Page 12 of Madness

Again, fuck it.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, though I'm not sure who I'm apologizing to.

As I approach the counter, keeping my head down so I’m not recognized, I try to convince myself this is just a momentary slip. That I can handle it. Tomorrow, I'll get back on track.

But what if I can't? What if this isn't just another one-time thing? The other night is all the proof I need that this isn’t. Was it last night? Or the night before?

Fuck. I’m a mess.

We're on the verge of something huge with Chaos Fuel. One slip-up from me could derail everything we've worked for. I can almost hear Brad's disappointed sigh, see Stefan's worried glances, and feel the weight of Emmett's uncharacteristic silence.

They took a chance on me, the new guy with a mysterious past. They don't know the half of it - the depths I've sunk to, the battles I fight every day. They see the talent and the dedication but not the demons. If I fuck this up, if they find out what I'm really capable of... it's not just my life I'm messing with. It's theirs, too. Our shot at the big time, gone because I couldn't keep it together.

The thought should be enough to make me walk out of this store. But instead, it just makes me want to drink more, to drown out the guilt and the fear of letting them down.

But deep down, I know.

This is how it starts.

Again.

The cashier eyes me warily as I approach, probably wondering if he should ask for an autograph or call security. I keep my head down, my voice low as I mutter my order.

“Bottle of Angel's Envy, please.”

The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I force them out anyway. As he turns to grab the bottle, I have one last chance to walk away, to prove to myself that I'm stronger than this.

I don't take it.

Instead, I pull out my wallet, the leather smooth and expensive against my trembling fingers. A gift from the record label for our chart-topping single.

If only they could see me now.

The bottle lands on the counter with a dull thud that seems to echo in my chest.

One step closer to the edge.

“That'll be $62.99,” the cashier says, his voice oddly distant.

I hand over four crisp twenties, the exchange feeling surreal. Like I'm watching someone else go through the motions.

“Keep the change,” I mutter, grabbing the bottle nestled in a discreet brown paper bag.

Its weight in my hand is both comforting and terrifying. A lifeline and a noose all at once.

As I push open the door, the stupid bell jingling mockingly behind me, I realize I've made my choice. For better or worse.

Tonight, I drown.

9

TIME IS RUNNING OUT

LAUREN

The dinner rush is in full swing, but I can't stop my eyes from darting to the door every time the bell jingles. Each time, my heart does a little flip, only to sink when it's not him walking through.

Dakota.

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