Page 18 of Madness

I turn up the radio, trying to drown out the voice in my head that's screaming at me to turn around, to go back to her. It's too soon. We both know it. But knowing doesn't make it any easier.

At a red light, I find myself reaching for my phone. I want to text her, to make sure she got home safe, to hear her voice one more time. But I stop myself. Slow, I remind myself. We agreed on slow.

The light turns green, and I accelerate, feeling the power of the car beneath me. It's nothing compared to the rush I felt talking to Lauren, though. And that scares the shit out of me.

I've been down this road before. Falling fast, thinking someone could save me from myself. But Lauren... she's different. She's not trying to save me. She's inspiring me to save myself.

As I pull into my driveway, I realize I've driven the whole way without once thinking about drinking. Without that gnawing need clawing at my insides. It's been so long since that happened, I almost don't recognize the feeling.

Is this what hope feels like?

I kill the engine and sit in the darkness for a moment, letting the events of the night wash over me. The pain of almost slipping, the fear of disappointing the band, the unexpected connection with Lauren. It's all swirling in my head, a cocktail of emotions I'm not sure how to process.

But one thing is clear as I finally drag myself out of the car and towards my front door: something has shifted. Something fundamental.

For the first time in three years, I'm looking forward to tomorrow. And it's not because of a show, or a recording session, or anything to do with the band.

It's because of her. Because of Lauren.

As I fumble with my keys, a realization hits me like a ton of bricks: I'm in trouble. Deep, life-changing trouble.

And the scariest part? I think I might be okay with that.

I push open the front door, the silence of the house a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts in my head. But as I step into the living room, I realize it's not as empty as I expected.

Connor, my roommate, is sprawled on the couch, an empty bottle of Angel's Envy on the coffee table in front of him. My stomach drops as I recognize it—the same bottle I bought last night in my moment of weakness.

"Hey, man," Connor slurs, lifting his head. "You're home late."

I stand frozen, staring at the empty bottle. The bottle that was supposed to be my downfall. The bottle I resisted. "Connor, what the fuck?"

He follows my gaze and has the decency to look sheepish. "Oh, that. I found it in your room when I was looking for a phone charger. Figured I'd help you out, you know? Can't drink it if it's gone, right?"

His words hit me like a truck. Is that what it looks like from the outside? Your friend finding your hidden stash and thinking the only way to help is to remove the temptation?

"You shouldn't have done that," I say, my voice low and controlled despite the anger and shame bubbling up inside me.

Connor sits up, swaying slightly. "Come on, Dakota. We both know you're not supposed to have that stuff around. I was just looking out for you."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. When I open them, I see Connor through new eyes. The worry lines on his forehead, the cautious way he's watching me, like I might explode at any moment. Is this how everyone sees me? A ticking time bomb of addiction?

"I appreciate the thought," I say finally, "but next time, just talk to me, okay? Don't go through my stuff, and definitely don't drink yourself into a stupor on my account."

Connor nods, looking properly chastised. "Sorry, man. I just... I worry about you, you know?"

The anger drains out of me, replaced by a weariness that settles deep in my bones. "I know. But I'm working on it. I'm trying to be better."

As I help Connor to his feet and guide him to his room, Lauren's face flashes in my mind. Her belief in me, her cautious hope. I want to be the person she sees when she looks at me, not this fragile addict that everyone else seems to see.

Back in my own room, I sink onto the bed, the events of the night crashing over me. The near-miss with drinking, the unexpected connection with Lauren, and now this sobering reminder of how far I still have to go.

My body feels heavy, like I've just played a three-hour set. Every muscle aches, tension coiled tight in my shoulders and neck. I run a hand over my face, feeling the stubble that's grown throughout the day, rough against my palm. My eyes burn with exhaustion, and there's a dull throbbing at my temples - the precursor to what will likely be a killer headache.

But despite the physical toll, there's something else there, too. A strange lightness in my chest, as if a weight I've been carrying for years has started to lift. It's an unfamiliar feeling, this mixture of bone-deep weariness and... hope?

As I lay there in the darkness, I realize something. For the first time in years, I'm not reaching for a bottle to numb these feelings. I'm sitting with them, uncomfortable as they are.

Maybe that's what real progress looks like.

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