Page 57 of Sebastian

SEBASTIAN

I am going to kill Noel. I cannot believe he said that to Christian! I’d march around the table and strangle him if the show wasn’t about to start and if there weren’t half a dozen cameras watching our every move.

The lights in the ballroom dim and the host for the evening launches into his opening monologue. It’s funny, I think, since everyone’s laughing. I don’t really hear much of it.

Christian has angled his chair so he’s a little bit behind mine and it feels like he’s sitting around me rather than merely next to me. His arm is draped across the back of my seat and his hand rubs absently up and down my arm. It’s casual and familiar, exactly the kind of vibe we want to exude. Except I’d rather be in his lap, head on his shoulder, his arms all the way around me.

I need his touch. I need the way he grounds me. Because my anxiety is creeping in around the edges of my mind—slowly, but steadily.

It started as we were getting ready for the show. I thought it was a normal case of nervousness and excitement. Getting all dressed up, anticipating the lights and cameras, rubbing elbows with the most influential people in the industry. The possibility of winning an award that would be a huge freaking validation of the hard work I’ve put in over the years. Of course I’d be fidgety and jumpy. Of course my skin would be tingly and my tummy fluttery. It hadn’t occurred to me that it could be anything more serious until we stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet.

Then the bubbly, ticklish feeling started edging into jittery and antsy and it’s only gotten worse since. It’s like something inky dark and suffocating is snapping at my heels, trying to crawl up my back. It’s got my stomach all tied up in knots and my lungs paralyzed and my heart bouncing around in my chest.

I wish I’d taken my medication before leaving the hotel. I wish I’d brought some of it with me. I wish I hadn’t been so freaking distracted by the bright and shiny that I completely missed the warning signs along the way. But it’s too late. I don’t have my medication on me. And even if I popped a pill now it would take at least an hour before it’d have any effect. I’ll just have to steel myself and push through it.

I think I managed okay in front of all those cameras on the red carpet—the result of years of learning how to shut myself down, plaster a smile on my face, and push through whatever chaos is raging in my mind. It only means I’ll crash harder afterward, but hopefully, that won’t be until after the show.

I would be so much worse if Christian wasn’t right beside me, hand on my back, on my waist, body pressed right up against mine. He’s my single tether to reality, the anchor that’s keeping my mind from spiraling. The gentle caress of his hand on my arm, the brush of his lips against my ear when he leans in to whisper something, the thickness of his thigh under my palm—I focus on those things rather than the large stage and the bright lights and the camera guys crouching right in front of me, zooming in for a close up of my face.

I’ve done such a good job of ignoring the show that I’m startled when my category is suddenly up next. I scramble for Christian’s hand and when he grips mine, I feel a tad less like throwing up.

“You’ve got this,” Christian murmurs in my ear as a camera guy zooms in, broadcasting our image on the ginormous screen on stage.

The presenter is the guy who beat me in this category last year and despite all that talk about it being an honor just to be nominated, I’ve harbored a tiny bit of resentment toward him ever since. It’s nothing personal—I wanted to win.

I want to win this year too. Of course I do. I’ve met or know of all the guys I’m up against. They’re good at what they do and I can see why each of them have been nominated. I can also see why each of them has a better chance of winning than I do.

The presenter reads each of our names. My pulse is racing and I’m gripping Christian’s hand so tightly, I’m sure I’m leaving bruises. The smile I’ve plastered on my face all night feels like a plastic mask. I only manage tiny little breaths as the guy on stage opens the envelope and pauses for dramatic effect.

“And the award for Most Sex-Positive Performer goes to… Sebastian Silver!”

Chaos erupts all around me and I’m hauled to my feet. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on until Christian holds my face with both hands and stares into my eyes.

“You did it! You won!” He plants a big, non-apologetic kiss on my lips and I’m too stunned to do anything but stand there like a mannequin.

I won? Holy shit, I won.

I don’t know how I manage to get up on the stage. Words come spilling out of my mouth—something about gratitude and loving ourselves and accepting others. The audience chuckles, so maybe I’ve thrown a joke in there. The specifics are hazy. The only clear thing in my mind is the weight of the statue that I clutch to my chest like it’s some sort of life preserver.

The awards show people usher me off the stage and through an obstacle course of photographers and interviewers. Who the hell knows what I look like or what I say. If I’m a deer in headlights and am completely incoherent, maybe they’ll chalk it up to the whirlwind of the win rather than my brain freaking out on me.

I don’t really come back to myself until I’m spat back out into the ballroom. The show is still going strong, the host is telling some joke that has the audience howling. I pick my way through the tables back to Christian and gently lower myself into my chair.

“Where’s your award?” Christian asks.

“Huh?” I stare at my hands. Where is the award? I have a vague memory of people taking it from me at some point. “I think that was just a prop. They said something about sending me the real thing after.”

“Are you okay?” Christian tugs me around to face him.

“Huh?”

“Sebastian?”

I look up at him and the mask I’ve been working so hard to maintain all evening crumbles. Christian’s eyes grow wide and he mutters a curse under his breath.

“Come on, let’s go.” He takes my hand and tries to stand, but I drag him back down.

“Go where?”

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