Queens

2.2: Tyler

Discomfort. That's what this is. Uncomfortable.

Josh is off doing some lovey-dovey interview with Ash, and he left me alone with the promise that he'd return as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it's been an hour and a half and there's no sign.  I understand that he's busy, but Josh leaving me alone means that every time someone makes eye contact with me, I rush off to the bathroom in fear of a conversation. At this point though, there's no use running anymore. The girls in glittery dresses are persistent enough to not fight off, and the microphones come dangerously near to my face.

As I grab a crustacean from a silver platter, I hear the hallmark sound of half a dozen stilettos rapping on the shining floor. I turn and see five or six girls adorned in sparkly dresses and rings weighing down their delicately polished fingers. One after another, they curtsey and greet me, to which I'm forced to bow back.

"Hello Prince Tyler," one in a shimmery, pale gold gown purrs. The others shoot me seductive glances.

"Hi," I say back, scratching the back of my neck. For once, I try to look them in the eyes. I look at their glittering bodies and glowing eyes, and I feel admiration. Yeah, admiration. They look very pretty. I remember what my father told me, and I place my hands at my sides and straighten my back. I am a Prince, and I should act like it. Any girl in the world would throw down everything she has to be with me, and I can't even get excited by these ethereal beings just waiting for a piece of me. A few of the girls begin to chatter excitedly and ask me questions about my cause and such. I give my standard, terse answers, but the girls don't lose interest. I nod politely, but my eyes dart in an attempt to search for Josh among the teeming crowds of royalty and entourages.

"Excuse me ladies," I butt into some story about some daughter of a President of somewhere, "But I have something urgent that's just come up," I give my most charming smile, and the ladies nearly trip over each other apologizing and saying goodbye. I give a short wave before walking off purposefully, as if I really had something to do. In reality, being manly is exhausting, and I couldn't last any longer being that shadow of someone I'm not.

As I take a lap, the inevitable cluster of reporters swings around to me. I internally groan, but pleasantly greet them. As usual, I'm hit with a thousand questions. Who am I with? What do I think of so-and-so? What's being a royal like? Whose secrets can I reveal? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?
These questions are so routine that I go on autopilot, giving rehearsed, predictable answers. One question breaks through the barrier of my haze, although it's a question I've been asked a thousand times.
"What's one thing that no one knows about you?"

I smile and begin to give my traditional "Oh, I actually really love to play ukulele!" response, but instead, my mouth goes dry.
What's one thing that no one knows about you? I think he's whispering right behind your face and above your throat. I can hear him smirking. The lights are on me and the microphones are live, broadcasting to the world. I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue becomes jelly and my vocal chords swallow up my throat. I just stand there like a freaking idiot, staring at the camera, unable to move or speak. Thank god, the reporter graciously moves on to the next question, but I hurriedly excuse myself. This is so bad. So bad, I can't believe this. It'll be on the news, made into gifs, memes will be created, people will start doing the "Tyler" and bumbling like an idiot, and I'll be merged into vines about stupidity, I can't do this, I can't do this.

I fling the bathroom door open, and lock it behind me. Tears welling up in my eyes, I slowly sink down to the bathroom floor, but the air is only thicker down here. I'm swimming through time and space, unable to process anything, the beiges of the tiles melding with the midnight-colored fabric of my pants. The music fades from my consciousness, and my own voices replace any outside sounds.  And now, I just sit here in silence.

*****
I emerge from the bathroom, primed, yet weary for the rest of the night. Another lone reporter approaches warily, and my shoulders slump.

"Prince Tyler," he bows, and I do the same. And he releases the question of the night. "Excuse me Prince, but this question has been bugging me for years. You have everything: a perfect family, enough wealth to get literally whatever you want, enough power and resources to get anywhere, and a full, wonderful, secure life ahead of you. Are you even happy?" The question hangs in the air for a moment as I decide whether or not to answer honestly. I look left, right, in front, and behind me. No cameras are in sight. No miniscule microphones cling to his fingers or bag. I look at this hopeful reporter's face, and I know that they don't mean any harm. The hungry reporters are sickly sweet, with smiles stretched too wide and hands clenched in a doll-like manner. This twentysomething, on the other hand, seems to just genuinely want to know for his own sake.

I sigh and wipe the smile that has clung to my face like permafrost for the past five hours. The glitter, the glam, and the facades... I'm done. I'm weary. It's been too many years. Everything about this world has drained me to my utter lowest point. Happiness? I can barely remember the last time I was truly happy.
"Happy?" I laugh coldly. "Happy? Why, I'm utterly miserable.

_____________
Dear Reader,
Ty's back! I'm super pumped for this cycle, and coming up next is gonna be another one of your faves (@lobetter livup to the expectations ;)))) 
Q:: what do you think of the Michael claiming Josh as his BFF??
Much love,
J