Hidden and Silent (SpyxFamily)

Ch. 23: Part Two

 Demetrius' hands clenched in his pockets as he forced the oxygen to stay in his lungs and his heart in his chest. His eyes fixed on his perfectly polished shoes and the hems of his perfectly ironed pants, the sidewalk seeming to glide backwards as he moved forwards. The world spun and the fringes of his vision blurred. He swallowed and he barely felt it move past the lump in his throat.

Could he actually go through with this? He couldn't even bring himself to lift his head, to tear his eyes away from his feet. How was he supposed to open his mouth and speak? To. . .function?

He was nauseous. The bitter taste of bile seeped up his throat and threatened to bring the rest of his stomach's contents up with it. He needed to lay down. He couldn't do this, this was an awful, awful idea that he was sure some evil, twisted demon had planted in his head that now prompted his cooperation.

"You ready, Demetrius?"

He unintentionally held his breath as he realized they had reached their destination, head whipping up at the building as his throat clamped tight together. It wasn't a particularly tall building, though it somehow loomed anyway, afternoon shadows painting the face of the building darker against the tinted sky. For a building of such mediocrity, it still managed to shoot spikes of anxiety down his body and he couldn't move. His gaze fixed on the building's sign, his need for a new strategy doubling while his ability to search for one bled into the background where he couldn't reach it, and grasped clouds of fog with nothing but empty hands to show for it.

Fallon didn't react to Demetrius' lack of a response as he hade made it clear earlier that this was to appear casual. That this wasn't for him.

Too long. He had been staring at the sign for too long. Stood frozen for too long. He forced his eyes away as someone nudged him through a door.

This was it. This was it and Demetrius was about to makes things moderately better or ten times worse.

It was decided then. Demetrius had gone insane. He had gone mad from stress and desperation and now he was crazy. He had to be. No sane person would do what he was about to do. Did he have a death wish?

He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. How was it that he of all people was breaking the rules? They were there to protect him. They kept him safe. Drilled and beaten and embedded into him until the very thought of disobeying them set him on edge and made him balk. He knew the consequences. And they didn't all come from his father.

His stomach rolled and they were being led deeper and deeper and—

And they were in a large room with bright lights, cameras facing a woman sitting at a desk.

A breath. Ano—another. Breathe, breathe, breath, breathe.

There was more talking. Lights shifting. Cameras moving. Fingers signalling. And Demetrius was moving again, being pulled along by his arm when he didn't respond to Fallon and—

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Nononono. This was going to quickly. He wasn't prepared. He need more time—

"Good evening, Ostania!" The woman greeted into the camera as the show went live. "I'm Sally Vicker and this is Twenty-Three Minutes!" The woman continued to introduce the show as a whispered argument picked up between Fallon and someone else.

Demetrius and Fallon now stood to the side of the set as the rest of his classmates lingered at the other end of the room, staying out of the way of everything. They watched curiously, waiting to find out what they were doing here. Even Fallon didn't know and she'd set this up.

Demetrius fought the instinct to run as his blood pumped too fast for the simple action of standing in place. An aching pulse rammed into his skull over and over and he kept his shaking, fisted hands safely tucked into his pockets where he didn't have to acknowledge the trembling in them. But it didn't matter. He could still feel it in his tense shoulders and legs, sprung tight as they readied to flee. He could still feel it in his breath, from his constricted lungs—he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. His lungs were bring crushed again. Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

"So folks, today we have a guest! Ch—" The woman was cut off as someone alerted her to the abrupt change in visitor, more whispering between the anchor and. . .someone else.

Demetrius exhaled. He ignored the sweat gathering at his hairline and coating the little hairs standing up at the base of his neck. The lights were too bright. Too many people. Only the stage was lit, with everything and everyone else in the background, cut dark and silent. When he glanced at Fallon, she tried for a reassuring smile. It was undercut by concern and overwhelming curiosity.

"Change in plans, it seems." The woman smiled at the cameras with a little laugh and all Demetrius could think about was that he was supposed to go over there. "We had hoped to have a conversation with Charles Banks, but he couldn't make it."

Demetrius was supposed to go over there. In front of the cameras.

"Instead, surprise, surprise, we have Demetrius Desmond with us today! The son of Donovan Desmond."

Oh, for the love of all that was holy.