Page 19 of Madness

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, allowing the emotions I usually avoid to wash over me. It's uncomfortable, like an ill-fitting suit, but I force myself to sit with it.

First, there's the shame. Shame that Connor felt he needed to "save" me from myself. Shame that I bought that bottle in the first place. It's a familiar feeling, one that's been my constant companion for years. But now, instead of drowning it in alcohol, I let it exist. I acknowledge it. This shame is part of me, but it doesn't define me.

Then there's the fear. Fear of falling off the wagon for real next time. Fear of disappointing the band, my fans, myself. And now, fear of disappointing Lauren. It's a paralyzing feeling, but I breathe through it. Fear means I care. It means I have something to lose, something to fight for.

Anger bubbles up next. Anger at myself for being weak, at Connor for overstepping, at the world for making sobriety so damn hard. I clench and unclench my fists, letting the anger flow through me without acting on it. It's okay to be angry, I remind myself. It's what I do with that anger that matters.

And underneath it all, there's a current of grief. Grief for Chloe, for the life we could have had. It's been three years, but the pain is still there, a dull ache in my chest. I let myself feel it fully for the first time in a long time. Tears prick at my eyes, and I let them fall. It's okay to miss her, to mourn what could have been.

If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been slowly and silently drowning in this grief every fucking day. Missing what we had. Missing what we could have had. Just an entire piece of me – missing. It’s no way to fucking live.

Not anymore.

But then I get really honest. In my grief, I’ve only mourned the good times. In truth, they weren’t all good. Both of us struggled with our sobriety, and sometimes, it was downright ugly. But the heart doesn’t want to remember that shit. It only wants to focus on the good that we’ve lost. Not the bad. Why the fuck does my brain work that way? Turning Chloe into some sort of saint because she’s dead?

Because she loved me. And I loved her. And that was all that mattered in the end.

The end… how fucking poetic. What good is it now? What was all that love for if it was going to turn out the way it did anyway? Am I even grieving a person anymore? Or just my memory of her? Is there a fucking difference?

Is there a right way to grieve? A socially correct way? A time limit? What does ‘letting go’ even feel like? What am I letting go of? My loyalty? My love? Or is it just my obsession with my loss?

Whatever it is, I can feel that tether thinning. My white-knuckled grasp on it is loosening. It hurts like fucking hell, but I can’t go on like this.

I need to let Chloe go.

As I lay there, feeling everything, a new thought surfaces. The matching three-year anniversary. Lauren's loss mirroring my own. It still bothers me. An itch at the back of my mind that I can't quite scratch. It's too neat, too coincidental. But I push that thought aside for now. That's a mystery for another day.

For now, I focus on breathing. In and out. Feeling each emotion as it comes, acknowledging it, and letting it pass. It's exhausting, but also... freeing. Like I'm finally facing the demons I've been running from for so long.

I realize that this - sitting with my feelings, processing them without numbing them - this is how I can deal with them now. It's not easy, and it's not pleasant, but it's real. It's growth.

As the first light of dawn starts to peek through my curtains, I feel drained but oddly at peace. I've made it through the night without a drink, faced my emotions head-on, and come out the other side.

Maybe this is what Lauren sees in me. Not just the mess, but the potential. The strength to face my demons and keep going.

With that thought, I finally drift off to sleep, feeling more like myself than I have in years. Tomorrow is a new day, and for the first time in a long time, I feel ready to face it.

13

DRIVE

LAUREN

The dinner rush is in full swing, and I'm juggling plates and orders with practiced ease. But even as I smile at customers and refill coffee cups, a part of my mind is elsewhere. With him.

Dakota.

Every time the bell above the door jingles, my heart does a little flip. I find myself scanning the incoming customers, half-expecting to see his tall frame and messy dark hair. But as the night wears on, there's no sign of him.

"Order up for table six!" Jen's voice cuts through my thoughts.

I grab the plates, forcing myself to focus. What am I doing? We never even exchanged numbers. He said he wanted to see me again, but maybe he changed his mind. If he’d really wanted to see me again, wouldn’t he have gotten my number? Maybe the light of day made him realize how complicated this could get. It’s not as if I’m a great catch being a poor single mom. I know this.

But then again, a small voice in my head argues, maybe he's respecting your boundaries. You did say you needed to take things slow. And isn't showing up in person more meaningful than a text? It takes more effort, more courage.

I shake my head, trying to clear these conflicting thoughts. Maybe he's just as nervous and unsure as I am. God knows I've been second-guessing myself all day.

The truth is, I have no idea what he's thinking. And that uncertainty is both thrilling and terrifying.

---