His confidence shattered. He didn’t know anymore what he’d done or why. A year ago he’d been a bumbling idiot so wrapped up in his own doubts that he could barely function.
Wait. That wasn’t true! Sure, he had anxieties, but who didn’t? Who was thinking this? And now—hell—here it came. Asthma attack.
His breath wheezed in and out. His lungs squeezed tight, and he needed his inhaler.
“Where is the medicine?” Bing asked. “Where?”
Walter wasn’t sure. He hadn’t needed it in months. Not since Auntie Sand had taken over his life. She’d funded the movie, forced him to start working out with a trainer, and had spent every minute of every day telling him to get focused, get healthy, get going. There hadn’t been time for his normal anxieties, not with Auntie Sand dogging him to work and praising him when he came through.
So he’d come through. Not for her praise, but because there was no one else who could do what he did. Not the script work, not the preproduction work, and certainly not the leading man role. Not the way he’d envisioned it. Not like he could.
Not like hehad.
Wait a moment. That alien energy had come into him only yesterday. All that other stuff? That was him, no question. And this shaking, wheezing, wreck of a man? That was who he’d been with Bing. Because he’d been in love with Bing and was desperate for Bing’s affection.
What a wuss he’d been. And what a disaster he was now, crouching on the ground, unable to catch his own breath.
No. No! That was not who was then, and certainly not who he was now! What the fuck was going on in his brain?
He took a deep breath, forcing it into his lungs. He closed his eyes and pushed upward, even though it was fucking freezing in this tent and his legs felt like straw. He shrugged Bing’s arm off his shoulders, though damn it, he missed the weight of it as well as the smell of his best friend when Bing stepped back.
And when Bing looked at him with a question in his eyes, Walter shook his head. “I don’t know what happened yesterday,” he said firmly. “I don’t know why I’m suddenly able to fight like that.”
“Because Monkey—”
“Bullshit.” Then he winced. “Okay, maybe. It doesn’t matter. All I know is that it’s good.” He pointed at the scene frozen on his laptop. “That footage is fantastic. And last night—between us—that was the best ever.”
“This isn’t you, Walter. You need to—”
“It’s who I am now, Bing. And I don’t care if you like it or not.” A lie. He did care. He cared way too much, but that didn’t stop him. “I like being confident. I like being able to fight. And I will not go back to being the weak, terrified little boy I was. Never again.”
“You weren’t ever weak or terrified. Who is feeding you those thoughts? You were a man and an artist. Always.”
Yeah, he had been. Walter snatched his robe off the ground while he shoved his feet into his boots, using the movements to drive his conflicting thoughts away. He had a job to do, and this conversation was just confusing him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a movie to make.”
“You can’t, Walter,” Bing argued.
Walter turned his back on him. And when had he ever done that? Never! How often, though, had he been the one who’d stood there, mute with longing, as Bing turned away to speak with someone else, to do something else? Too many times to count. And what had Walter done then? He’d simply stood there, watching and wishing.
Not anymore. Now it was Walter who was giving Bing his back, and damn, it felt good. It felt like power as he walked over the freezing ground to the community showers. It felt like strength when he finally got hot water and scrubbed old makeup off his face. It felt like pleasure when he let the heat sluice down his body and memories of last night merged with the sensations of the moment. Heat on his skin, pressurized water on his back, and the thick weight of a heavy cock—
“Monkey!” Auntie Sand said as she hauled open the shower curtain.
Walter jolted back and slammed his hands down over his groin. “Auntie! I’m showering in here!”
“No time for that, Monkey. We have a demon to fight. Now, before it’s too late.”
