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Z? Is that a nickname? What could that be short for? Zach? Zade? Why do I care? Oh, hey obsessive part of my brain! Can we not? I only care because of his music. But if I knew his name, I could look him up online. Possibly find his social media or a Spotify account. Has he released any songs?
He gives me another look as he reaches the bar, and I break into a genuine smile. His eyes are ice chips that somehow awaken wildfire in my veins. His features are so beautifully put together. He can’t be fucking real.
My hand grips my cold pint tighter. Am I…attracted to him? Is that what’s happening right now? Because that’s brand spanking new. Or is it truly his talent that has me practically drooling to speak with him?
Turning to Liam, prickles of nerves and buzzing excitement fight for attention in my chest. “I’m going to approach him.”
“Hail.” Liam’s tone is cautious, recognizing that reckless streak in me to chase aftermore. Always eager to fill that void inside of me. The desire for approval. For fame. For…fucking something I don’t even know I’m missing.
A quick spurt of anger flickers in my gut. I extinguish it when I remind myself that I haven’t been open with Liam about my recent thoughts. The restlessness in my bones that I haven’t yet achieved my potential. That I haven’t found my place in the music world just yet, despite the sheer amount of time and effort I’ve put in.
Hell, I haven’t told anyone in Atonement that my brain has been wandering down other possible paths…
I lick my lips and pivot my body fully to Liam, needing him to understand. Humor comes easy to me. So easy, most people don’t know when to take me seriously. “For a side project, maybe. Or to help me write new material for Atonement. I know we just dropped an awesome album, but fans are going to want greater things from us moving forward. And when you’re no longer around because you’re a boss producer, I’ll be left to figure out how to do that. How to keep elevating Malek and Griff.”
What I really want to say is,how do I carry on without you?Since we started up the band, we’ve been together almost nonstop.
Liam stares back at me with his steady, dark brown eyes. They’re almost eerily black in the dim bar. We’ve been friends since the fourth grade, so he knows better than anyone else how hard I latch onto things I want. How proactive I can be, especially when something dreadful is chomping at my heels, like his inevitable abandonment of the thing that started with us at the core.
He cocks a dark brow. “A side project.”
Another band?is the real question he’s asking.What would Griff and Malek think? Both of us ditching out on them?
“Look at Maynard! He has like three bands and still manages to juggle everything.”
“Be honest, Hail. You can’t juggle worth shit,” Liam counters, folding his arms over his chest.
My heart constricts. “You know Atonement has always been my number one priority. Wait, why am I even asking you for permission?”
Liam chuckles. “Because you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re making a good decision.” Downing his Coke, he sighs and runs his tattooed hand down his sharp jawline. “Look, I’m sure my lawyer can draft up whatever you decide you need from this guy, if he’s even interested. Just know, Sondra’s going to have questions, and so are Malek and Griff. Shit, I have questions.”
“Okay, yeah. I get that.” I nod fervently, not even certain myself what I need out of this or how to explain it to our band manager. My heart lurches as I whip back around to lock eyes with Z along the bar.
Only, the angel I planned to leash is gone.
Three
Z
Perroutine,Istartbanging my head against my desk around one in the morning. Between too many cups of black coffee and scribbling out endless pages of shit lyrics, this self-inflicted pain continues until sunrise.
Dragging my body upright into a somewhat human form, I stand on weary legs and shuffle into the outdated galley kitchen to make a third pot of coffee. Then I pop a Prozac and swish it down with the cold dredges left in my mug.
I’ve been on this new antidepressant for a day now, and it’s only served to take me through a whirlwind of emotions in the span of twelve hours. Slurred words like a state of inebriation to start, so much so that I worried about my performance at Selma’s bar last night. But as soon as I stepped out of the cab, my brain chemicals decided to even out enough for me to make it through all of my songs without crippling anxiety.
And then I spent the evening down, riding waves of lows unlike anything I’ve experienced. Several times, I ended up on the bathroom tiles, Googling side effects, worried something might actually be severely wrong with me, and then frustrated with myself for actually caring about the state of my health.
Should I stick this medication out or drop it like I’ve done with so many others? How many more trips on the pharmacy merry-go-round am I going to pay for? Is my brain doomed to be permanently fucked?
Regardless of what my brainneeds, it doesn’t seem to want help. I suppose I should call my psychiatrist about it, but I’m not really feeling up to a conversation with her when she literally doesn’t give a shit about me and just wants to push pills.
Running my hands through my hair, I decide on a shower. I didn’t even get to that last night. Just remained in my sweaty, filthy street clothes and bled agony onto paper until my vision blurred and my hands shook from overdosing caffeine in substitution of what I really craved. Something to put me out of my misery for a little while. I’m not convinced that itch will ever leave me, almost like it’s coded into my very DNA.
After methodically cleaning myself, I dress in black cargo trousers and a dark, form-fitted t-shirt. With my hands braced on the sink, I lift my head to the mirror and stare back at the reflection I try to avoid most days.
All I see ishisface. Instantly, I’m sick to my stomach. My spine curls forward as the room tilts sideways. One deep breath in and then I’m spilling my guts, purging the medicine I just took in union with bitter coffee.
When I’m sure my stomach is empty, I peel off my clothes and shower all over again because I don’t know what to do with myself, and I can’t get rid of the acidic taste in my mouth or the hollow ache in my chest.
