Page 23 of Santino (The Camboy Network #4)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

HAYDEN

I really did not want to go to the tuxedo fitting shoot. But I also really didn’t want to be left at home by myself either. What I really wanted was to stay in bed with Santino the whole day.

Like what we did yesterday after Rhys and Sebastian left. I drifted in and out of sleep, trying my best to ignore the voice and the heaviness whenever it tried to consume me. Santino was next to me the entire time, holding me from behind or sitting up next to me, reading a book.

That was so fucking adorable. The silly accent he put on, waving his hand in the air like he was some sort of Italian chef.

It made me laugh—like actual, real laughter that I felt right down in my belly—for the first time in a really long time.

It was such a relief, a bit of lightness that kept me from sinking too far into the darkness again.

Even so, I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.

I feel like I’m moving through thirty feet of water. Everything is slow and sluggish. Sounds are muted. Light is diluted. It takes me several seconds to process what other people are saying and then several more seconds to figure out a response. I feel so tired.

It doesn’t help that everyone’s acting weird. They’re all like, “Heeeyyy… are you okay? Are you sure? Do you need anything? Let me know if you need anything. Do you need to take a break? Don’t push yourself too hard. Self-care is important.”

I never know what to say. If I’m honest and say that I feel like shit, that I’d rather be curled up in bed and unconscious, then they’ll insist I go home.

But I don’t want to go home to an empty apartment.

So I lie and say I’m fine, then feel guilty because I told Sebastian I wouldn’t pretend anymore.

I know my friends mean well. I know they care.

But all the special treatment only makes me feel like more of a burden than I already am.

They’re going so far out of their way to make sure I’m being taken care of.

I swear it’d be easier for everyone if I just left so they could get on with things without constantly worrying about me.

They’d totally be better off without you holding them back.

My chest pangs at the thought, but I push it away. I can’t dwell on it. I’ll start spiraling if I do.

Santino’s the only one who’s treating me like a normal human being. He teases me and jokes around with me. He’s not asking if I need to take a break every five minutes or offering to bring me endless bottles of water.

He’s got this really subtle way of checking in on me.

Just a hand to my waist or back or arm and then he waits for me to meet his gaze.

He cocks a questioning eyebrow and if I’m okay, I nod.

If I’m not, I won’t, and he always seems to know exactly what I need without me telling him.

A silly comment that brings a smile to my face.

Helping himself to a seat so I don’t feel too conspicuous when I sit down next to him.

He’s my lifeline, the one thing keeping me from floating away and drowning. The only source of air that keeps me from suffocating.

“Places!” Sebastian calls out. We’ve already been at the tailor for a couple hours, shooting Noel’s and Sebastian’s fittings and now we’re switching to Bellamy and Santino.

Sebastian wanted the group split into two so it would look like two separate fittings. Kind of like how a bride and groom aren’t supposed to see each other’s outfits before the wedding.

Noel’s outfit wasn’t even really a tux. He had on this black corset with a burgundy-colored lace overlay and wide-legged pants. As his best man, Sebastian wore a simpler black suit. Now Bellamy and Santino are hiding behind the thick curtains of the changing stalls, waiting for their big reveal.

“Roll camera!”

I hit the record button on the camera I’m holding, then give Sebastian a thumbs up.

“Action!”

Bellamy and Santino shout a couple lines that Sebastian’s scripted for them, then the dark purple crushed velvet curtains are pushed back and they step out.

I’m watching the scene through the camera’s viewscreen, making sure the framing and focus are good. But the second Santino comes into the frame, I forget about the camera entirely.

He looks so good.

His suit hugs his body like a glove. The color is supposedly called champagne, but the fabric looks like it’s been shot through with gold thread.

It picks up on the golden specks in his eyes, making them sparkle and glow.

The white shirt underneath is open at the collar, exposing Santino’s throat, his collarbones, the top of his chest, and a hint of chest hair.

There’s a silk burgundy handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket.

The pants are almost indecently tight, showing off his thick thighs and muscled calves, the hem hitting right at his ankles. On his feet are burgundy leather sneakers, polished to a sheen.

My dick’s been in a coma since we filmed our scene, even with the skin-on-skin contact when we cuddle, even while naked and wet in the shower.

At most, there’s been a little heat in my stomach, spreading warmth through my body.

Now, though, my breath catches in my chest and parts of my brain that have been dormant for months spark back to life.

Santino is a very attractive man. He steps up onto the platform in front of the three-sided mirror and the tailor tugs on the jacket and the pants to test their fit. The spotlight above him washes away any imperfections, leaving him glowing and exquisite.

I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I don’t even know what Bellamy’s wearing, and honestly, I don’t care.

I catch Santino’s gaze through the reflection in the mirror. He adjusts the gold cuff links on the French cuffs and smirks at me like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind.

I gulp and drop my chin to my chest. I shouldn’t be perving on him—not in the middle of a shoot when I’m supposed to be focused on the cameras. Certainly not when I’m mentally ill and unstable.

He probably thinks I’m gross. Compromised. Crazy. He doesn’t want a total nutcase ogling him. What a violation.

You’re a sick pervert.

I wince at the voice as my skin crawls with the feeling of dirt and filth.

That’s why he’s leaving.

I gasp silently. I don’t actually know if he’s leaving.

He hasn’t said. I’ve just ignored the fact that there’s a clock ticking on our time together.

But the voice is right—if he’s staying, why hasn’t he told me?

We’re getting close to finishing the documentary.

Why leave it up in the air? Maybe he hasn’t decided yet.

Or maybe he has, but he doesn’t want to tell me in case I freak out on him.

Because you’re a freak.

I don’t want him to go. I don’t know what I’ll do if he leaves.

He’s the one thing keeping me tethered to this side of sanity and who knows how far I’ll spiral if he’s not here to stop it.

The darkness will consume me. The voice will break my mind.

No one will be able to help me then. Not my friends. Not the professionals. No one.

Who says they can help you now?

How did I ever live without Santino by my side? Falling asleep beside me. Waking up next to me. Holding me when my world is coming apart. He’s become a necessary, essential part of my existence and if I don’t have him, there’s no point in existing anymore either.

Just put yourself out of your misery already.

My heart is in my throat as I try to keep my hands from shaking.

I stare at the little markings on the dials and buttons of the camera, not blinking until my vision blurs and my eyes sting with dryness.

Fear grips my chest so tight, it feels like someone has cut it open and my organs are falling out.

I try to swallow around the panic tearing through me. We’re still in the middle of a take. I can’t drop everything and run. Sebastian will realize he’s made a mistake letting me come back. He’ll send me home and I’ll never hear from anyone ever again.

I keep my head down, waiting for Sebastian to yell, “Cut!” The second he does, I set the camera down and bolt for the bathroom.

You’re such a loser. A failure. A deadbeat.

They’re all waiting to get rid of you.

They’re going to pawn you off to a shrink and wash their hands of you.

You’re a burden they never asked for.

You’re a waste of space, a deadbeat.

You have nothing to live for.

You’re better off dead.

I flip the deadbolt on the door and sag against it. I can’t breathe. My vision goes black around the edges. I push the heels of my hands into my eyes. I try to scream, but no sound comes out. Just emptiness. Nothingness. An echoing cavern of silence.

I’m tired. Just so tired.

So give up.

Tired of fighting. Tired of trying. Tired of staying strong and pushing through. Tired of hoping things will get better when they never do.

Just give up.

I’m afraid it’ll get worse. That I’m a lost cause. That there’s no cure, and even if there is, it won’t work on me.

Give up.

I want to. I want to give up and end it. So I’ll stop hurting, stop being in pain. The darkness and the voice can’t get to me when I’m dead. Everyone will be relieved. It will solve all our problems.

“Hayden?” Santino raps his knuckles on the other side of the door. “You in there?”

I jump, relief and shame swirling inside me. He came for me. He noticed I was missing and came searching for me. Again. Because I keep fucking up. Because I keep needing to be saved.

“Hayden? Are you okay?”

I stifle a sob. I’m not okay. I need help. But how do I ask for help I don’t deserve?