Page 37 of How Good It Was (Excess All Areas 3)

“Go fuck yourself,” Luke said. The walls of the studio were closing in. Trapped. Fuck, he was trapped at home, trapped here. How had everything become so volatile. How had he gone from honesty with Matt to this? The world started to go out of focus. Stars began to spin in his peripheral vision. He reached for his water, but his hands shook.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“That can’t be right. She’s not, is she?” Matt’s voice sounded muffled.

His heart raced faster.

What the fuck?

He couldn’t catch his breath.

Words continued. He couldn’t hear them. They got farther and farther away, as if his head was still under his duvet cover or his pillow over his head.

“Luke?” Ben’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. “You’re sweating, man.”

“Did he really take money from her to do the right thing?” Alex shouted.

“Alex. Shut up a fucking minute.” Ben glared at his brother. “Luke’s having a panic attack.”

Luke gasped as the words rocketed through him. He was torn between tearing his drum kit apart and falling to his knees in tears. The world suddenly seemed too small; his own skin too tight.

Oxygen was in short supply as he sucked in air. There wasn’t enough. His breathing became more uneven.

Panic’s icy fingers closed around his throat.

He was going to die on a plywood platform.

“Breathe,” Ben said as he shoved his head between his knees and rubbed circles on his back.

Luke focused on Ben’s hand. Inhale for a circle, exhale for a circle. Slow and steady.

His eyes stung, from the sweat running into them or the sting of tears, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he felt stupid.

“What the fuck?” he gasped.

“Yeah. Luke. You’re not fine. Talk to us, mate.” Ben removed his hand and Luke sat upright, too ashamed to look his friends in the eye.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Can barely describe what I’m feeling. My head’s like it’s filled with fucking soup, sloshing around, filled with shit. I don’t know if I’m alright. How can this be so polarising?”

Matt sighed. “Tell us.”

Luke got up and began to pace on unsteady legs. He took a gulp of tepid water. “I can’t think about it all at once or I’ll blow. Can we go get a drink?”

Jase shook his head. “Mate. I don’t think alcohol is going to help beyond letting you forget for a couple of hours. Getting pissed isn’t going to help anything.”

It would. Anything to take the edge off the rawness he felt, to remove the fear at the way panic had descended over him like a dank, black mist. One of his dealers could drop something by when they left the studio. A line and he’d be fine, right?

“What’s going on?” Alex asked.

“What do you want me to say, Alex? You’re here with this stupid fucking intervention because you see the problem. Willow is pregnant. I didn’t plan on ever having kids. She’s American, I live in the UK. She’s been let down by every other fucking man in her life and needed a contract in place to make sure it didn’t happen to her again. This is no one’s fault, and yet I have all this ... anger, frustration ... shit, I don’t know.”

“You’ve not yelled at her, have you?” Ben asked.

“Jesus. Fuck. No. Of course not. I might be a dick, but she’s carrying my kid. I’m not going to yell at her. But I need to ... fuck. I don’t know. I want to tear this place apart with my bare hands. Rip my nails off. Make something hurt. I don’t know. Make me bleed to stop this. FUCK.” His words reverberated off the walls of the studio. Luke took a breath before he continued. “I’m a pressure cooker. I’m doing the right thing. I’m doing what’s expected.”

“You’re taking a million fucking dollars. How hard can it be?” Alex snapped.

Luke stepped up into Alex’s face. “You’re kidding me, right? Have you any idea how hard it is for me right now?”

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