I gesture at his stressed body. “Causing you stress before a show isn’t good.”
“You’re not causing my anxiety,” he rushes out. “Beinghereis what’s making me feel like I have a mouthful of sand and I’m trying to breathe without choking.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, ashamed.
It’s one thing for someone to tell you they feel a certain type of way, yet it’s another to witness it. Elijah’s anxiety is at its worst whenever he’s doing a show or at a large event. How could I not remember that valuable piece of information that he trusted me enough to tell me?
I resume caressing his back. “Can I do anything for you?”
“Just stay with me until I need to go on.” His mumble is hoarse.
While his eyes are closed, I rub his back until Fay comes running into the room and declares it’s showtime.
Standing in the distance, I watch Times Three huddle backstage in a circle. Leonidas is speaking, probably saying words of encouragement as the pre-filmed introduction plays for the crowd.
With one last look to me, Elijah plasters a smile on his face and runs onstage. The stadium roars, and I feel it on the bottoms of my feet.
TWENTY
ELIJAH
On show days, I find it hard to eat.
If I manage to stomach anything, it always comes up thirty minutes before stage call.
The orange bulb at the end of my cigarette glows in the dark as the smoke dances in the air. After three shows in Toronto, Canada, we leave in the morning for one show in Montreal. We hit up four more cities in Canada before moving on to the States. However, the more and more I visit Toronto, the more I want to stay here.
It’s a vibrant city with a hundred things happening all at once, but the multiculturalism here is inspiring. All I want to do is explore. There’s no paparazzi chasing you down here, unless it’s at an event where they know our attendance is mandatory.
I feel free.
I’m sad to move on and say goodbye.
The light breeze hits my face. Leaning back in a chair with one foot planted on the railing of my hotel balcony, I inhale slowly and deeply. Blowing out through my nose, I flick the ash away.
Hearing footsteps make their way toward me, I instantly know I’m going to hear a mouth full, even if they’re intruders in my room.
“If you keep that up, I’m going to fucking kill you.” Axel grabs the cigarette from my fingers and stomps on it with more aggression than needed.
“You said you would stop,” Rowan points out, dropping to the seat next to me.
Missing the nicotine already, I shrug. “I never pinkie promised.” Keeping my eyes forward, I let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Guess what’s coming your way,” Axel demands, hitting me on the back of the head. “News articles explaining what these cancer sticks do to your body.”
“I already know,” I grumble, hating the fact that I’m slightly addicted to them.
“So, why don’t you stop?” Rowan asks, extending his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles.
“Maybe because he’s addicted,” Axel snaps, giving him a look like he’s crazy.
“Elijah is weird. For all we know, he smokes because he likes the smell.” Rowan almost doesn’t finish his sentence before laughter bursts out of his mouth.
“Are you portraying your own insecurities on him?” Axel smirks. “You can admit it; this is a judgment-free zone.”
Rowan flips his bandmate off before muttering something under his breath that I can’t quite understand.
After their daily catfight, the three of us just sit in comfortable silence before the distant sound of the hotel phone rings. Walking over, when I pick it up, the hotel staff informs me our room service order is on its way.
“Guys, get in here,” I call out to the two fuckers, who are still on the balcony, bickering again.
