Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Eshe | I can't

The world was a blur of colour, movement, sound and texture. So much texture. From fabrics to faces, Eshe was lost in the current. Swept along the powerful pull of the red carpet, arm in arm with Cait as cameras flashed and voices rang out. Baying her name.

Eshe Diallo, are the rumors true that you're going to be the new face of VOGUE?

Who are you wearing?

Have you signed with Tate Voss?

Eshe! Eshe! Eshe!

Cait had picked her up from the airport earlier that morning and without word or warning, she was whisked from wardrobe, to hair and makeup, back to wardrobe and then off to the red carpet. There hadn't been a single moment to breathe, let alone think, but after the exhilaration of the premier, now that the sparkle and dazzle was fading, reality started to connect and weighed heavy on her chest.

So heavy that she was aware of the bones in her ribcage fighting to expand.

Anxiety wove around her lungs in bands of iron, cinched tight and unyielding. She knew the feel of them well and consciously counted each breath, willing her body to take in more air, to hold and release slowly, easing the kicking gallop of her heart. All while her mind whipped in circles like Ferris wheel spun out of control.

You're okay. It's all the excitement setting you off. Deep breaths. Calm thoughts. You're okay. You're safe.

Eshe repeated this simple mantra—tried and tested over years of struggling with anxiety—as a guard escorted them through the doors of the hotel to join the cue of guests waiting for the elevators up to the after party hosted by Vogue.

Here, tucked away inside at least, she'd hoped to feel less overwhelmed, but sensory overload continued to assail her from all direction. When she'd tried to duck away to the bathroom at the premiere, she'd been horrified by the string of celebrities running lines by the sink, or the models throwing up into toilets, popping pills or powdering their noses with the rest of them.

All she needed was a moment away from eyes and ears so she could slip away into herself—disappear into obscurity and quiet.

When she was younger she'd seal herself in a cocoon of covers and pillows on her bed. With the lights off and curtains drawn and the soft strains of gentle music playing as she counted her breaths and waited for the storm to pass.

As she'd grown older she'd learned how to read the early warnings and take hold of the reigns before she'd slipped too far into the attack to pull out. Eventually, they receded, becoming less and less frequent. But every now and then they'd spring back up, if only to remind her she'd never truly be free of them.

Here, at least, the energy was dull hum compared to the loud roar of press and rabid crowd wedged in behind security fences and armed police, vying for a selfie with the celebrities rolling in for the night's event.

Cait shifted on her impressive heels, the long train of her metallic couture dress swishing behind with a kick of her leg. Cut long in the back and high in the front it showed off toned legs and narrow physique.

Eshe was far simpler but no less compelling in a scarlet sheath that wrapped from breast to ankle, her hair a flawless curtain of straight black. Diamonds—real Harry Winston diamonds—dripped around her ears and wrists, offset by an edgy Alexander McQueen clutch.

She'd never been a part of so much decadence and grandeur, even when she was with...No, don't say his name. Don't even dare think it.

After a few lingering moments, a coordinator appeared, in head to toe black with a headset in place as she spoke to someone over the line, and escorted both Cait and Eshe to the next available elevator waiting in the bank and punched the button for the rooftop patio.