behind the scenes

Ben felt the sweat trickle down the side of his head as he cleared his throat for the umpteenth time. He licked his chapped lips and didn't move his eyes from a small section of the table that was clear of microphones and paper. Ben wanted to desperately forget that he was on live radio and that his past mistakes- well one major mistake- were being put on blast.

"Uh... well.." Ben trailed off again as he found his throat really dry and his fingers itched for a glass of cold water. Finally, Leslie had enough of him ruining the whole interview and picked up the question. He didn't really hear her though as he felt like his head was thrust underwater. However, he did see the red light flash off and he was out of his seat in a flash like it burned him and muttered an excuse about a bathroom.

Frankly, he didn't exactly know where the bathrooms were but he found them once he went around for the second time. Ben slammed the door shut and locked it, the cold wood doing little to cool his warm skin. His throat seemed to close on him and he tried to loosen his tie with fumbling fingers. Ben finally ripped it off and away from his throat and started work on removing his suit jacket, with a lot of panting and shut eyes.

He screwed it up. He singlehandedly screwed up publicizing the harvest festival, the first in decades and he royally fucked it. He already had a slight panic on being on camera or speaking to arguably millions on live radio (Ben cursed loudly.) but when the Douche brought up him bankrupting his hometown, he couldn't handle it. Ben wasn't completely over him being stupid at 18 but to be publically humiliated? Well, Ben would rather die.

Everything seemed too encasing and Ben felt like the walls were growing closer and god- he couldn't control his breathing. He was hyperventilating and leaning over the sink, afraid he might vomit. His heartbeat rang in his ears and he so desperately wanted silence. Ben clenched the edge of the sink and was a breath away from bashing in his head in when a large knock broke him away from his mind. It didn't overwhelm his senses as he couldn't really hear it over the loud rushing of his blood and his heart hammering and the sweat trickling down the sides of his head and no doubt creating a wet patch underneath his arms.

Ben promptly ignored it. His hands were shaking (from anger? humiliation? guilt? He couldn't really tell and frankly didn't want to dwell on it.) and the tips of his knuckles grew white from how hard he was holding on. As if he were to let go, he would float into oblivion and would be forgotten. Which seemed so nice and appealing to do so right now.

Another sharp knock and a voice made its way through the thick door and to Ben's ears.

"Ben? Ben, we're going on in a few! You
.. you okay in there?"

Leslie. It was sweet, beautiful Leslie. Ben forced his eyes open and stared himself at the mirror, commanding himself to calm the fuck down and to get a grip. His heartbeat slowed gradually but it still beat like a drum in his ringing ears.

"Yeah! Yeah... I'm... I'm good," Ben croaked out in a soft but tattered voice like he has been screaming for hours on end. (God, has he been screaming? Is that why Leslie was here?) He let go of the sink and tension and a soft burn in his arms and shoulders steadily appeared. His face was drenched in sweat and red billowed on his cheeks. Ben closed his eyes again and breathed slowly through his nose, not completely in control of his breathing. He licked his insanely chapped lips and let out a little sigh.

He has to get over himself and his stupidity. Ben opened his eyes again and splashed water on his face and promptly slid into his jacket, adjusting it so his sweat pits were hidden.

Ben has to get over himself.