Then Syd whispered, “You were honest.”
I laughed again, ugly, broken. “I’m losing my mind.”
“No.” She turned me gently to face her. “You’re waking up. You’re seeing what she really is.”
She reached into her hoodie pocket, pulled out a small baggie, white pills, familiar shape. The ones we used to take on tour to keep going when the crashes hit too hard.
“Take one,” she said softly. “Just one. It’ll quiet the noise. Give you clarity.”
I stared at the pills. My hand shook when I took the bag.
“I don’t want to go back to that,” I muttered.
“You’re not going back.” She cupped my face. “You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”
I dry-swallowed two.
The relief was almost instant, chemical warmth spreading through my veins, dulling the edges. Not gone. Just… quieter.
Syd smiled like she’d won something. “Better?”
I nodded once.
She stayed for hours. We talked, mostly her talking, me listening. She replayed every moment I’d missed: Hadley laughing too easily with Kei, the way she’d defend him when I got jealous, how she’d pull away from me but lean into him. Every word twisted the knife deeper.
“You deserve someone who chooses you,” she said at one point, curled on the couch beside me. “Not someone who keeps backups.”
I didn’t argue.
My phone buzzed again, Kei this time.
I ignored it.
Another buzz. Text preview:
We need to talk. Rehearsal’s tomorrow. Don’t do this alone.
I turned the phone off completely.
Night fell. Syd left around ten, kissing my cheek like we were still kids sharing secrets. “Call me if it gets bad,” she said. “I’m always here.”
Alone again, I opened the minibar. Drank until the room tilted. Then I opened my phone, just to look.
Hadley’s last text:
I’m not leaving. But I need you to come home. Please.
Something cracked inside my chest, sharp, painful. For a second I almost replied.
Then I remembered her lips on his.
I threw the phone across the room again. It hit the wall, screen shattering further.
The next day was worse.
I didn’t eat. Barely slept. The high from the pills wore off into a jittery, paranoid haze. Every time I closed my eyes I saw them, Kei’s hands on her face, her not pushing away fast enough. I replayed it until it felt like truth.
Holland called. I let it go to voicemail.
