Page 51 of Madness

As we stumble off stage after the encore, I'm drenched in sweat and shaking slightly. The post-show high is already fading, leaving behind an achingly familiar emptiness.

"Dakota," Brad says, his tone serious. "We need to talk about what happened out there."

I force a laugh, reaching for a bottle of water. My hands shake as I unscrew the cap. "What do you mean? The crowd loved it."

"Yeah, they did," Stefan chimes in, "but you were off, man. That transition in 'Midnight Mirage'—"

"I know, I know," I cut him off. "I'll nail it tomorrow. Just tired, you know? These late nights are catching up to me."

Emmett exchanges a look with Brad. "Maybe you should take it easy tonight. Get some rest."

I feel a flare of irritation. "I said I'm fine. Drop it, okay?"

Brad steps closer, lowering his voice. "Look, Dakota, we're worried about you. This isn't just about tonight. You've been off for weeks now. If you need help?—"

"I don't need help," I snap, pushing past him. "I need some air."

I ignore their concerned looks as I head for the back door. The cool night air hits me, and I take a deep breath. My pocket feels heavy with the weight of the flask. I lean against the building and light a cigarette, something else I had recently quit and started again. Fuck it. Why not give in to all my vices?

My phone buzzes. Lauren. Guilt twists in my gut as I see the missed calls and unread messages. One catches my eye.

LAUREN: Two weeks into nursing school and I'm drowning in assignments. Could really use one of your pep talks right now. Miss you. When can we video chat?

I should call her back. I want to. God, I want to. But how can I give her a pep talk when I can barely keep myself together?

I take a swig from the flask, wincing at the burn. It's been over a month of "just one more," turning into stumbling back to hotel rooms I barely remember. A month of dodging Lauren's calls and making excuses about bad reception or conflicting schedules.

Another text pops up.

LAUREN: Roman asked about you again today. He misses his Dakota stories. We both do.

The words hit me like a physical blow. I promised them both I'd stay connected, that I'd be there even from a distance. Instead, I'm here, hiding in the shadows, trying to numb myself to the reality of what I'm becoming.

After a while, my phone buzzes again. This time, it's not Lauren but a text from Chase. Fuck. How long have I been out here? I shake my flask and notice it’s now empty. Shit.

CHASE: Heading to a club downtown. You in?

I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the reply button. I should say no. I should go back to the hotel, call Lauren, and try to salvage what's left of my sobriety and my relationship.

But the thought of facing the quiet of a hotel room, alone with my thoughts and the bone-gnawing need for another drink, is unbearable.

ME: Yeah, I'm in. See you there.

As I pocket my phone and head towards the waiting Uber, I try to ignore the voice in my head telling me I'm making a mistake. It's drowned out by the promise of more alcohol, more numbing, more forgetting.

I'll call Lauren tomorrow, I promise myself. I'll get it together. I'll be better.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. The truth is, I'm losing control, and I don't know how to stop.

I don’t know how to fucking stop.

29

TERRIBLE THINGS

LAUREN

The dinner rush at Sunny's is in full swing, and I'm running on autopilot. Take orders, deliver food, refill coffee, repeat. It's mind-numbing work, but today, I'm grateful for it. It keeps me from dwelling on unanswered texts and missed video calls.

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