I never thought I’d make it this far alive, let alone see myself accomplish a dream as big as this one.
The last strum of Zeb’s guitar sings at the end of the song, the lights fade over us, and I sit back to take a breath and crack open the water bottle one of our roadies made sure to leave on the platform. The water is cool as I feel it move through my mouth and down my throat, and it’s just what I need to slow down the racing nerves.
All I can smell is the pyrotechnics smoke and weed from the audience.
The earthy aroma makes me chuckle as the spotlight hits Reed, and he brings the mic up to his lips, catching one of his heavy breaths and the noise of his chuckle.
The crowd screams.
“You fuckers are crazy,” he says to them. “It’s been a long day, yeah? How many of you can’t feel your feet?”
They reply in incomprehensible shouts. Zeb steps off the stage, probably going to take a hit on his vape.
Reed laughs at the crowd. “That’s too fucking bad,” he tells them.
Reed goes on, but I tune him out to get a better look at the audience. I love looking at the signs fans bring with them—lyrics, love you’s, jokes… even a few that read,You saved me.
It makes the world feel a little less broken and lonely.
Still, there’s one I’m searching for.
Where are you…
Where are you…
My heart skips when I see it. I knew it would be there. Of course, her sign is here. After that text, it had to be.
Black poster board with a yellow smiley face spray painted on it… X’s for eyes.
My stalker usually leaves it lying somewhere near the front of the crowd, and someone always grabs it to hold up during our set.
But I haven’t seen it in years.
I don’t know what it says about me that there’s a sick sense of comfort upon seeing my stalker’s trademark symbol. That buried deep beneath the fear of having her back in my life is a demon clawing to get free, to sabotage my sanity and safety for a glimpse of her face.
And knowing that one glimpse might be enough to drag me completely beneath her spell.
God, what the hell is wrong with me?
How am Iromanticizingthis?
Yet, I know the fucked-up answer.
She was a shadow following my every move that I could count on. A steady constant in my life for almost three years—maybe the only constant other than the band and my dad—and then she disappeared. Having her back in my life... I shouldn’t be as comfortable with it as I am. It’s fucking terrifying, but it’s the kind of terrifying that I’m continuously running toward. A burning car. A dark corner. Vomit-laced shoestrings and a dirty tile floor.
A shot of vodka.
I don’t know what she wants now, if it’s the same as it was last time or if it’s something new.
Ha.
As if I knew what she wanted last time.
Her presence is a weighted blanket tucked under every inch of my lying body and tightening around my throat, threatening to end me without a breath to grapple for.
And I’m addicted to that gasping struggle.
“Red flags, Bon,” I can hear my dad saying with a smirk.“At least look both ways before you cross.”
