Page 65 of Madness

The proctor's voice cuts through the silence: "One hour remaining."

Panic flares in my chest. I'm only halfway through. I force myself to breathe deeply, fighting the urge to rush. Rushing leads to mistakes. Mistakes lead to failure. And failure... failure isn't an option.

Not when I've worked so hard. Not when Roman's counting on me. Not when this degree is my ticket to a better life for us.

And maybe, a small voice whispers, not when it might be the only stable thing in your life if things with Dakota fall apart.

I push the thought aside, focusing on the next question. One at a time. I can do this. I have to.

The clock ticks on, a steady reminder that time, like everything else in my life right now, is running out. But I'm still here, still fighting. Still answering questions.

And for now, that has to be enough.

37

ALONE IN A ROOM

DAKOTA

The tour bus rumbles beneath me, its familiar vibration doing little to calm my frayed nerves. Outside the window, an unfamiliar cityscape blurs by, all grey concrete and neon signs. My fingers drum an erratic rhythm on my thigh, muscle memory from countless bass lines. But today, it's anxiety, not music, directing the beat.

In my other hand, I clutch a crumpled piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. My first AA meeting in this new city. My throat tightens at the thought, and I swallow hard, tasting the bitter remnants of this morning's coffee.

"You sure about this?" Brad asks from the seat next to me. He's been my shadow lately, ever since I admitted I needed help. "We could run through the new set list one more time instead."

For a moment, I'm tempted. The thought of losing myself in music, in the familiar comfort of my bass, is almost overwhelming. But then I remember Lauren's voice on the phone, the disappointment and fear. I remember Roman's laughter, so pure and trusting. I can't let them down.

Not again.

I shake my head. "No, I need to do this. The show isn't for hours. I've got time."

The bus slows to a stop, and my heart rate speeds up in inverse proportion. Through the tinted windows, I can see a nondescript building with a sign that simply reads "Community Center." This is it.

"Want me to come with you?" Brad offers, his voice low.

For a moment, I'm tempted to say yes. To have someone there, a buffer between me and the raw vulnerability I'm about to face. But I shake my head. "I appreciate it, man, but... I think I need to do this on my own."

Brad nods, understanding. "Alright. I'll be here when you're done. And Dakota? I'm proud of you, man."

His words hit me harder than any power chord I've ever played. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, not trusting myself to speak.

As I step off the bus, the humid air hits me like a wall, instantly plastering my t-shirt to my back. I take a deep breath, steeling myself. One foot in front of the other. Just like walking on stage, I tell myself. But this isn't a performance. This is real life, and the stakes are so much higher.

The community center smells of industrial cleaner and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting harsh shadows. I follow the signs to a room at the end of the hall, my footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. Through the open door, I can see a circle of chairs. Some are already occupied.

My hands are shaking now, and I clench them into fists. What if someone recognizes me? What if this ends up online? What if I can't do this?

A memory surfaces: my first big show with Chaos Fuel. The paralyzing stage fright, the certainty that I was going to mess up. And then the first note, the rush of adrenaline, the realization that I belonged there.

"First time?"

I turn to see a middle-aged woman with kind eyes looking at me. She doesn't seem to recognize me, or if she does, she doesn't show it.

"Is it that obvious?" I manage a weak smile.

She shrugs. "We were all first-timers once. Come on in. We're about to start."

As I step into the room, I'm hit with a sense of déjà vu. How many green rooms have I walked into, feeling this same mix of anticipation and dread? But this isn't a show. This is my life.

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