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It’s the hardest performance I’ve ever had to live through. Several times, I feel my voice crack as my emotions well up and rise within me, trying to escape. I push them down as far as I can, and though the word of the last verse comes out a little rusty, it’s over, and the audience screams for us at a deafening volume.
The final song in our encore is lighthearted and runs at a fast tempo, which I thought would be relieving, but instead, it leaves me numb. I’m a robot in my own body, going through the motions of living, but completely cold inside.
I wonder if, when I dive off the stage into the hands of our fans, they might not catch me this time, and instead, I’ll get what I deserve and land face-first on the concrete below.
It’sa relief to not have to keep myself together in front of thousands of people anymore. Or in front of Drew and the rest of the band. But it hurts.God,it hurts.
Drinking after the concert made everything worse. I couldn’t get drunk or even tipsy, and the alcohol in my system made my anxiety escalate into pure panic.
I lay in the fetal position on the cold floor of my hotel room’s bathroom, close to the toilet in case my body decides to rid itself of toxins. The bathmat underneath my head is soaked from my tears. My moans of anguish echo off the bathroom tiles and haunt me. My body shakes. I feel both hot and cold all at once.
My doctor prescribed me Xanax for emergencies a couple of years ago, but I know I’m too far gone at this point for it to help me, and even if it could, I can’t move from the floor. A tingling numbness dances through my fingertips, my toes, my face, and the sensation mocks me and reminds me how shitty it can be to be alive.
Especially without Drew.
Sweat tickles my skin and drenches the back of my shirt. I wail into the crook of my elbow and tremble. For the first time in a long time, I let myself fall apart instead of trying to tape the broken pieces of myself back together.
I hear the door of my hotel room beep and then open, and the sound rattles me. What the fuck? I don’t want anyone to see me like this. How the hell did someone get a key–? My heart accelerates its violent pumping, and I wonder if it’ll make me pass out. I hope it does.
“Ash?”
My eyes flood at the sound of Drew’s voice.
“Dude, if you’re here, just let me know, okay? Your fuckingfiancéeis freaking out because she can’t get ahold of you, and neither can Mike or anyone else.” He pauses, and I hear him rustle around the room until he’s right by the bathroom.
“Are you—?” Drew opens the door and immediately looks down at me.
I refuse to look at him. I don’t want him here. Not when I’m like this–and we’re notus.
“Oh God,” Drew sighs. Without hesitation, Drew turns on the sink. I know he’s wetting a washcloth to put on my face and neck, and I despise the act of service he’s providing after all the heartache I’ve caused him.
To make matters worse, I can’t stop sobbing and shaking now that he’s here. I want him to leave me alone. I don’t ever want him to let me go. When he crouches down and rubs the cool cloth over my forehead, I wail like I’m dying, but I can’t control any of it anymore, and Drew,my Drew,is here and he’s taking care of me despite everything. I scream into my arms and feel hot tears and snot coat my skin.
I’d like to evaporate into nothing.
“Ash...Ash!” Drew shakes me by the shoulders. “You have tobreathe,Ash.”
Breathe.
I’m not sure I can do that.
Instead, I start hyperventilating, because I don’t know what to do anymore. About anything. Drew curses under his breath and then stands up, but I don’t know where he goes. My lips tremble and treacherous waves of heat roll through me, followed by a cold, sickly sweat that makes my teeth clatter.
There’s the faint sound of the shower running in the distance, and then freezing water drenches the back of my head and neck, drenching the majority of my upper body.
I yell out through my ragged breaths. The cold water stings. I shake violently, but my breathing evens out and the tingling in my extremities starts to fade.
“There,” Drew huffs. He sits down on the toilet seat in front of where I’m curled up. “You need to get out of your head. Were you just going to let it get worse?” Drew scolds.
I don’t respond to him, which makes him grumble under his breath.
“Where are the pills your doctor gave you for this?” he demands.
I turn my head a little to meet his gaze for the first time. “Front pocket. Backpack,” I whisper.
Drew’s out of the bathroom instantly and comes back in no time with the pill bottle in hand. “Can you sit up?”
That sounds like the last thing I want to do, but I nod. Drew places the pill bottle on the counter and stretches a hand out to me. It’s a small gesture, but it makes my throat tight, nonetheless. I grab his warm, rough hand and he pulls me up and into him.
