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VIENNA COULD FEEL the eyes on her before she even stepped onto the stage. Suddenly, she was reminded why she never toured in the first place, the familiar disease of anxiety beginning to infest her veins. She closed her eyes, rolling from the balls to the heels of her feet as her black, chunky boots clicked against the floor. The microphone in her hand grew heavier when reality started to seep into her world. She heard her name, but she blocked it out.
"You're on in twenty-five," the stage director told her monotonously. She didn't look at him, didn't even open her eyes, as a steady nod tugged her head towards the roof. A number that was once her favourite. A number that she now despised.
The seconds ticked by slowly, the crowd growing louder as the Master of Ceremonies counted down the remaining moments on stage. Each number and scream from the audience made Vienna's heart plummet, until she felt a hand on her shoulder and it flew back up into her throat. She released a slow, uneven breath.
"You'll be great," someone said. She opened her eyes, staring straight ahead. Who were they? How could they know?
"Thanks," she forced out, her words unsteady. She didn't know if she could do it. The few steps out of the wings grew longer, stretching out for miles. Her heels would break before she made it.
The double digits faded into one, each number blurring together on the screen at the back of the stage. Her head was growing fuzzy, the lyrics she was trying to remember blending into a single word. Another long breath fell past her lips, tumbling out like the thoughts that spiralled in her head. She tightened her grip on the microphone. The purple and silver rhinestones scratched against her skin.
"Welcome," the announcer shouted as she turned towards the right wing, eyes latching onto the shimmering dress shining in the darkness. "Vienna Reyes!"
