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We drift over to the buffet spread. That’s something we can both enjoy even here, at least. I don’t recognize half of what’s on offer, but Caelan casually drapes himself over a chair and picks at the food without any qualms. He bites an hors d’oeuvre from a toothpick, then twirls the small, sharp shard of wood between his fingers. He’s listening to the vapid conversation from all around and looks about ready to stab it into someone.
How much does Elias have to hold him back?Is it a legitimate concern, or is Caelan all bark and no bite? It should worry me that I have no idea.
“Please don’t murder anyone,” I mutter, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m not cleaning up after you.”
Caelan laughs outright at that. “You sound so much like Elias, oh my God.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Well, I tolerate you both, and you’re still hot despite trying to tell me not to murder people, so you’ve got that going for you.”
He’s teasing, and I’m happy his mood has improved enough to do so. The fact that he drags me into his lap and smooches me helps with that impression and does quite a lot to alleviate my own insecurity. It also leaves me rather flustered. We’re in full public view, dammit. Caelan gives no shits, but I’m blushing by the time he lets me up.
The high lasts for a little while, but I still can’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of my mind about something being off. It’s nothing to do with would-be murders or the awkwardness of a social situation where I feel so out of place.
It’s the dissonance. I’m starting to understand, seeing Caelan here. It’s like what I noticed back in Santa Monica, how the human glamours seem to fit them less and less the more I know them. They don’t belong here any more than I do. And the act is a burden to keep up.
What I see and what the rest of the world sees is so different. To everyone else here, the demons Elias and Caelan are nothing more than a work of fiction, agimmick.
I can’t deny I’m relieved when the lights dim. But the relief only lasts a few short, sweet moments.
The room goes from dim to dark, with a cold air pressure that makes me suck in my breath. The hairs on my arms stand on end.
And it’s not just me. Like a constant buzz around us, the low murmurs shift into excitement. Awaiting theshow.
The room creaks as though all the weight of the world is threatening to unravel it. I hear Elias speak before I see him, his voice low, cold, and distant. His presence. He’s playing a part again, empty words recited for the approval of an LA music machine.
Cheers and applause echo in my head, murmurs about special effects,laughter.
It’s a game to them.
It’s not real.
My chest feels too tight. I can’t breathe.
It’s not real. Elias and Caelan aren’t real. Not to them. Their entire existence is a show, a game. Where does that leave me and all I’ve experienced with them?
My stomach is tied in a knot so tight it feels like I’m going to be sick, and my vision blurs as I stare down at my shaking hands.
“I can’t do this,” I choke. I don’t even wait for Caelan to react. I need out.
A few pairs of eyes land on me as I turn and leave, but almost everyone is too distracted by what’s happening on stage to care about me. Small mercies.
The light shifts. I can see it even in my peripheral vision, fracturing into shards of light and shadow, and the sounds around me reach a sickening pitch of white noise. Elias is there. On stage now, in person. No glamour, all his power is showing. I know it.
Bile rises in my throat.
My hands are shaking as I fumble the door open and slip outside, not checking or caring if Caelan is following me.
It’s easier to breathe out here, but not by much. There are signs there. Across the grand main hallway and into a smaller side corridor, winding around a corner or two, there’s a restroom. Fancy, like most things here. A combination of a bathroom and a separate powder room with mirrors, coat racks, and couches provides a nicer option than having to hide in a toilet stall.
I tuck myself into a corner and curl my knees to my chest, hands to my head, hiding my face so no one can see the tears.
Stupid.
It’s sostupid.
Why am I even upset? Why does it hurt?
