Page 45 of Anything But Lonely

Maybe it’s not healthy how much I love disappearing into this life, but I don’t care.

There’s something addictive about living out of a suitcase when the suitcase is taking you somewhere new every morning. There’s no time to slow down and remember why I needed this distraction.

I know this isn’t real life, but right now, I’m not sure I want it to be.

Especially today.

Because today marks one month since my mom died.

And of course it’s the fucking day we head back to Milwaukee for a two-week break for the holidays before the band finishes this leg of the tour.

Crew’s mom and stepdad met us in Chicago last night, and while I love the kid, it was nice to sleep in this morning. But when I rolled over and checked the time on my phone to find a text from my brother, it felt like a realization that the last month had been just a dream.

And reality was here to slap me awake.

Jack

Can’t believe it’s been a month. Hope you’re doing okay.

I technically have today off since Crew is spending the day with his mom, but I’ve been dreading it since Talia arrived at the hotel last night.

Watching Crew run into his mom’s arms warmed my cold, dead heart—I know how much he’s missed her—but selfishly, the kid has been my lifeline since I started this job. His antics, his energy, his incessant questions have kept my mind off why I’m on this tour to begin with.

And all it took was the reminder from my brother of what today is to have it all come rushing back.

I could go to soundcheck, watch Sugarcoated Lies, and then hang out with Liam. He probably has some free time today.

I’ve been too busy with Crew to see him much, and he’s fully committed to the “sex” and “drugs” part of “sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll”, but I could always see what he’s up to.

The room is suddenly too quiet.

I shuffle a Cross My Heart playlist, turning the volume up before sliding my phone underneath my pillow. The music playing just loud enough to fill the silence.

I press my head into the pillow, the hotel comforter pulled up to my chin. Sunlight spills through the curtains, just enough to outline the room around me—the suitcase I didn’t bother to unpack sitting open on the dresser, the room service dinner barely touched on the desk, the empty wrapper from a fun-size 3 Musketeers bar and a half-eaten bag of Cheetos Puffs abandoned beside the garbage can.

A few days into working for Mateo, he asked what my favorite snacks were. I didn’t think much of it when I answered, but ever since then, the tour bus has been stocked with the two things I mentioned.

So has every hotel room.

I know it’s not healthy to be living off of candy bars and processed food, but I take advantage of whatever appetite I can get these days. The clothes I’ve packed are already starting to fit looser, but I just can’t get myself to eat a full meal.

I turn onto my side, moving my arms slowly to start pushing myself up, but then I think to myself—why?

What’s the point?

Mateo is with the band. Crew is with his mom.

No one needs me.

Crew isn’t even coming with us to Milwaukee after Cross My Heart’s show tonight. He’s staying here in Chicago to spend Christmas with his stepdad’s family.

It’ll just be me and Mateo heading back home tonight.

I feel myself sinking into a consuming dread, guilt overwhelming me for even having the thought.

I hate myself for not wanting to go back home, to the home my mother made for me and Jack, to the place she’s buried.

Each thought is like oxygen to the fire, the grief engulfing me like flames. Threatening the foundation second by second until it all comes crumbling down on top of me, burying me in the debris.