Chapter 39
PRISON OF FLESH
I can’t do this.
I can’t fucking do this.
I thought I could, but I can't.
Bile surges up my throat, coats my tongue.
I rush to the nearest trash can and unload my guts.
White-knuckling the rim, I heave and gag, spitting out whatever I’ve got left.
Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, I rush away from it.
Devon’s screams are cut off abruptly, followed by the sound of Lex bellowing my name. I don’t waste any time.
I run.
Shoving through the back exit and out into the employee parking lot, I search left and right before taking off. My arms and legs pump harder, pushing farther away from the venue and into the road. I have no clue where I’m going, only that I need to escape—disappear.
It doesn’t matter how much I’ve tried to pretend nothing has happened, that I’m still the same fucking guy.
I know I’m not.
This is always who I’ve been.
Fear strangles me, cutting off my oxygen and slowing me down.
I land on my knees on some nameless street.
Cars whizz by, possibly fans, probably strangers.
Regardless, I’m exposed out here. Clutching my chest, the dam breaks, and I choke out a sob.
The guilt is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It might just kill me.
I wish I could face what I’ve done. If I were a stronger person, maybe I would. I’d come clean about everything. How I feel, what I want, how fucking scared I am to admit it.
I’m not like Devon, middle finger raised to the world.
And I’m not confident like Lex, chin raised and pushing through the pain.
Too long have I tried to chase away my demons in a stranger’s bed. Too long have I teetered over the edge, knowing I’m going to fall.
Taking responsibility guarantees I’ll plummet.
It’s why I push Devon away when all I want to do is to pick up the broken pieces of his heart.
It’s why I stole a kiss from Lex, knowing I’m digging a deeper grave.
In my fucked up head, I justified it all by convincing myself they could handle it better than me.
That they’d just take what I gave, no matter how cruel it was.
And it was cruel.
I am cruel.
Monster.
Pushing off the ground, I take off once more. Three hours until we’re due on stage. I stumble toward the streets, away from everything familiar. Coming to a stoplight, I notice the neon sign above the door: Bar. I dodge the cars and cross.
It’s only when I’m planted on the greasy stool, money exchanged, and a cup in my hand, that I understand what has to be done.
I have to quit Dreadful.
Four whiskey and Cokes in, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket again.
I’ve ignored them for the better part of an hour.
The warmth of the alcohol running through my system has dulled down the panic enough for me to at least check the texts.
Sliding my phone free of the pocket, I pull down the notification bar.
Seems like the whole band has tried to reach out, except for Devon.
Just like that, the guilt returns. I swallow the last of my drink before signaling to the bartender for another.
While it refills, I open the most recent text.
Lex: There are only two local bars. Which one are you at?
I scowl at his message.
Me: Neither.
Lex: Bullshit. Guess I’ll just have to check both.
Don’t be an asshole. Lex hasn’t done anything wrong.
With a sigh, I text him the name of the bar and wait.
In the meantime, I kill two more drinks, and it hits me like a freight train.
My body goes limp against the bar, eyes drooping in their sockets.
It won’t be long before I pass out right here.
Sounds of other patrons and some lame country music keep me company.
At one point, I think I hear a couple arguing on their way out.
Time passes in a blur, my head resting on my folded arms.
“Hey man, you can’t sleep here.”
I don’t plan to.
Time keeps slipping by, so I glance around, uncertain—should I leave? Are they already up on stage, playing without me?
The realization hits so hard I tumble off the stool. My ass smacks the floor, elbow jabbing someone’s leg. I glance up, vision blurry, spotting an angry man and a soaked shirt. “Get the fuck up.”
On my feet, I sway and crash into the bar.
Snap out of it.
I try to rally—try to summon strength to walk out of this place and get back to my band, but my legs are wet noodles, folding under my weight. I fall again, and this time, I don’t get up.