28. Hopeless – Dakota
28
HOPELESS
DAKOTA
T he harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station bathroom flicker as I splash cold water on my face. My reflection in the smudged mirror is a stranger – bloodshot eyes, unkempt beard, dark circles that no amount of stage makeup can hide. I've been on the road for a month, but I look like I've aged years.
"Hurry up, man!" Emmett's voice calls from outside. "Bus leaves in five!"
I grip the edges of the sink, trying to steady myself. The lingering effects of last night's drinks make the world tilt slightly. Or maybe that's just the guilt.
"Yeah, coming," I call back, my voice rough.
As I step out into the bright afternoon sun, squinting against the glare, I'm hit with a wave of déjà vu. Wasn't it just yesterday we were excited about gas station stops? Piling out of the tour bus, laughing and joking as we stocked up on snacks and stretched our legs?
Now, it's just another blur in a series of indistinguishable days and nights.
Brad eyes me as I climb back onto the bus. "You good?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I can feel the weight of the new flask in my jacket pocket, a constant reminder of how far I've fallen.
As the bus rumbles to life, I pull out my phone. Three missed calls from Lauren. Five unread messages. The sight of her name on the screen sends a jolt of shame through me.
I should call her back. I want to. But what would I say? How can I tell her that the man she loves, the one who promised to stay sober, is slowly drowning himself in alcohol and regret?
Instead, I put on my headphones and close my eyes, letting the motion of the bus lull me into a fitful sleep. In a few hours, we'll be at the next venue. Another show, another chance to lose myself in the music and the adoration of the crowd.
And after that? Well, there's always another drink waiting.
My fingers fumble over the strings as we launch into ‘Midnight Mirage.’ The crowd doesn't seem to notice, but I catch Stefan's sharp glance. It's our new single, the one we're supposed to nail every night. Instead, I'm barely keeping up.
A month into the tour, and I'm already falling apart.
The rest of the set passes in a blur of bright lights and familiar chords. I'm running on autopilot, muscle memory carrying me through songs I could play in my sleep. Should be able to play in my sleep. The tremor in my hands is getting harder to ignore.
As we stumble off stage after the encore, I'm drenched in sweat and shaking slightly. The post-show high is already fading, leaving behind an achingly familiar emptiness.
"Dakota," Brad says, his tone serious. "We need to talk about what happened out there."
I force a laugh, reaching for a bottle of water. My hands shake as I unscrew the cap. "What do you mean? The crowd loved it."
"Yeah, they did," Stefan chimes in, "but you were off, man. That transition in 'Midnight Mirage' —"
"I know, I know," I cut him off. "I'll nail it tomorrow. Just tired, you know? These late nights are catching up to me."
Emmett exchanges a look with Brad. "Maybe you should take it easy tonight. Get some rest."
I feel a flare of irritation. "I said I'm fine. Drop it, okay?"
Brad steps closer, lowering his voice. "Look, Dakota, we're worried about you. This isn't just about tonight. You've been off for weeks now. If you need help?—"
"I don't need help," I snap, pushing past him. "I need some air."
I ignore their concerned looks as I head for the back door. The cool night air hits me, and I take a deep breath. My pocket feels heavy with the weight of the flask. I lean against the building and light a cigarette, something else I had recently quit and started again. Fuck it. Why not give in to all my vices?
My phone buzzes. Lauren. Guilt twists in my gut as I see the missed calls and unread messages. One catches my eye.
LAUREN: Two weeks into nursing school and I'm drowning in assignments. Could really use one of your pep talks right now. Miss you. When can we video chat?
I should call her back. I want to. God, I want to. But how can I give her a pep talk when I can barely keep myself together?
I take a swig from the flask, wincing at the burn. It's been over a month of "just one more," turning into stumbling back to hotel rooms I barely remember. A month of dodging Lauren's calls and making excuses about bad reception or conflicting schedules.
Another text pops up.
LAUREN: Roman asked about you again today. He misses his Dakota stories. We both do.
The words hit me like a physical blow. I promised them both I'd stay connected, that I'd be there even from a distance. Instead, I'm here, hiding in the shadows, trying to numb myself to the reality of what I'm becoming.
After a while, my phone buzzes again. This time, it's not Lauren but a text from Chase. Fuck. How long have I been out here? I shake my flask and notice it’s now empty. Shit.
CHASE: Heading to a club downtown. You in?
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the reply button. I should say no. I should go back to the hotel, call Lauren, and try to salvage what's left of my sobriety and my relationship.
But the thought of facing the quiet of a hotel room, alone with my thoughts and the bone-gnawing need for another drink, is unbearable.
ME: Yeah, I'm in. See you there.
As I pocket my phone and head towards the waiting Uber, I try to ignore the voice in my head telling me I'm making a mistake. It's drowned out by the promise of more alcohol, more numbing, more forgetting.
I'll call Lauren tomorrow , I promise myself. I'll get it together. I'll be better.
But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. The truth is, I'm losing control, and I don't know how to stop.
I don’t know how to fucking stop.