To Catch a Falling Star

1- "Thank God for Balconies."

Sebastian's POV

Inhale, exhale.

That had always been my mom-slash-manager's catchphrase, but as of late, it seemed to be playing on constant repeat.

Record label unhappy with the demo I'd sent in? Inhale, exhale. Instagram post a little too controversial and getting some backlash? Inhale, exhale. Fangirl arrested for stalking? You guessed it!

But unlike all my past predicaments, when my mugshot got leaked and subsequently plastered onto every mainstream media network, my mom hadn't offered up her usual "inhale, exhale" or enveloped me in a warm, matrenly hug. She'd just walked out of the room, shoulders sagging dejectedly.

She'd simply given up on me.

Inhale.

I closed my eyes, reveling in the warmth that immediately melted my tensed body along with my anxious thoughts.

Exhale.

I watched the cloud of smoke dissipate into the night, fading into the stars and across the silhouette of New York City, weaving in between the skyscrapers.

Inhale, exhale.

The stars weren't visible, but the view was amazing nonetheless. Traces of light etched into the streets, dots and globs of glitter racing against the inkiness. So many people tucked into their places in the world, and here I was, atop it all, looking down.

This right here was worth the hell that would be raised if I got caught smoking weed. My publicist had already called me with direct orders to stay on the DL and out of the public eye for a few months until the scandal blew over. Several venues had already pulled out and I was losing followers by the second. I needed to stay out of trouble, especially drug related trouble, and being only 17... well. The last thing I needed was a trip to jail. Again.

But after seeing the disappointed look in my mom's eyes?

I couldn't help it. I needed to get high. I needed to escape the hell that was quickly becoming my reality.

Thank God for balconies.

After a few minutes, the mellow high I'd reached started to shift. I didn't realize it until I heard a helicopter flying past and plastered myself to the ground, hands covering my ears, near tears with pure terror coursing through my veins. I was convinced the paparazzi had somehow located me.

When the helicopter passed without taking any pictures or even hovering near me, I was able to see how irrational and paranoid I was being. Or rather, how paranoid the weed was making me.

Uh oh. Looked like I was in for a bad trip.