Chapter 5 Olive
Chapter five
Olive
I had plans for my time in New York City.
I’d hoped to write.
I’d hoped to let myself imagine, daydream and play pretend.
I’d hoped to maybe even read the book my sister reluctantly let me borrow.
But no. I don’t think I’ll be getting any of that done, no matter how hard I try.
It’s not because I don’t have the time in my schedule to squeeze it in somewhere. It’s that, mentally, I don’t think I would now be capable of doing anything other than feeling sorry for myself while coming to terms with my new reality, and the unknown of it all.
We have three shows in New York City over the next week, and my schedule looks a little something like this: show tonight, four radio interviews back to back first thing in the morning tomorrow, some charity event that Akira has invited me to as her plus one later tomorrow night, followed by two more shows.
Josie might let me squeeze a nap somewhere in between it all, but knowing her, she probably thinks sleep is for the weak—something we should all just do when we’re dead.
I don’t know how to tell her that some days my body feels like it’s well and truly on that path. Especially if I don’t listen to it and rest when it demands that I do.
Akira has been watching me cautiously since I lied and told her I was fine.
She lingers like she wants to say something else, but then just smiles and heads out for her soundcheck, leaving me alone, with too much silence.
The second the door clicks shut, I pull out my phone.
I Google every medication option we talked about—again. Searching for side effects, worst-case scenarios, anything that’ll convince me I’m not making a huge mistake.
The results load slow enough that my brain fills the silence with the conversation I keep replaying in my head.
Doctor Minton had been patient, walking me through each option. By the time we hung up, I felt we’d made the right call. Not a good one. Not something I’m excited about. Just... the best of a bad bunch.
But sitting here now, the quiet pressing in around me, I second-guess it.
I go through every side effect again.
Not great. But better than most.
The purpose? To prevent another relapse.
Dosage? More often than I want.
Pain? Judging by the pictures I find…yeah. It’s going to hurt.
I keep glancing at the door like someone might walk in, see the look on my face, and ask if I’m okay.
If they did, I might tell them everything.
Instead, it’s just me, falling deeper into the darkness of my own mind.
I find support groups online—anonymous, of course—and scroll through posts from people who chose not to medicate.
They talk about diet. Fitness. Healing naturally.
But I already do all of that.
And I still ended up here.
Six months. That’s what I give myself.
Six months on this medication I can barely pronounce. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else.
I can survive six months of injections.
"It’s all trial and error," someone wrote in one of the forums. They’re right. It’s like anything else.
Everybody is different. Every body reacts in its own way.
But reading through the side effects, I’d rather not waste my time worrying about shitting myself in public or feeling like my skin’s on fire. Some of the stories I read... I don’t ever want to know what that feels like.
One comment even suggested getting pregnant. Apparently, it triggers some protective mode in your body.
But…no, thank you.
I’d rather chew my nails down to the quick and never play guitar again than fall pregnant right now.
Even if I want to be a mom one day, it’s not an option for me.
So I chose the injection.
Three times a week. Possible reaction at the injection site. Headaches. Maybe tightness in my chest.
The lesser of all evils, I guess.
By the time Akira's voice quietens and her soundcheck ends, I’ve made up my mind. I shoot Doctor Minton an email, asking him to send the script to my phone.
And the second the text comes through, I’m out the door.
Hood up, headphones in with nothing playing, I walk toward the nearest drug store my map can find.
The door buzzes once I step through it, alerting everybody of my presence, but no one seems to care or look up from what they are doing.
I make my way to the back of the store, hand the pharmacist my phone to scan the script, and patiently wait.
When I hear his voice call my first and last name, I let out a sigh of relief, knowing this is all about to be over. That I can tuck it under my arm, pay for it, and hurry back into the privacy of my hotel room, store it away, and hope I make it back in time to MSG for my set.
Taking one headphone out of my ear, I look up at the man with concern etched over his features, and I know I’ve missed whatever he just said.
"Did you say something?" I ask.
"I did." He nods, his sky-blue shirt buttoned all the way up his neck, his name badge reading Kenji. His light brown hair combed over to the side, making him seem cute in that nerdy kind of way. But the look on his face tells me that while he might be worried, he’s also annoyed at my ability to concentrate.
I mean, it’s almost closing time, he’s probably just exhausted and ready for the day to be over.
"Sorry." I smile weakly, trying my hardest to make it appear genuine. "It’s been a day."
"No worries, Ms. Herring," he says. "I asked if you’ve used the medication before?"
That’s his first mistake: assuming I’m not new to this. That I know exactly what I’m doing. And my first mistake: not correcting him.
Instead, I just nod.
I hand over the cash, take the box out of his hands, and cradle it in my arms before making a desperate dash to the exit.
"Remember to keep it in the refrigerator!" he shouts behind me.
I wave my hand in the air to let him know I heard him.
My shoulder collides with what feels like a brick wall, but I don’t look up. "Sorry," I mutter, hugging the medicine to my chest tighter.
He grumbles under his breath before pushing past me. "Hey, Kenji. You got the good stuff for me?" His deep voice rumbles, and I keep my eyes trained on the ground.
"The order arrived earlier today, Mr. Davis. I’ll ring it up for you."
I ignore the rest of their conversation and slip out the door and onto the street.
The walk back to the hotel is a blur. I store the medication like the pharmacist told me and sit there for a while, staring at the refrigerator door like it might bite.
When I arrive at Madison Square Garden, I barely register how I got there. But I made it, just in time.
Queues are already forming, people clutching their handmade signs to their chests, and I know in my heart that today is the day my life has changed.
For better or worse? Only time will tell.
***
"Are you ready to do this?" Akira asks, her hair and makeup done, but still very much comfortably dressed in her faded black jeans and t-shirt, before it’s her turn to take the stage.
"It’s not too late to back out," she teases with a huge grin that takes over her entire face.
Her short, naturally black hair is tucked behind one ear, her dark green eyes glimmering with excitement.
"And why are you side-stage so early? You’re not on for, like… thirty minutes."
"Even if I wanted to back out, you wouldn’t let me," I joke, nudging her shoulder with mine as we walk closer to the edge to get a better view, and that’s when I see it.
Holy shit.
I anticipated going into this tour that a small handful of people would arrive early to hear my set, and the majority of the crowd would arrive right before Akira took the stage. But this…I never expected.
"I just wanted to see if I could spot my family," I tell her as my eyes search the arena. Of course, the minute I see what looks like a billion torch lights in the air, my body picks now to freak out.
Heat rushes through me, numbness creeps down my stomach and legs, and a headache starts clawing its way in.
All I want is to curl up somewhere and sleep for a week.
"Don’t panic now, Ol’ Girl. You look like you’ve seen a ghost." She ushers me back to my green room quickly, locking the door quietly behind us. I stand with my mouth wide open, heart galloping in my throat.
Am I…nervous?
I don’t get pre-show jitters. But suddenly, the thought of playing to a packed-out stadium with twenty thousand people just seems like something my nightmares are made of.
"Is that…" My words die off and lodge in the back of my throat before I can fully get them out. I’ve forgotten how to speak, yet I’m expected to sing an entire set?
"A full house?" she asks, finishing the thought for me. "It sure is. And they’re all here early to see you." She smiles, threading her arm through mine.
I grip the couch for dear life. It seems like such an unusual way to sit when you’re alone with someone in your dressing room, but I can’t find it in me to shake her off me. Her touch calms me.
"A full house," I repeat, swallowing the words, hard and fast. "I can do this." The last part is for me, but I know she hears me loud and clear when she nods in agreement, slowly loosening her arm, letting it drop to her side.
"You absolutely can." She presses a quick kiss to my cheek and leaves without another word. The door slams hard behind her, sharp enough to make me flinch.
But I don’t call her back.
Because, as much as I hate it, I need this. The quiet. The space to fall apart without anyone watching.
I can do this. I have to.