The date was drawing ever closer, and Bebe knew it. It loomed over their days like a vast wall, casting dark shadows that brought anxiety like little else. There were going to be so many people. So many people that they would have to speak to, to address. Even worse, to answer questions from. More than just reciting their script, Bebe would need to answer questions when even still they didn’t know everything about this venture. They couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong – and terribly so.
Gloved fingers anxiously pick and pull at their tabard as bright green eyes dart across the script for their speech. Having Kelovas there to function as a second speaker was… relieving. Even if it worried Bebe that they might accidently miss a cue and the doctor would level them with the most disappointed stare. Even the thought made Bebe shiver, paper rustling as their grip tightens. Not the best image. Focus on the memorization, learn the project’s guidelines, remember, remember, remember.
I cannot fuck this up. They shake a stray hair out of their face, free hand rising to push the orange strand back into place behind their ear. If I do, I might as well just dig my own grave. I should just dig my own grave, in preparation. I’ll stutter on something, start on the wrong part… Something will happen and I’ll need that grave.
A shaking laugh falls from their lips and finally, they set the paper down. The date was near, and as anxious, as scared, as unprepared as they felt… nothing would stop the hours shortening. All they could do was buck up, and wait. No amount of anxiety can stop time.
And isn’t that a shame.