Page 6 of Unexpected Company
The mall is hot and crowded, a line of kids and their parents are waiting patiently for their turn to see Santa. I consider calling it on this dare – the queasiness in my belly growing, but then a few of the older kids in line recognise me, and the next thing I’m giving high fives and signing scraps of paper, and suddenly I’m at the front of the line.
The elf in charge gives me a once over, amusement lacing his features as he gestures me forward. My foot catches on the platform leading to the big guy in the polyester suit, but I right myself before I can tumble to my face in front of all these people.
The man dressed as Santa rubs his belly while saying something to the children and as I approach him my stomach swoops again, and to my absolute horror, the nausea that washed over me earlier hits again, and despite trying to hold it back, I retch, emptying the contents of my stomach over the cheery man.
Right there.
In broad daylight.
In the middle of a mall filled with now crying children and angry parents.
Even the elf looks pissed off.
Santa stands, disgust evident behind his fake beard, and Liam reaches for me, stopping me from falling as I take a step back.
A rather intimidating father tells me to get the hell out and because I haven’t fucked up enough, I shift my attention to a crying girl, all dressed and ready to meet the big guy. She looks so sad and it physically hurts that I put that frown on her face.
With the best of intentions, I lift my hands in the air in a placating gesture, and try to reassure her by saying, “Don’t worry, little girl, Santa isn’t real, anyway.”
Her face falls and…fuck. Jesus Christ. I meantthisSanta isn’t real. The real Santa is safely in the North Pole,notcovered in my vomit.
Liam slaps me hard on the chest amidst the piercing cries of children and yells of parents and I know without a doubt that someone in this crowd will have filmed the moment Supernova ruined Christmas.
Fuck my life.
Chapter three
Roman
It’s midday, but my curtains are closed and the room is shrouded in darkness, with only a dim splash of light coming from the space between the floor and the curtain. There’s no furniture besides my bed in this part of the house. My home is mostly empty because we use it for filming during the year, turning it into wild and wonderful things like an indoor ball pit or slime filled splash pool complete with a slide.
My house, in an up-and-coming neighbourhood to the west of London, is more a studio than a home. But it’s the only place I have.
There’s a terrible smell in my bedroom and I’m horrified to think that I’m the cause.
“Jesus, Supernova, you stink,” I grumble, rolling onto my side and tightening my weighted blanket around my body.
It’s usually enough to calm my anxiety, but it’s not enough today. I need more. More pressure. More weight holding me together and stopping me from splintering into a thousand tiny pieces.
My eyes burn from tears and from staring at my phone for hours on end, and I clutch the fabric of my blanket until my fingers ache. My breathing is erratic, and not for the first time since the whole incident, I think I may be sick. Only this time it’s an effect of the looming panic attack and not alcohol that’s to blame.
I fucked up. Big time.
I have broken bones and destroyed perfectly good cars and once accidentally shaved off my eyebrows, but this is nothing like any of those times. This is a fuck up of epic proportions.
The video went viral. Mistakes move faster across the internet than anything else. And then the comments started.
You’d think I’d be used to negativity. I’m a viral superstar, for fuck’s sake. It comes with the territory. But these are different. These are cruel, taking unkindness to an entirely new level.
Tears run down my cheeks, wetting my pillow, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut out the hundreds of comments I trawled through into the early hours of the morning.
My bedroom door swings open, the light shocking me as it seeps through my closed lids and I flinch, throwing the blanket completely over my head.
“Dude,” Liam’s voice comes through muffled thanks to my blanket fort. “You have to get up.”
My mattress dips before Liam’s heavy weight is enveloping me as he both hugs me and squishes me into the bed. I let out a deep breath, and rub my face into my pillow, a sense of relief washing over me at the comfort of his strong hold.
“You’re okay, Ro. This will all blow over.”
