4. Nikos

4

NIKOS

I can't breathe wearing this four-thousand-pound Armani suit. Even though the cut fits looser then when I had it tailored - thanks to the loss of muscle that fell off me when filming finished, given the stress of everything and the lack of three-hour daily weightlifting sessions - I still feel as though I'm drowning in black silk, cotton, and polished leather shoes.

My room is so quiet I can hear the fans screaming from outside the window. The five-star hotel I've called home during press week is just opposite Trafalgar Square, giving a perfect view of the crowds waiting outside the film premiere. I wonder if I should dare look outside, or if the tiny lunch I had would rush up my throat and ruin Selina's outfit of choice if I do.

Who needs to waste money on a stylist when your manager is Italian?

I step up to the window, hiding like a stalker behind the long curtains. I pull them back enough to see the sea of people outside. People waiting for me. There comes the urge to vomit again, which I quell with a long drink from the vodka in my hand. I told Selina it was water. She didn't believe me, but she didn't take it off me either. I've eased up on my drinking significantly since filming started, pulling myself out of the depths of what was probably a full-blown addiction, but I still need a drink when I'm nervous. I can't steady myself without it, and if I'm not steady, the panic attacks are going to come for me.

‘I can't do this,' I say to the reflection in the window. It's slightly tinted, enough that anyone looking up would see the outline of a figure, not the details. But that means I get a long, hard look at myself.

Tired brown eyes. My hair had been dyed pitch-black for the film and the director loved my long ‘I don't care about my appearance' hair length so much that he made me keep it. Since then, we've cut it back, still keeping enough length that I can effortlessly brush it away from my forehead.

I hardly look like the character I'd just embodied for almost a year. Between the hair style, normal brown eyes with no purple contacts, muscle loss, and untanned skin, I don't even know who I am in the reflection.

Effortless. That's the one word that's been put next to my name in all the recent reviews remarking on my performance. It's a word that I should carry with pride, and yet it makes me sick.

A thunderous clap of screams echoes from outside. I imagine the premiere is about to start, so I look out again. But the reaction is because a small portion of the crowd are looking up at my window, pointing, faces excited.

They're looking at me.

I step back, breathless. The glass almost slips from my hands. I have the urge to turn my back on it all, head into the bathroom, lock the door, and stay in it for as long as I can keep Selina away.

But alas, tonight I can't. Tonight, I'm Nikos Ridge, the lead in the world's biggest predicted film release of the year - hell, of the past twenty years. That's a lot of pressure to carry on my shoulders. It's a pressure that I can barely withstand.

‘Two more days,' I promise myself, finishing the vodka, pouring another and finishing that until my throat hisses with the burn and the panic fades just a bit. ‘Two more days.'

Contractually, I'm almost finished. All in all, it's been a rewarding year with the filming, re-shoots and the publicity campaign. Work has kept me busy, diverting my attention away from reality to this made-up world of flashing lights, cameras, and adoring fans. But beneath it all is the truth of why I did it in the first place.

Him. Dad. Father. The Devil.

I'd wired the last of the money to him a week ago and haven't heard from him since. I'm paid in full, every penny that he's demanded. I am, as Selina promised, free. Free to return home, live my life, and never need to work again - as long as the residual checks keep coming in.

And yet I don't feel free. I feel selfish, pathetic, and unworthy. All the words my father would put next to my name, far different than the trade reviews. Because I have this life, and yet I continue to be ungrateful.

I'd give it all up to remove the scars of my past.

A light knock taps at the door. I lower the empty glass, glad for the Dutch courage the vodka has offered me.

Selina opens the door slightly, enough to poke her head in. ‘Ready?' she asks.

I fake a smile, straighten my back and adorn the mask of the man everyone expects me to be. ‘Born ready.'

Selina steps into the room, a swarm of people behind her, all watching me expectantly. Like them, Selina has a glint of emotion in her eyes. It wets her painted lashes, threatening to ruin her makeup.

‘You look…' she begins, pausing to find the right word. ‘Ravishing.'

I pull at my bowtie, hoping to ease the sudden constriction around my throat. ‘You don't look too bad yourself, Selina.'

She closes the space between us and stops just shy of where I stand. To distract herself from her emotion, she fusses over me, flattening the lapels of my suit jacket, brushing hair from my shoulders and dragging a single strand of my bangs down over my eye.

‘Now you look like you're worth the swooning crowd that's waiting outside for you.'

Another chorus of screams hits the windows. I can't help but wince, which Selina notices - she never misses a single thing. ‘Smile. Shoulders back. Prove to yourself that you deserve to stand in this spotlight.'

I lower my voice, which is hard when it's so deep that even a whisper can carry. ‘What if I don't deserve the spotlight?'

More cries of excitement, my name slowly building in a demanding chorus out on the red carpet. ‘Let them prove to you that you do.'

And with that, Selina threads her fingers in with mine and guides me out of the room.

The red carpet passes in a blur of blinding lights and flashing cameras.

It's acting, I tell myself. Playing the part of a man who wants to be here, a man who enjoys the attention. Maybe the reviewers are right, and I do it effortlessly. After hundreds of photos are taken of me standing beneath a 3D model of my dragon - Eratrix - from the film, I'm shepherded down a line of press. Fluffy-headed mics are pressed so close to my face that by the time I finish, all I can smell is their plasticky scent. My mouth is so dry, my head aching so much that I can't imagine how I'm going to make it through the film and the throng of after-parties set up by my co-stars.

I see Michelle, the second lead of the film, skimming down the red carpet - which is actually gold to match the film's aesthetic. She looks beautiful, long auburn hair falling down her spine like a river, the silver dress she wears something hand-picked from Aubrey Hepburn's closet.

We hug, for the cameras and the crowd. Our small talk is exaggerated so the people watching think we are the best of friends, when the truth is she fucking hates me. It wasn't always the case, but then she made advances on me during filming which I politely declined, over and over and over. She doesn't know it, but she's not for me. Our chemistry on screen is unmatched, but that doesn't translate to real life. At least, not for me.

Michelle isn't my type. I don't really have a type. I've never given myself room to explore it. I've fucked around, yes. But with the life I choose to lead, the constraints placed on me, it's better doing it alone.

Fewer people get hurt.

‘Sign some posters, take some selfies. I say you've got about ten minutes before we need to head inside.' Selina has to shout over the hustle and bustle. The soundtrack for the film is blaring out of speakers, turning all of this side of London into a rave.

She offers me a quick drink of water, which I've never been gladder for. Alcohol would've been better, but that will come when the credits start rolling.

‘Wish me luck,' I say, stepping towards the line of people waving copies of An Age of Dragons, collectable figurines of my character and other merchandise like t-shirts, mugs, and the many topless photos of my character scowling on the back of his dragon.

Maybe Selina was right. Because for the first time, I'm swept away by the love. I'm surrounded by it. I think it's love, anyway. Maybe a form of it. Certainly something that could replace the type of love I crave, even if it won't last.

That thought spoils it for me. I look into the faces of crying, adoring fans and know that one wrong move, and they would turn on me.

Where was this love when I needed it most? Off being given to someone else whilst I festered with my demons, alone.

‘Thank you,' I say, numbly, my cheeks aching from the forced smile. ‘I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy the film. The book is always better…' On and on I go until the faces blur into one.

I'm towards the end of the line when I pause halfway through scrawling my name over a poster with my nipples on display. It isn't that the person holding it is standing out, but more of a deep gut reaction. Like my body is reacting to something my mind still hasn't worked out.

And then I look up into the face of the man who gave me the poster. Into the face of my father.

‘Nikos.' His Greek accent is so thick, it should remind me of home. But in truth, the sound bores into my soul and pierces me like a knife.

I can barely move, trapped in his stare. The few people around him hold up phones, filming the moment, not really knowing exactly what this moment is.

My smile falters. I begin to worry the skin on the inside of my lip. I hand back the half-finished signature and go to move away, but a firm hand grips my wrist. No one notices, but I do.

The words that come out of his mouth are just for me. Without context, no one would understand the power. But I do.

‘I need more.'

‘Yes!' those around him scream. ‘We want more. Nikos Ridge. Nikos Ridge.'

Father smiles at me, looking like a feral dog about to bite. I break free of his hold, although the skin around my wrist aches. Part of me longs to reach over the barrier, drag him over and beat him just like he beat -

‘Film is about to start,' Selina says, apology written over her face, as she saves me from the moment. ‘Better get our darling star inside.'

The crowd continues to react, but I can't help but search it again for my father.

He's gone. Left, like the demon he was, vanishing in a plume of smoke.

‘Well done, darling. You've done well. Sold the dream.'

I can't open my mouth to reply to Selina as she guides me off the gold carpet and into the theatre. My mind is fixed on his face, those endless eyes and sinister sneer.

I need more.

It can only mean one thing.

Money. More fuel to feed his twisted sense of revenge. And he knows that I'll give it. I'll do anything to stop him ruining my life, my career.

‘I need to use the restroom,' I say, pulling free as I see the glowing sign ahead of me.

‘Well, Nikos. There are nice clean, special toilets for the talent. We'll be there as soon as the film begins - '

‘No,' I snap, hating how much like my father I sound. ‘This will do.'

I hate the look in Selina's face. It's fear, like she's seeing the truth of a person she always believed possible, but never met. Now, she's witnessing it in full force.

‘Then I'll wait for you,' Selina says, frowning, her red-painted nails looking as threatening as weapons. ‘Or do you have something to say about that too?'

I want to apologise, to beg for her forgiveness. But people are threading around us, and if Selina knows anything, it's keeping up appearances. ‘Be quick, darling. The crowd will be waiting for you.'

That pressure on my shoulders is so heavy now, I can barely take the steps towards the restroom. I push the door open, glad for the empty, bright space. I lean against the sinks and bury my face in my hands.

That's when the tears begin.