11. Andi #2
I think my reaction to being around him—the clammy hands, the racing heart, the bitter taste at the back of my throat—is a reminder that even if I’m okay being around him when he’s seemed to make improvements, my body still remembers who he was to me not that long ago.
The SUV pulls up in the line of other SUVs, ready and waiting to drop off other attendees for tonight’s event. I don’t calm down, at least not internally.
Especially not when I catch sight of the red carpet and the flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras.
It’s like my body isn’t even mine as Stuart steps out and holds the door open for the two of us. I’m floating above myself, watching myself step out and smooth my dress down like I’m watching a video game character in a tutorial scene, just following the prompts expected of me.
“Hey,” Ezra murmurs as the two of us start making our way to the photo area.
Stuart still hovers behind us, but with the chaos of the other celebrities and their teams bustling about, security standing tall with their crisp black suits and ear pieces, and the yelling paparazzi, his presence feels less oppressive.
“Hmm?” I blink up at Ezra, desperately clinging to that floating feeling to try to keep the anxiety away. The last thing I need is to have a mental breakdown on this carpet. I’d never see the light of day again. The world—which already thinks I’m pretty crazy—would think I’m insane.
“You’re cold,” Ezra grunts, nodding down at my arms.
I glance down at myself and let out an absent-minded hum. I’ve got goosebumps. This carpet is outside, and it’s a bit chillier tonight, even though we’re well into spring. I’ve been feeling cold all the time recently.
There’s also a slight tremble to my shoulders, as if I’m shivering.
“I’m okay, I don’t even feel it,” I murmur, my gaze drifting away from him.
“Shit, Andi—” Ezra runs a hand through his hair as we wait in the small line for our photos to be taken. “Fuck, I should’ve noticed something was wrong when you were so quiet.”
Wrong?
Is there something wrong? Probably. But what hasn’t been wrong?
I don’t think there’s been a single thing that’s been right for the past month.
“Look, I’m not good with omega hormone stuff, but you’ve gotta pull it together, okay?
We’re getting our photos taken soon. I’m sorry I’ve been so pissed.
Is that why? It’s got nothin’ to do with you, promise.
I just...” He shakes his head, his gaze cutting back towards Stuart, who’s hovering, standing by the other assistants.
His words barely register with me. Nothing can touch me in the headspace I’m in.
Ezra’s hands tremble as he starts typing away on his phone. He lets out a quiet curse, and I glance down at his screen.
Signs that omegas are in distress from long-term isolation.
Is he worried about me? He doesn’t have to do that. I’m fine.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself on the surface. Deep down, I know I’m not. I know there’s something really wrong, but what’s the point in dwelling on something that’s not going to change? After this event, I’m going right back to that god-awful cage.
“Shit, Andi, do you want my jacket? The internet’s telling me that’ll help,” Ezra offers.
The person ahead of us in line for the photo area—an older alpha country singer—starts getting his photo taken. That means we’re going to be up soon.
The thought of having Ezra’s warm jacket around my shoulders, sinking into his familiar coffee scent, tickles at the back of my mind. The omega part of me, starved of any and all things she needs to feel safe and sane, screams that I should take him up on his offer.
But the thought of getting my photo taken in his jacket seems far too intimate. This is a music event. What if there’s someone here who knows Beck?
I doubt Gina would sign off on sending me to an event where he’s actually present, but the risk of it getting back to my guys that I’m doing something as intimate as publicly getting Ezra’s scent all over me leaves a bad taste at the back of my throat.
“No,” I mumble. “I’m fine.”
“Really? Okay, if you’re sure,” Ezra says, resting a hand at the small of my back and guiding me up. “Show time. Just a few quick pics and I’ll get you inside.”
I stand on the first mark, hitting a practiced pose I can only do in the emotional state I’m in because I’ve been trained to do this sort of thing in my sleep. The paparazzi yell questions at me, but Stuart is quick to shut them down.
But I still hear them.
“Andromeda, what led to your mental breakdown?”
Flash, flash, flash.
“Andromeda, has your relationship with your mother deteriorated?”
Flash, flash, flash.
“Andromeda! What do you have to say to your ex-boyfriend, Beckham Knight? Seems he has a lot to say to you if his latest single is any indication!”
Flash, flash, flash.
Andromeda, Andromeda, Andromeda.
Maybe I actually am going to have a mental breakdown right here on this carpet.
“Okay, we’re all done,” Ezra murmurs low, shielding me from the lingering paparazzi who still want more photos, and blocking out the flashes with his broad shoulders. “Time to go.”
“You will have to work on your expressions for future photoshoots,” Stuart sighs from beside us a moment later. “Your mother isn’t a fan of the deer-in-headlights look.”
“Dude, seriously? You don’t even know what the photos are gonna look like yet,” Ezra snaps.
“Yes, but I know how she looked on that carpet. She needs to work on managing her emotions.”
“You try doing that when douchebags are yelling shit at you.” Ezra’s large hand finds my forearm and he starts tugging me along towards the table we’ve been assigned. “Come on.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time,” I mumble automatically, even though we’re beyond Stuart’s earshot now.
It’s like the world is moving in slow motion. I don’t think I could’ve found it in myself to utter those words in front of Stuart. I wouldn’t have been able to react fast enough.
“Fuck, Andi. I seriously hate seeing you like this,” Ezra’s raspy whisper seems to be said more for himself than for me. Or maybe that’s just how I feel about anyone talking around me now. “You don’t have shit to apologize for.”
All I do is shrug, as much as I can, the sequins along the edge of the bodice scraping against the sensitive skin on the inside of my arm with the motion.
As I’m led between the tables into yet another ballroom event I’m wholly uninterested in, I take in and process absolutely none of my surroundings.
At some point, we lose the new bodyguard. Probably because bodyguards don’t actually sit at the tables on the main floor with the rest of us.
I stare at the white linen tablecloth throughout the entire event.
Through the boring speeches that have no meaning to me.
Through the seemingly endless rounds of toasts and champagne.
Through the dinner—another salad, heartier than the bowl of leaves I’m given to eat at home—even though I have no appetite.
I can’t even appreciate the flavor anymore, not over the lingering taste of the bubbling champagne at the back of my throat. The world feels even floatier than usual.
Beside me, Ezra is in a foul mood. His coffee scent is thick and twisted, like the bitter, burnt stuff you find at the bottom of communal office coffee pots. He’s not sharing his food with me tonight. Guess the nice version of him comes and goes with his mood.
A thread of concern filters through the buzz in my head. Concern for him or concern for my own well-being around him is unclear. Probably a mix of both.
He keeps checking his watch—every action he does is followed by a quick glance down at his wrist.
He takes a bite? Then he checks his watch.
He listens to one of the people giving a speech or collecting some award? He checks his watch right after.
When there’s a lull in the speech-giving and award-receiving, he stands from the table abruptly. It’s mostly a soundless gesture because the ballroom is carpeted, meaning his chair doesn’t scrape against the floor. But it’s no less shocking to me, even in the headspace I’m in.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he grunts.
Those words send a jolt of fear running down my spine. He hasn’t had anything to drink tonight, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to the bathroom to do something he shouldn’t. Not that it’s any of my business.
But right now, all I want to do is jump up and follow after him. The inner omega in me, screaming and clawing at the walls of my skull to be let out, just wants to soothe the angry alpha in any way she can.
I wordlessly push myself up to my feet.
“Sit down, Andromeda,” Stuart snaps. “You are not to leave my sight. Not after last time.”