Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Eric
? Novocaine – Waves Apart ?
It’d been four weeks since the last night of the tour with Waves Apart—the last echo of the screaming crowd, the final chord that sent us into the long, unfamiliar quiet of an offstage life.
I thought I’d have been grateful for the break, but the truth was, it felt like I’d forgotten how to breathe without the noise.
The first few days after I got back, it was easy enough.
I slept for hours, catching up on all the rest my body missed while on the road.
I also tried to keep in touch with the guys, but it fell flat after a few weeks.
We were all in our own heads. Everyone needed space to breathe and reset.
Spend time with family and get back to some sort of “normal.” I thought maybe that's what I needed, too—time to recalibrate after being in motion for so long.
But then, slowly, time started to eat at me. I’d wake up later and later, check my phone for texts or missed calls and find nothing. Scroll social media and see nothing but an endless feed of photos from the other bands on tour.
Seeing everyone else living their lives and moving forward was hard because I felt stuck. The road had been full of movement—full of purpose—but at home? At home it was just…waiting.
Waiting for something to happen.
For something to fill the silence.
At first, I fought it. I told myself to be patient. “Take it one day at a time,” I kept saying, as if that would make it easier.
After the second week, I found myself standing in front of the liquor bottles on the kitchen counter, my hand hovering over them like some kind of ghost. I didn’t have any real intention of drinking; I’d honestly never been a big drinker.
I just needed something to quiet the thoughts that seemed to be multiplying by the second.
On tour, yeah, we all had our moments—shots before shows, the occasional late-night tequila in the greenroom after, a beer to two on the bus—but it was always more about unwinding after a long day, not about drowning anything. Now, it felt different.
I opened a bottle of tequila, poured a drink, and drank it in one go. A fire bloomed in my chest, and for a few moments, it was like the world slowed down. The hum in my head quieted. The silence didn’t feel as suffocating.
So, I poured another.
Then another.
And another.
By the time I realized what I was doing, the bottle was half gone, and I wasn’t even enjoying the buzz. It was more like a numbing of everything—the loneliness, the restlessness, the constant chatter in my head that I could never quite turn down.
The next few weeks were a blur. I drank more than I ever had, maybe not every day, but most. A shot before breakfast to get the day started, a drink after lunch to quiet my thoughts, a bourbon or two before bed to make sure I could sleep through the night without waking up to the unrelenting hum of my own mind.
The guys started reaching out more often, but the conversations were still brief, more polite than anything else.
I wondered if they were all in the same place as me—lost, disoriented, unsure of what to do now that the tour was over.
I saw the messages in the group chat talking about getting together to catch up or jam or whatever, but no one ever followed through.
And it wasn’t just the guys from the band. It seemed like everyone I knew was too busy. Friends would send texts asking if I wanted to hang out or catch up, but when I’d respond with a “yeah, let me know when,” that’s where the conversations would end.
Some nights, when the alcohol had done its job and my mind was clouded just enough, I would convince myself that it was fine.
I’d tell myself it was just a phase—that I was just adjusting.
Then the next morning, the weight of it all would come rushing back.
The hangovers got worse. The pit in my stomach grew deeper.
I’d sit in the kitchen, nursing my first coffee of the day, staring at the same familiar walls that suddenly felt like they were closing in on me.
As the days passed, I noticed that the number of drinks it took to calm myself down and become a functional human being had increased. I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how to silence the noise in my head without alcohol.
So, I poured another drink. And another.
And I waited.
****
Two months after the tour ended, we decided we were ready to end the break and get to work on the next album, and I had never been more grateful to be back in the studio and away from the same four walls of my apartment. To be doing the one thing that naturally quieted my mind.
Our first album had been self-produced, but our sophomore album was the first one we released under a label, so we had to learn to work with deadlines and producers.
Luckily for us, Josh was a goddamn lyrical genius, so we had a massive backlog of songs that either didn’t make the first album, that we’d written on the road, or he’d written when we got back.
The hardest part was narrowing it down to what went on the second album, and what we were keeping in the backlog.
“I think we definitely need to bring ‘Ruthless’ onto this one,” Kevin said. “It’d be a great show opener. It’s hard, it’s fun, and the crowd will love it.”
“Agreed,” I said. “It’ll set the right tone.”
Josh added that to the list of songs we’ve been considering, adding it to the “definitely” column, where we already had two others.
We took one more out of the backlog before switching gears and listening to Max play one he’d written over the break, which we all unanimously agreed was going on the album.
A few hours later, we had our track list, and got to work recording Max’s new one, and re-recording a few of the ones we’d chosen for the album, this time with me on drums.
I’d forgotten how much fun being around the guys was. I’d missed the way we worked together, joked with each other, and shared our ideas. Everything in my life suddenly made sense again, and I hadn’t been tempted to drink all day. It was the most relaxed I’d been in months.
After Josh said his voice had had it for the day, we all went out to grab dinner at a restaurant down the street from the studio and caught up on what’d been happening over the break.
Max was set to pop the question to his longtime girlfriend, Ana, and could not stop smiling as he told us about his plans.
Josh had moved out of his apartment and into a house that he’d been able to pay cash for.
Kevin had recently found out he was going to be a father.
He and his wife, Susan, had been trying for a few years, and had been told it likely wasn’t going to happen for them without medical intervention.
They had been scheduled to begin IVF treatments in a few weeks, but I guess all they needed was some time apart and a whole lot of “let’s make up for lost time” sex.
When it was my turn to give an update, I was more than a little embarrassed to be the only one without anything to offer.
The only one who seemed to be stuck. I should have known I could have confided in them about my newfound alcohol dependency, but to be completely honest, with everything exciting going on in their lives, I didn’t think they’d understand.
They were all moving forward, so how could they relate to feeling behind?
They’d clearly been able to readjust, and I was worried that if they knew I was struggling, I’d lose my spot in the band.
Worried they would see my issues as weakness and cut me loose before I became a real problem.
I was so depressed after that dinner, that instead of going back to my apartment, I walked a few blocks to a local bar and got blackout drunk for the first time in my life.
I woke up the next morning with two women in my bed, and had no recollection of who they were, where I’d met them, or what we’d done.
I didn’t even care that I left them—two complete strangers—alone in my apartment when I left for the studio and our next day of recording.
They could have robbed me blind, but I didn’t give a shit. Didn’t feel much of anything, really.
Except for the pounding in my head.
****
When we came off the road after our second tour, I thought I’d be able to handle it.
I’d been sober, save for the pre-show shots of tequila, for the entirety of the tour.
The road had a pattern, and when I was in the thick of it, every night gave me a new high, so I didn’t feel the need to create my own.
But back at home, once again, it was just me. No shows, no fans screaming outside, no laughter filling the greenrooms or backstage halls. No reason to keep moving, to keep my mind from wandering.
It was the second time I’d come back from a tour and fallen into the same routine.
I probably should have seen it coming, should’ve known I was going to fall back into it, but I didn’t.
I thought maybe it would be different this time.
That since I’d moved out of my apartment and into a house and a different environment, or that it hadn’t been a problem in months, I’d managed to fight it off.
I don’t even remember how it started the second time.
Probably with one drink, that’s how it always started.
I think it was because I wanted to feel like I was still part of something.
Velvet Shadows wasn’t just a band to me, it was my lifeline, and when it was pulled away, I didn’t know how to function.
The music, the rush, the stage, the fans—it all kept me from falling apart. I had all the shit people think they want—money, fame, women—and yet, there I was. Alone and drunk.
Again.
Even the sound of my breath seemed too loud.
I could go to rehab. I could tell the guys, but even as I considered it, I felt the pull of the bottle instead. It was easier. It was familiar.
And I was a coward. Afraid of what it meant to admit that I needed help. Afraid of what I might lose if I came clean. My place in Velvet Shadows. The money. The fame. The house. The car.
I closed my eyes and let the silence settle around me. Maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe I’d make the call. Maybe I’d put the bottle down for good. Or maybe, like the last time, I’d keep hiding from the truth, keep running from the quiet.
I woke the next morning to pounding on my front door and my phone buzzing beside me in the bed. My head was throbbing. I just wanted the noise to stop, so I reached over and grabbed my phone. When I answered, I heard my mom’s panicked voice on the other end of the line.
“Eric!” she breathed. “Thank God. Where are you?”
“Mom?” I asked, confused. I looked over at the clock on my nightstand: 2:07 p.m.
“Are you home?” she asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“Because you weren’t at the airport, so we grabbed an Uber and have been out here for fifteen minutes. We were worried sick.”
Shit. Was it Thursday already? I had completely lost track of the days and forgotten that my parents were coming to spend a few days with me in L.A.
I rolled out of bed, groaning as the pain in my head intensified from moving so fast, and walked through the house to the front door.
My mom had her arms around me before I even had the door fully open.
She pulled back, took my face in her hands, and studied me for a long moment before stepping back.
“What’s going on?” she asked, tears lining her eyes.
“I…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The look of worry on my mother’s face was enough to tear my heart out of my chest. “I don’t know,” I said, looking away, my voice barely audible.
“Eric, talk to me. Please,” she said.
I looked back into her eyes and lost it.
My parents had been there for me my entire life, and I couldn’t bring myself to lie to them.
So, I broke down. I told them everything.
About how I felt more at home on the road than at home.
About my inability to adjust after we came back.
About how much I needed to drink now in order for it to do anything.
About how fucking terrified I was.
They stood there, listening and letting me lay everything out in the open. And when I was done, my mom wrapped me in her arms and told me how much she loved me. How proud she was of me.
Then we sat down and came up with a plan. I would call the guys, get them all here, and tell them what was going on. Ask if there was any way that we could put our next album on hold for a few months so that I could go to rehab and readjust to my new normal for a few weeks after.
Tell them that if they didn’t want to wait, they could replace me.
It’d hurt like hell, but I would understand.
We were on a fucking roll with our second album going triple platinum and our previous co-headlining tour with Breaking Benjamin breaking all kinds of records, so me dropping this bomb on them now and taking a hiatus was not ideal.
I could only hope they’d understand and welcome me back when the dust settled and I figured my shit out.
I was more afraid now than ever, but I’d already felt a bit of the weight lift from my shoulders by coming clean to my parents.
They didn’t think I was weak. They didn’t think I was a disappointment.
They were proud of me. Supportive. Already making plans to be here when I got out to help in whatever way I needed.
That was the moment I realized two very important things.
One, how lucky I was to have people in my life who cared enough about me to nip something like this in the bud. Kill it before it got out of control. Before I lost myself completely.
And two, how stupid I’d been to believe that I’d ever been alone.