Page 11 of Madness

I halt at my car, my breath hitching slightly as my mind races with possibilities and imagined scenarios.

“What the hell am I doing?”

8

FALL ETERNAL

DAKOTA

Istep out of the diner, the cool night air hitting me like a slap to the face. I glance at my car briefly, debating my next move. Ultimately deciding to walk, the conversation with Lauren replays in my head, filling me with both warmth and warning.

What the actual fuck am I doing?

My hands are shaking as I fumble for my phone. I need a distraction, something to keep me from thinking about buying a bottle of whiskey. Or worse.

I scroll through my contacts, desperately seeking someone, anyone, to talk to. Brad's number comes up first, but I hesitate. He'd ask too many questions. Stefan? No, he's probably out partying. I don’t need witnesses anyway. Emmett? Fuck, I don't even know what time zone he's in right now. He left for God-knows-where right after our interview with Rolling Stone.

We’re supposed to be recharging before going back on the road. A short break before the chaos of another tour.

I’m not recharging. I’m regressing.

The tremors in my hands are getting worse. I can feel the craving building, a familiar ache that's terrifying and tempting.

For a second, I'm thrown back to six months ago, standing on stage at our biggest show. The roar of the crowd, the pulsing lights, the music flowing through me. I remember thinking, 'This is it. This is better than any high.' I felt invincible then, like I'd finally beaten this thing. Like I'd never need a drink or drug again.

But now, standing on this dark street, that memory feels like it belongs to someone else. Some alternate version of me that had his shit together. The contrast between then and now is so stark it makes me physically ache. How did I go from that guy to this so quickly?

Lauren's face flashes in my mind. Her tired eyes, her gentle smile. The way she looked at me like I was just a fucking person, not a rockstar or an addict or Chloe's widower. For a moment, I felt almost normal.

But that's the problem, isn't it? I'm not normal. I'm a fucking mess, and getting involved with someone like Lauren would only drag her down with me. She's got a kid, for Christ's sake. She doesn't need my fucking baggage.

I can already see how it would play out. At first, it'd be great. I'd be on my best behavior, trying to be the guy she deserves. But sooner or later, the cravings would hit. I'd start lying, sneaking around. Maybe I'd miss her kid's birthday because I'm too hungover. Or worse, show up drunk. I'd see the disappointment in her eyes, and watch as she slowly realizes what a mistake she's made.

And Roman... fuck. That kid deserves better than to have some addict rockstar stumbling in and out of his life. I've seen what that does to a family. I've lived it. I can't do that to them. Lauren's got enough on her plate without having to worry about whether I'm going to fall off the wagon and shatter whatever little stability she's built for herself and her son.

No, it's better this way. Better to keep my distance, to be just another customer at the diner. It's the kindest thing I can do for her, even if it feels like ripping my own heart out. I barely know her, but there was a connection there tonight.

Maybe that’s what I’m really afraid of. The crime I’m guilty of. A connection with someone who isn’t Chloe. I feel like a fucking traitor already, and all I did was talk to someone.

I find myself walking further with no real destination in mind. Just putting one foot in front of the other, trying to outrun the thoughts in my head. But they're catching up, and fast.

Before I know it, I'm standing outside a liquor store. The neon 'OPEN' sign blinks at me, a beacon in the darkness. It would be so easy. Just one drink to take the edge off. To quiet the noise in my head.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me. For a wild moment, I think it might be Lauren. But it's just a notification from the band's group chat. Some meme Emmett thought was hilarious.

I stare at the screen, my thumb shakily hovering over the call button. I should reach out to someone.

Connor. The guys.

Anyone.

But instead, I find myself pushing open the liquor store door. The bell jingles, eerily similar to the one at Sunny's Diner. I can already feel it haunting me. The sharp scent of alcohol hits me immediately, a mix of stale beer and sweet liquor that makes my mouth water involuntarily. The low hum of the refrigerators joins with the tinny sound of a radio playing softly in the background. It's a sensory overload that's familiar and overwhelming, pulling me in even as a part of me wants to run.

As I walk down the aisle, bottles gleaming under fluorescent lights, I can't shake the feeling that I'm betraying something. Or someone. Lauren's understanding eyes. Chloe's memory. My own hard-won sobriety.

But the pull is too strong. The need to escape, to numb, to forget.

I reach for a bottle, my hand steadier than it's been all night, but it’s not my brand. Am I really going to be picky right now? I put the bottle back reluctantly.

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