“Don’t,” I said.
He shook his head. I hoped he meant it, because the thought of all this just…ending?
“Shall I go get us some tea?” I needed out. A breather. I needed to stop this absolute bullshitting I had going on.
“I’m not going out there again.” He looked serious as well. But not as frazzled as before. Good.
“We can probably skip Gina and get away with it, but it’s the group filming later. Simple and easy. We just have to sit on the sofa and smile on cue. I’ll be right next to you. But I completely blame you for this tea addiction I have going on now. I’ll need to take a piss when I come back.”
“Fair enough.” He shuffled. “No bloody oat milk.”
“Got it. Have we still got biscuits?”
“Nope. We finished them last night.”
“I’ll get some from catering. That blonde girl from yesterday is here again. She likes me.”
“Everyone likes you.”
“No, they don’t. Tea. Biscuit. Anything else Sir desires?”
I wanted to see him smile again. Make sure he was alright.
I wondered why I cared so much. If it was just fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of everything that was around me. Or just the familiar feeling of being so utterly unsafe.
I hated it.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
He nodded as I untangled my legs from his. Hoisted myself out on unsteady legs. Stood myself up and straightened my crumpled suit. We were both in suits. How ridiculouswas this?
He looked like a cutout from a fashion magazine, lying in that bath, his jacket flung open, and his bow-tie undone. Staring into the tiles, letting a finger trace the grouting.
It could have been an ad for something expensive and exclusive. A small glimpse of something people desired.
I wonder why I did. Desire.
I shook myself out of this ridiculous state I’d got myself in.
“See you in a bit,” I said. Then I took a deep breath and walked out.
Production Meeting
George
It was once again…Friday, and how the week had flown by was terrifying. If I had been tired last week? This week I was barely managing to keep the adrenaline constantly flowing through my body at bay. My heart was making double beats on the steady, and all I’d eaten today had been a bite out of a sandwich that I’d then promptly lost somewhere.
I needed a break. I needed to stop, just for a minute or two. Let my forehead fall against a cool mirror in a bathroom stall so I could just catch my breath.
I hadn’t drunk enough water to warrant a bathroom break, but I made a beeline for the outside, hoping to grab a coffee and…some air.
Sometimes the air on the inside went so tense that I felt I might pass out. The pressure?
We’d talked about pressure at college. Stupid capacity bucket exercises, “how to manage stress in the workplace” leaflets handed out like confetti.
Nobody told you what it was really like. Nobody.
“You okay?” Storm asked, then downed an entire water bottle, right in front of me, not even waiting for my reply. “I haven’t drunk anything since yesterday. I’ll see you later.”
