The Publicist's Plight (Book I in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Thirty: The Demons We Hide

"It isn't your job to worry about this," I say, trying to comfort him. "It's my job. I'm the publicist, and this is what I'm here for."

The search history on his computer is full of two days' worth of google searches of his name, consisting of the same type of articles defaming him from the events of last week and even past years accumulated into a timeline for one website. One article is so bad I have to exit out before I can even finish it. I delete all of the search history and close the laptop.

"This isn't healthy for you, Sebastian."

"I tried to stop reading after the first one. But then there were links to other ones and I couldn't stop. This is the first time I've ever googled my name. Some of the stuff they said is wrong, though."

I listen to him and take note of the slow, dragging way he talks. He leans his head on the wall and looks up at the ceiling, the bathroom lights making the bruise on his eyebrow a light blue and lilac color.

"Why are you even here?" he asks me. "Why...why'd you even come here?"

"Because...I was worried about you. I am worried about you."

"Well that's your first mistake," he laughs lowly.

"Why is that?"

"I'm the...wrong person to worry over, Leslie. I'm just a drunk, a junkie, a man whore. A woman like you would be better off...better off worrying about someone else."

"I'm sure you're much more than that. Those are your father's words."

"Don't you see?" he's looking at me with his head tilted in my direction, his eyes now bloodshot. "I'm such a fucked up human being, Leslie. I don't deserve...any good things in life."

"That isn't true."

"Yes it is. How can you...sit there and...and defend me? I put you in danger on Sunday. I could've gotten you killed."

"No you couldn't have, Sebastian. Stop beating yourself up about it. Please."

He chuckles down at me. Why? Maybe because he doesn't believe my words. And if it would have been a week prior, I don't think I would have believed them myself.

"You know I was born three weeks premature," he tells me while playing with a beer can. "I had heart palpitations when I was a baby. Somehow they saved me; I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm not even supposed to be here, Leslie. I've done such horrible shit. And I can't say sorry. And I'm not supposed to be here."

Yelling is the only way you can get through to that premature brain of his! Garrett said when he was here a couple of days ago. I didn't know he really meant it.

"Why can't you say sorry, Sebastian?"

"Because they're gone. They're all gone. And it's my fault. It's my fault that she's gone and she's never coming back."

"Who's never coming back?"

He shakes the name from his brain, "I shouldn't have listened to him. Maybe then she'd still be here. She used to read me stories and tell me how amazing I was...and now she's gone. God, it's so empty..."

The puzzle puts itself together in my mind, but I feel like I'm missing so many pieces.

"My family...they never liked me. I never knew why," he mutters lazily. "I guess now they have a reason. All I do is fuck shit up but I don't mean to. I just don't know who I am anymore. I don't know who else to be. It hurts so much all the time, Leslie...she'd be so disappointed if she saw how I was now," he lowers his head. I can't see his eyes. "I promised her, too. Fuck, I promised her so many times and I broke it so many times. How could I?"