, I do want
to work these things out together.

Yeah?

Then why push me away?

I cannot be some…

black-hearted Lady Macbeth.

Since you, um…
Since we did the thing, I can't sleep.

I lie awake.

Paralyzed.

Just replaying, searching
for ways it could have ended differently.

If I do nod off, the…
the nightmares are… horrifying.

To be fair,
that sounds exactly like Lady Macbeth.

Damn. I mean, I'm serious.

I know.

There was a time
when I could read your mind.

And I don't know when that changed.

Joe…

Help me understand.

Why are you not suffering the way I am?

Because I stopped feeling guilty
about this part of myself.

When we left London.

You've helped me play nice
for three years and it's been fine.

But I need a purpose.

I need a purpose, Kate.

And when I can protect you

and protect Henry…

I feel not even remotely guilty.

In fact, I'm starting to think it's

what makes me special.

And when you look at me
like that, it's painful

to be so misunderstood.

You read my pages and recoiled.

That part of me isn't scary.
It's romantic.

Because it's not random, and it's…
it's actually not bloodthirsty.

It's for you.

I don't want that.

I have to think that part of you does.

Why did you cover up so much of my past?

Why would you send me after Bob?

Kate, I married a queen.

Fierce and powerful.
Not to be fucked with.

And I know
that person is still inside of you.

Let me be your knight.

I need to be of service.

Let me help you
make the world better. Please.

You can help me.

Just any way, but that.

I'm gonna have
a vulnerability hangover in the morning.

But you, Bronte, have clarified
what's missing in my marriage.

You're sparkly. Inspiring.

And there's a lot
I'd be willing to do for you.

Maybe you'd appreciate
a little protecting.

Um…

-Maddie?
-I…

What the fuck is going on?
Is this old? It says "live."

I wanted to get ahead of the rumors
that may be circling.

Uh…

It's true.

I messed up

with my sister's husband.

Holy shit, that is Reagan.

Are you seeing this?

And I feel the most remorse

a jealous,
cheating whore could possibly feel.

Kate thought she and Reagan
had reached a détente,

but clearly Reagan's still plotting.

Oh, my God, someone needs to stop her.

Her impersonation is even
fooling her own sister. That's possible?

I will be ceding
my board voting capacity in absentia

to my sister, Reagan. Immediately.

Incredible.

It's actually brilliant.

Oh, fuck.
Fuck, I'm gonna lose control of the board.

Oh, God, not to mention Teddy's vote.
I'm gonna have to make some calls.

I couldn't give a shit about
board romantics, but this is gold.

I'm no moron, I'm a genius.

Turns out Reagan is the inspiration
I've been looking for this whole time.

I finally know how the story needs to go.

With any luck, imposter syndrome
is gonna be my salvation.

How would you like to become your sister?