Page 123 of Fractured Frets

How had I let myself get here?

Why, when I was so scared of ending up like Phil, had I fallen this far?

I didn’t want to be like this.

This wasn’t who I wanted to be.

Something had to change.

Yeah . . . me!

I glanced at the guys playing. Flint and Lewis on guitars. Cole at the drums. Those three men were my friends. My brothers. My life...but was the band my future?

My heart constricted. My head pounded. The fire in my veins fizzled.

How could I keep performing when I was in absolute agony? Physically and emotionally. I’d been torn between the guys and Maddy for so long, the turmoil had left me spiraling. If she wasn’t around, I didn’t know where the other half of me belonged anymore, or who I was.

Tia came home from Sutton’s party just after midnight. She ducked her head into the studio, said hello, then let us be.

Near three in the morning, I hit the shower. Lewis headed to his room to join Tia. Cole and Flint crashed in the other spare bedrooms.

I swallowed an oxy, then collapsed onto my bed. Exhaustion pulled me under.

But when I woke the next morning near eleven, pain speared my lower back and jolted through my hip, down my right leg and into my knee. Groaning, I rolled onto my side, eased out of bed, and staggered into the bathroom. It hadn’t been twelve hours since I’d taken my last oxy, but I needed one to kill the pain.

Crap. My pills weren’t in my toiletry bag.

Fuck! I opened and shuffled through every drawer. Not there.

I searched the cabinets. Nothing.

My pulse quickened as I strode into my room, over to my dresser, and rummaged through my clothes. No meds. No additional stash of cocaine.

In my closet, I scanned every shelf and checked my luggage, my coats, my jeans. Zero. Zilch. Nadda.

My hands trembled as I wiped them down my face. Shit. Had the guys come in here and taken them when I’d fallen asleep? Yep. They must’ve. I couldn’t even find an Advil.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! I need my meds. I need my pain-killers.

Fighting the agony in my hip, I charged out of my room and down the stairs. Flint, Cole, and Lewis sat on my living room sofa, staring at me as they sipped their coffees.

The air prickled my skin.

I’d normally crack a joke, ask them who’d died, or be the first to jump up and down and face the day full of energy. But not today. Today, I could barely put one foot in front of the other.

“Where the fuck are my meds?” I asked no one in particular.

“There’s half a pill on the kitchen counter.” Flint waved. “That’s it.”

“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. “That’s not enough. I can’t go cold turkey, you shit heads. Give me my pills back...now.”

“It’s not total cold turkey, but close.” Ice shot through Flint’s tone. “We called Jade. We’re getting you off that shit. She’ll give you more injections for your hip—not pills.”

I was already a pincushion. The cortisone shots never lasted long. Other injections had never helped. I didn’t have time to test new treatments during the tour. I ground my teeth and raked air deep into my lungs. I didn’t need their intervention. I’d get off these meds once the tour was over. I’d get my hip fixed. I never doubted those things...but somewhere along the way, I’d lost the hold on my control. I’d screwed up. Taken too many pills. Dabbled with too many drugs. Lost Maddy.

That hadn’t been the plan. A life with her was.

Fuck.

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