Chapter 11 #2
The intro began, and goosebumps raced up my arms. After hearing their songs night after night, I’d decided this was my favourite. It didn’t fit the rest of the set the way the others did. It was slower. Stripped back. Almost bare.
Ghost’s fingers moved gently over the piano, a melody so delicate it left Bodhi’s voice exposed.
Vulnerable.
Then the lights dimmed. The crowd hushed. And Bodhi opened his mouth to sing.
“I’ve worn my name into the floorboards, every night the same disguise.
If this is all I’m ever known for, let me burn before it dies . . .”
He didn’t move like he usually did. Didn’t prowl, climb, or scream. He stayed exactly where he was, bathed in a single spotlight, the mic resting in its stand.
He did nothing but let himself be seen.
After watching him perform a few times, I understood what he’d meant back in rehab. What it felt like to be detached from the music.
There were songs he threw his whole self into. Mind, body, soul. He bared everything for the crowd and burned through them like it cost him something real.
And then there were the others.
When you spend enough time searching for the cracks in yourself, you start to see them in other people too.
I noticed the way he moved more stiffly during certain songs.
How his excitement dipped, ten or twenty percent at a time.
Those were the ones he wasn’t connected to.
The ones that felt manufactured. Written by someone whose only interest was profit margins and chart placement.
The rest of Noctis were the same. They didn’t play as hard, or as wild. Still good. Still polished. Still more than enough to give a paying crowd their money’s worth. Enough to keep the label satisfied so they could keep creating at all, even if it wasn’t exactly what they’d dreamed of.
I wondered how long that balance could last.
How long before the suits took over completely. Before the band was told nothing more than where to be, when to show up, what to play. Before all that was left was performance without passion.
Watching them hover just this side of apathy made something hot and helpless rise in my chest. I wanted to shake them. To demand they fight for their music, their joy, their autonomy.
But I never did.
It wasn’t my place. I didn’t understand the industry well enough to pretend I had answers.
All I knew was that if anything was going to change, it had to come from them. From Bodhi. From the boys of Noctis. They had to want it.
And I wasn’t sure they wanted it badly enough yet.
Tension built as Thump crept in on percussion. Riff and Mick joined on vocals, their harmonies weaving together and sending a shiver straight down my spine.
“I don’t need saving. I just need to stay . . .”
Then the music swelled, rising like a wave before crashing into the arena as the chorus hit. Bodhi gripped the mic stand, closed his eyes, and poured himself into the words.
“If I fade out tonight, I’ll be the last light.
Still breathing, still here, still holding the fight . . .”
I’d heard this song before. More than once. I’d even added it to my carefully curated Spotify playlist, wedged between K-pop and classical pieces.
But tonight, for the first time, it made my eyes burn.
“When the noise falls away and the crowd’s out of sight,
I’ll stand in the dark, I’ll be the last light . . .”
The tears spilled over and slid down my cheeks.
This was the song. The one Bodhi cared about most. I could feel it in every note, every breath. It was the perfect way to end the show. Not just a performance, but a confession. Something real.
A tissue appeared in front of me. I turned to see Clara watching the stage, pride softening her smile.
“Gets you right in the feels, huh?”
I cleared my throat and took it, dabbing under my eyes. “Damn right.”
Light flooded the arena as the song reached its final lines.
“Don’t ask me what comes after, I don’t know how to leave.
All I have is this moment, and it’s asking me to believe . . .”
Then everything fell away. The percussion. The backing vocals. The piano.
All that remained was Bodhi’s voice, ringing clear through the arena.
“When the noise falls away and the crowd’s out of sight,
I’ll stand in the dark, I’ll be the last light.”
The crowd exploded. The roar shook the building, rattled my bones, made my ears ring. The floor trembled beneath stomping feet.
Bodhi stepped back from the mic, smiling bright, eyes glassy under the stage lights. Riff, Mick, Ghost, and Thump gathered around him, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Mick waved. Riff bowed dramatically. Thump hurled his drumsticks into the crowd.
There was one last thank you shouted into the noise. Then the lights cut out.
They disappeared offstage one by one, and when Bodhi came off last, I didn’t even think. I marched right up to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and squeezed.
He froze for half a second, then his tattooed arms came around my waist, holding me close. I had the presence of mind not to kiss him, even though every instinct screamed to. There were too many people. Too many eyes. This, at least, could still pass as a congratulatory hug.
Even if it lasted a little too long.
When I finally pulled back, Bodhi didn’t let me go far. His hands stayed on my hips, grounding, like he needed the contact after giving so much of himself away onstage.
“You were incredible,” I breathed, still in awe of his performance.
He grinned and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
His thumb lingered against my cheekbone, and like magnets, we drifted closer without meaning to. The space between us shrank until I could feel his breath against my lips.
“Yo, lovebirds!”
I jumped. We both did. And when I turned, relief hit so hard my knees nearly gave out. Riff stood there, arms crossed, grin sharp and smug enough to make me want to punch him.
“What’s up?” Bodhi asked.
His fingers scrubbed at the back of his neck, a tell he had when he was embarrassed. Though the flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears also gave him away.
“Time to roll out,” Riff said. “Grab your shit and get on the bus.”
We nodded and started walking without a word. But Riff slipped between us, throwing an arm over each of our shoulders.
“Relax,” he said lightly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Then he winked and took off down the corridor, cackling like a maniac.
I wasn’t sure what woke me. Whether it was the sound of quick, ragged breathing, or the clatter of someone falling from their bunk and sprinting for the bathroom at the back of the bus.
When I slipped from my bunk, I peeked into the others, pulling curtains back just enough to check without waking anyone.
Everyone was there.
Except Bodhi.
His should’ve been the first bunk I checked, but I think part of me already knew who was missing the second I opened my eyes. Seeing the empty space only made the panic bloom.
Why had he even run to the bathroom, anyway?
He’d been with me since we left the green room. Had helped carry my makeup kit and load it onto the bus. His bunk sat opposite mine, and we’d talked long after everyone else drifted off, voices low in the dark, until sleep dragged me under.
So it couldn’t have been drugs.
Except the thought crept in anyway.
Had he managed to get something when I wasn’t looking? Earlier in the day, maybe. Stashed them somewhere, saving the high for later.
What would I do if I opened the door and caught him mid-relapse? A pill on his tongue. A line of coke on the sink.
Would I stop him? Would I walk away?
Could I?
Fuck, I could spiral like that for hours, but something about the sound had been wrong. Panicked. Urgent. Like he’d bolted from his bunk with no plan except escape.
The kind of fear that didn’t leave room for indulgence.
I moved down the aisle as quietly as I could, careful not to wake anyone. The bathroom door was shut, and the light inside was off. I pressed my ear against the plastic surface, but the hum of the engine swallowed everything.
I knocked.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What if he really was in trouble? What if he’d overdosed?
The image hit fast and vivid. Bodhi sprawled on the floor, motionless. Vomit pooled beneath him. Lips blue. Eyes empty.
I grabbed the handle and threw myself forward.
Turns out the door wasn’t even locked.
I stumbled into the bathroom, barely catching myself in the dark.
The space was tiny. Toilet. Sink. Shower barely big enough to breathe in. And on the floor, wedged between the sink and the shower door, was Bodhi.
He wore nothing but his gym shorts. His knees were pulled tight to his chest, head buried against them, hands knotted in his hair.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t react at all despite all the noise I’d made. Hell, I was lucky no one else had stirred.
I dropped to my knees. “Bodhi?”
Nothing. Just a broken sound from his throat as his fingers tightened, tugging harder. That’s when I really saw it. The way his back heaved. How his whole body shook. How small he’d made himself, like he was trying to disappear.
Bodhi was having a panic attack.
Carefully, I edged closer to him, creating enough space to shut the door behind me. After all, he’d come here for privacy. The last thing he needed was another audience. That should be saved for when he was onstage.
I held out my hand, and when my fingers brushed his knee, he flinched.
No. He jerked. Like I’d shocked him.
I pulled back fast, pressing my hand to my chest.
What the fuck was I doing?
I’d never helped someone through a panic attack before. I’d had my own, sure. Ballet training had handed them out like punishments. In the early days after rehab, Gloria had walked me through a few using grounding exercises. Five things you can see. Four you can hear. That kind of thing.
But none of that felt useful here. Not in a room this small. Not with Bodhi this far gone.
I bit down on my lip.