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She doesn’t want to cry, not on the tube, not in front of everyone, but she does.
She can’t believe how much she’s let everyone down. She doesn’t even have tiredness as an excise- yes, she’d been tired (they were all tired) but no one else had been stupid enough to think that three energy drinks plus caffiene tablets on a two show day was a sensible solution.
It hadn’t even worked properly, that was the really frustrating thing- she’d still felt exhausted, just jittery too, and she’d barely been able to keep still throughout the show. And she’d never even considered the other side effects- she’d felt sicker than she ever had in her life,to the point that she’d had to duck into the wings during House of Holbein, for fear she’d actually throw up on stage, and on top of everything, she’d just felt so paranoid, so anxious.
Her voice had sounded wavery and weak even to her own ears, her cocky stage-persona unconvincing. The end of her song was deliberately a bit shrill but this time, she’d sounded terrified from the first verse.
God, what a mess.
She can only imagine what the fans thought of her disaster performance, and she’s trying not to think about how the other queens are going to react when they finish with stagedoor and come home.
It hadn’t exactly been agreed that she’d leave early or that Aragon would take her home- it’s just what ended up happening. A little part of her is afraid that Aragon just wants to scold her privately, to tell her what a disappointment she is- and the thought makes the tears come a little faster.
Aragon doesn’t comment or even look at her, keeping her eyes on an advert for Kumon lessons (extremely clean looking children bent studiously over blank workbooks) but she slips an arm around her shoulders and gently rubs up and down her upper arm.
It’s unexpected but still nice. She takes a chance and lets her head rest against Aragon’s coat, lets her eyes close and the tears slide slowly down her face to her jaw, drying stiff on her skin. When she licks her lips, eyes still shut, she can taste the salt.
She’s so very tired.
She hates you for ruining the show. They all hate you for ruining the show. She’s not talking because she hates you-
She just about manages to shut the train of thought down, with some effort.
She knows Aragon doesn’t speak for the other queens but it’s a comfort at least to feel that at least one person is still on her side. Aragon may not be talking but she keeps up her gentle movements on her arm and it soothes away the nibbling anxiety that’s never too far from the edge of her mind- no one pets angrily.
Eventually the tube shudders to a stop and Aragon unwinds herself. There’s cold air in the place of warm queen as they walk to the ticket barrier and it makes her want to cling and refuse to be unpeeled- she knows how quickly her mind can spiral if left to its own devices- but just as she’s beginning to feel herself getting shakey again, Aragon nudges her arm.
‘Ok?’
She nods and tries to smile.
‘We’re nearly home-’ Aragon says something else, something about ‘all sorted out’ but a lorry passes, laying on it’s horn and drowns nearly everything out.
‘Oh- yeah-’
Of course they’ll need to sort this out- of course that’s the priority (she pushes down her very-strong desire to crawl under her duvet and forget everything for a few hours, she tries to stop thinking about how long it’s been since she’s eaten anything, about the headache throbbing behind her eyes).
‘Should I-’ She desperately wants to show Aragon that she’s taking this seriously, that she understands how bad it is, that she’ll do everything she needs to do to make amends. ‘Do you think I should do a tweet or a video first? Or- or see what everyone is saying first, see how bad it is-?’
It will take hours, she knows how quickly comments pile up online...but it’s the least she can do-
‘What are you talking about?’
Aragon has stopped walking and is looking at her really strangely and it makes her stomach clench up- perhaps she really is angry, perhaps she really does think that she’s an attention-seeking, self absorbed, shallow, pathetic, worthless-
‘Anne?’ Aragon touches her arm and brings her out of a spiral for a moment. It’s a gentle touch but it still makes her flinch a tiny bit.
‘Just-’ Her voice is very small. ‘You said- you said we need to get everything sorted out-’
‘I meant-’
Aragon pauses and she holds her breath, waiting: her eyes are burning again and as much as she’s trying to hold herself together, a tear escapes. Stupid, selfish, attention seeking.
She’s squeezing her eyes shut as she waits for Aragon to say the words out loud- she surely must be thinking them, she just hopes she doesn’t tell all the others about how she’s still, after everything, trying to manipulate pity.
Then gentle fingers brush her cheek. ‘I meant you, you silly thing. You look awful, you need a hot shower and some sleep. And when did you last eat actual food?’
She shrugs, not meeting Aragon’s eye.
‘I knew it! Supper, shower, bed then, in that order, and no more energy drinks. At least we’re all off tomorrow, you can have a day to rest up-’
Aragon is confusing her- why is she talking as if she’s sick and deserving of sympathy, as if this whole thing isn’t of her own making?
‘But what about- what people will be saying? I ruined the show-’
Aragon is looking at her with her familiar look of fond exasperation. ‘I don’t give two hoots about what people are saying- and that’s assuming anyone even noticed anything was different-’
‘But-’
‘For all they know, you were just playing yourself a bit differently tonight- who are they to say you weren’t?’ Aragon tucks her under her arm and starts walking again- it’s a little bit difficult to keep in step but there’s no way she’s going to move away. ‘If anything, I’m sure the fans will love it-’
‘But- how could they?’
‘Remember when Jane and Anna had that bet on?’ Aragon’s voice is very certain, very assured, and she clings to that certainty- perhaps she hasn’t completely destroyed their reputation.
‘Yes-’
‘Remember how much the fans went wild for it? Remember the hashtags? And all the people begging them to keep it up? Remember how disappointed everyone was when they went back to normal?’ Aragon’s voice has fallen into the soothing cadence of a bedtime- and she DOES remember, how Jane spent a show imitating Anna’s brash cockiness, while Anna made herself temporarily vulnerable, and how fans had blown up the whole thing into a story of almost mythical proportions.
‘Do you really think they’ll think that for me?’
‘Of course. And if not- well, we can always tell them that’s what you were going for.’ As they get to their familiar front door, Aragon turns and looks her straight in the eye. ‘It’ll be all be ok, alright? I promise you, it will be fine.’
She can’t quite bring herself to agree, but she doesn’t want to contradict her either, settling for a shaky nod.
Aragon smiles as she digs out her key and unlocks the front door.
‘You’ll see I’m right, and when I am, I’ll remind you of it forever. You’ll be sick of me saying it.’
She gives a weak smile, that fades as she realises just how queasy she still feels. Aragon notices and tilts her head sympathetically.
‘Still feeling bad?’
She manages a nod.
‘Let's get you upstairs- you’ll feel better after some sleep. The others won’t be back for a bit-’
Standing under the shower is an effort but it’s a relief to wash off the stickiness of the day, even if she has to steady herself with a hand against the tiled wall.
Damp-haired and pajama clad, she makes her way back to her bedroom and finds the covers of her bed turned down and her curtains drawn. As she gets under the covers, she finds a hot water bottle at the foot of the bed and the thoughtfulness of it almost makes her want to cry again. Or maybe she’s just really tired and overly emotional and coming down from the biggest caffeine high imaginable.
It’s hard to tell really.
There’s a tap on the door and then Aragon enters, balancing a tray which she sets down on the bedside table.
Water, paracetemol, a mug of soup, some anti-nausea pills.
‘Here- I know you probably don’t feel like it but you should try and have something.’
‘Thanks.’
She expects her to leave but instead Aragon settles herself down on the edge of the bed, and she finds she’s grateful for the promise of company, even if she’s still half waiting to be told off.
‘Jane texted while you were showering-’
She pauses, the glass halfway to her lips.
‘She said to tell you that they all hope you’re ok.’
It’s a surprise, for all of Aragon’s reassurances.
‘Really?’
‘She said they all feel bad for not coming with us- she said if you’re asleep when they get in, they’ll try not to make too much noise.’
‘Oh.’ The thought warms her heart: they’re not angry, they’re not angry.’
‘They also say-’ Aragon shifts position and she makes room for her against the headboard. ‘The fans were sad not to see you at stagedoor- they were all apparently very moved by your new spin on your character…’
Aragon puts her phone down with a smile like a cat in a vat of cream. ‘What did I tell you?’
It’s such a relief, she can’t even reply- it’s all ok. She hasn’t ruined anything. It’s ok.
She leans into Aragon, all the tension leaving her at once, and lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. Aragons hands move through her damp hair- it feels good, she lets her eyes drift shut.
‘Hey-’ Aragon taps her arm. ‘No falling asleep on me until you’re properly hydrated- you don’t need to wake up with a headache-’
She knows she’s right but still- she just wants to enjoy the feeling of being able to relax properly for the first time in hours (in days) for a little longer.
‘In a minute.’
Her voice is muffled against Aragon’s shirt but she must have heard- her arms actually go around her properly, pulling her closer.
Her voice is faintly amused and so very warm, so loving.
‘Alright.’ A chuckle vibrates Aragon’s chest as she burrows infinitesimally closer. ‘In a minute.’