I just want this all to be over.
One of my dancers repeatedly taps on my cheek and brings me to, as another dancer thrusts a bottle of water in front of me, urging me to drink it. I push myself upright with my left hand, head spinning, eyes struggling to focus.
Dancers.
Stage.
Screams.
The air is squeezed out of my lungs as dread washes over me.
“Where are we at in the set?” I ask, before sipping the water.
“You dropped to the floor halfway throughTonight, I’m Gonna Fly,” another dancer adds. All five of them are creating a protective circle around me at the end of the catwalk, away from the crowd still chanting my name.
Four songs left to go.Great.
I take another sip of water, and do three deep inhales before grabbing the hand of one of the dancers, who helps me to my feet. A cheer erupts from the crowd. My feet are wobbly as I take the microphone back from one of the dancers and try and head back into the starting position forTonight, I’m Gonna Fly, but I already know I can’t carry on.
I hold my hand up in the air, to stop the dancers and band from starting, remove my in-ear monitors so I can hear myself, and turn and slowly walk back up the catwalk to the stage. Rob and another security guard track me on the sides the whole way up, alongside the spotlight.
“Kill the spotlight,” I say into the microphone. The light is burning on my shoulders and back, not helping.
It swoops to my right and then goes out. The darkness is a relief. The faint light from the LED wall at the back of the stage continues to play out the video montage that accompaniesTonight, I’m Gonna Fly, which is just about bearable for my eyes.
I turn and face the crowd, a rising discomfort in my body forcing me to tense up, and I will my muscles to relax. This is so embarrassing. First I was exposed on stage, and now I’ve fainted.
“Sorry about that little fall over there, everyone,” I begin. The crowd is still chanting my name. One little girl waves vigorously at me from the front row. I give her a little wave back, which has her squealing and hugging her mom. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by all the love in this room tonight.”
The screams erupt, almost blowing the roof off the arena, and it brings a smile to my face, which only causes the crowd to get louder.
“There’s been some rumors flying round online today that I was found unresponsive in my room this morning. And I’m sure that what you saw just now won’t do anything to squash those rumors.” My leg is beginning to twitch, so I walk to Freddy’s drum kit, grab a bottle of water and take a couple of gulps.
The crowd falls eerily silent as I put down the water bottle and grab the towel next to it, wiping my brow. I deliberate what to say next.
Do I tell them the truth?
Reveal what’s behind the curtain like in the Wizard of Oz?
My fans aren’t stupid. In fact, many of them have picked up on the relentlessness of my schedule. Ever since the Free Britney movement, it seems like they are checking in on me more. Like they realize that I, too, am a human, not just a robot wheeled out as and when needed.
But I’m not sure I’m ready to reveal everything right now.
I turn back to face the crowd, throwing down the towel.
“The truth is, this tour has taken its toll on me, and I’m exhausted. But I never want to let you all, my fans, down.” Another cheer erupts. “I appreciate that you’ve come to see a full show, but I don’t think I can make it to the end, so I’m wondering if I can make a deal with you all. Would it be okay with you if, instead of performing the last four tracks, I give you the world premiere of my new song,Stolen Moments, that drops on Friday?”
The screams have me reaching for my in-ear monitors. I shove them in, not to hear the music and the clicker that keeps me in time, but to protect my eardrums from bursting.
A warm feeling brews in my chest.
Thank God they agree that this trade-off will be a win-win for everyone.
A crew tech rushes on stage with a stool as Andy switches his electric guitar for an acoustic guitar. Freddy maneuvers himself out from behind the drums and moves across to the percussion stand.
I hoist myself up on the stool and grab hold of the mic stand, sliding the microphone in the holder. My heart sounds almost as loud as Freddy usually does on the drums while I wait for everyone to get ready.
Was this a good idea? Other than the band, my team, and a couple of people from the label, no one has heard this song live. What if they don’t like it? What if everyone who’s heard it is wrong, and the people who really matter, my fans, hate it?
