26. Barely Alive – Dakota
26
BARELY ALIVE
DAKOTA
T he roar of the crowd still echoes in my ears as I stumble off stage, sweat-soaked and grinning. Our set was tight, the energy electric. This is why I do this, why I love it.
I can still feel the vibration of my bass strings in my fingertips, the phantom weight of the instrument against my body. The last song, our new single ‘Midnight Mirage,’ had the crowd going wild. I'd locked in with Emmett's drums, creating a groove so deep you could drown in it. When Brad's voice soared over Stefan's searing guitar solo, I saw people in the front row with tears in their eyes.
The guys are all whooping and high-fiving, riding the post-show high. Stefan's hair is plastered to his forehead, and his usually pristine white t-shirt is now translucent with sweat. Emmett's hands are shaking slightly - they always do after a particularly intense set - but his grin is a mile wide. And Brad, our normally cool and collected frontman, is bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited kid.
"Did you hear them singing along?" Brad asks, his voice hoarse from belting out lyrics for the past hour. "Even to the new stuff. Fucking unreal, man."
I nod, still riding the wave of adrenaline. "That breakdown in 'Fault Lines' hit hard. I thought the floor was gonna cave in from all the jumping."
We're interrupted by our tour manager, reminding us we need to clear the side stage for Incendiary Ink. As we start helping to break down our gear, I can't help but smile. This feeling, this rush - it's better than any high I've ever known.
I reach for my phone, wanting to share this moment with Lauren. My fingers hover over the keys, trying to capture the rush in a text.
ME: Show was amazing. Wish you could've been here. Miss you and Roman. x
Her reply comes quickly:
LAUREN: So proud of you! Can't wait to hear all about it. Roman says hi. We miss you too. xx
A pang of longing hits me, but I push it aside. We've still got work to do.
The next hour is a blur of activity. We break down our equipment, pack up our gear, and do a quick meet-and-greet with some fans who won backstage passes. All the while, the muffled sounds of Incendiary Ink's set vibrate through the walls.
By the time we finish, I'm exhausted but still buzzing from the performance. We gather in our dressing room, sharing a few sodas and reliving the best moments of our set.
"Did you see that one girl in the front row? She knew every word!" Emmett exclaims, twirling a drumstick.
"Yeah, and what about when Brad almost ate it on that amp cable?" Stefan laughs, dodging a playful swipe from our lead singer.
I lean back, soaking it all in. This is what I've missed - the camaraderie, the shared excitement. For a moment, I almost forget the ache of missing Lauren and Roman.
Then, the building seems to shake with the thunderous applause, signaling the end of Incendiary Ink's set. A few minutes later, Chase, the lead singer, bursts into our dressing room, a bottle of champagne in each hand.
"Let's fucking celebrate, boys!" he shouts, popping one open and spraying it everywhere.
The room erupts in cheers. I hesitate, my sobriety a fragile thing in the face of such jubilation. But it's just one night, right? One drink to celebrate. I can handle that.
Chase thrusts a plastic cup of champagne into my hand, clapping me on the back. "To a killer first night!" he toasts.
I raise my cup with the others, the familiar scent of alcohol making my mouth water. It feels like it’s been so long. Just one , I tell myself as I take a sip. The bubbles dance on my tongue, sharp and sweet.
For a split second, I'm transported back to another night, years ago. Chloe and I, celebrating some small victory I can't even remember now. The taste of cheap wine, her laughter, the feeling that everything was possible. Before it all went wrong.
I blink, and I'm back in the present. The taste of champagne turns bitter in my mouth, but I force myself to swallow. It's different now. I'm different. I can control it this time.
As I lower my cup, I catch Stefan's eye. His brow is furrowed, a question in his gaze. I give him a small nod, trying to convey that I've got this under control. He doesn't look convinced, but he turns away, engaging Chase in conversation.
Emmett is less subtle. He sidles up to me, keeping his voice low. "You sure about this, man? We can make excuses, head back to the hotel if you want."
I feel a flare of irritation. "I'm fine," I insist, taking another sip as if to prove my point. "It's one drink. To celebrate."
Emmett holds up his hands in surrender, but I can see the worry in his eyes. Even Brad, usually the life of the party, keeps glancing my way, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Their concern should be touching, but instead, it grates on me. I'm a grown man, for Christ's sake. I can handle one drink without completely falling off the wagon.
Can't I?
Chase, oblivious to the tension, throws an arm around my shoulders. "So, Dakota, you in for the after-party? There's this club down the street that's supposed to be insane."
I hesitate, feeling the weight of my bandmates' stares. Part of me wants to prove them wrong, to show them I can be around alcohol without losing control. Another part, the more rational part, knows I'm playing with fire.
But the champagne has already dulled that voice of reason, and Chase is looking at me expectantly. "Yeah," I hear myself say. "Yeah, I'm in."
As we file out of the dressing room, Stefan catches my arm. "Dakota," he starts, his voice low and serious.
I cut him off. "I said I'm fine. Drop it, okay?"
He looks like he wants to say more but just shakes his head and lets me pass. As we pile into Ubers, I catch a glimpse of my bandmates exchanging worried looks. I turn away, focusing instead on the excited chatter of the Incendiary Ink guys.
The Uber pulls away from the curb, and I lean my head against the cool glass of the window. The city lights blur past, and I feel a familiar buzz settling in my veins. It's been so long since I've felt this... normal. This free.
But with that freedom comes a nagging voice in the back of my head. What about Lauren? What about all the promises I've made?
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. It's just one night. One celebration. I deserve this, don't I? After all the hard work, all the struggles to stay sober. Surely, I've earned the right to let loose a little.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Lauren. Guilt twists in my gut, but I silence it, shoving the phone deep into my pocket. I'll call her tomorrow , I promise myself. Right now, the night is young, and I've got something to prove.
To my bandmates, to myself, to the memory of Chloe that still haunts me. I can still hear her laughter from those nights long ago, a bittersweet reminder of everything I've lost and gained. I can do this. I can be normal. I can have just one drink.
Chase's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You're gonna love this place, Dakota. They've got this insane light show, and the drinks... man, the drinks are something else."
I nod, forcing a smile. "Sounds great," I say, ignoring the pit forming in my stomach. It's just one night.
As we pull up to the club, bass already thrumming through the car, a small voice in the back of my head whispers: But will you stop at one?
I drown it out with laughter at one of Chase's jokes as we tumble out of the car. The neon lights of the club beckon, promising escape, release. I follow the others inside, leaving my doubts on the curb behind me.
The club is a blur of strobe lights and pounding music. More drinks appear in my hand. I down them without thinking, chasing that euphoria, that freedom from thought.
A girl with purple hair presses against me on the dance floor. Her lips move, but I can't hear her over the music. She's pretty, I think distantly. But not as pretty as Lauren.
Lauren . The name cuts through the haze like a knife.
What the fuck am I doing?
I stumble away from Purple Hair, fumbling for my phone. The screen swims before my eyes, but I manage to pull up Lauren's contact. My finger hovers over the call button.
No. I can't let her hear me like this.
Instead, I text:
ME: Miss yuo. Cant wait to com e home.
The typos mock me, a stark reminder of how far I've strayed in just one night. Shame burns through me, hotter than the alcohol in my veins.
I need to get out of here. I need to get back to the hotel. I need...
I need to be better than this.
As I push through the crowd towards the exit, I make a silent promise to Lauren, to Roman, to myself. This can't happen again. I won't let it.
But even as I think it, a traitorous part of me whispers: Will you be able to keep that promise?
The cool night air hits me like a slap as I stumble out of the club. My head spins, and I lean against the brick wall, trying to steady myself. The bass from inside still thrums through my body, a reminder of how close temptation remains.
I fumble again for my phone, squinting at the too-bright screen. It takes me three tries to successfully order an Uber. As I wait, I scroll through my contacts, thumb hovering again over Lauren's name. I want so badly to hear her voice. But what would I fucking say now? How could I explain this?
The Uber arrives mercifully quick. As I slide into the backseat, the driver eyes me warily in the rearview mirror. "Rough night?" he asks.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As we pull away from the curb, I watch the neon lights of the club recede. The guilt and shame sit heavy in my stomach, worse than any hangover.
Back at the hotel, I manage to make it to my room without running into any of my bandmates. Small fucking mercies. I collapse onto the bed, still fully clothed, the room spinning around me.
On the nightstand, my phone lights up with a text. Lauren.
LAUREN: Hope you're having a great night! Can't wait to hear all about the show tomorrow. Love you. x
Fresh shame washes over me. I roll over, burying my face in the pillow. Tomorrow, I'll deal with this. Tomorrow, I'll be better. I have to be.
As I drift into an uneasy sleep, one thought echoes in my mind: I can't let this happen again. I won't.
But deep down, I'm terrified of how easy it was to fall.
No, I’m fucking petrified.