And I waited.
****
Two months after the tour ended, we decided we were ready to end the break and get to work on the next album, and I had never been more grateful to be back in the studio and away from the same four walls of my apartment. To be doing the one thing that naturally quieted my mind.
Our first album had been self-produced, but our sophomore album was the first one we released under a label, so we had to learn to work with deadlines and producers. Luckily for us, Josh was a goddamn lyrical genius, so we had a massive backlog of songs that either didn’t make the first album, that we’d written on the road, or he’d written when we got back. The hardest part was narrowing it down to what went on the second album, and what we were keeping in the backlog.
“I think we definitely need to bring ‘Ruthless’ onto this one,” Kevin said. “It’d be a great show opener. It’s hard, it’s fun, and the crowd will love it.”
“Agreed,” I said. “It’ll set the right tone.”
Josh added that to the list of songs we’ve been considering, adding it to the “definitely” column, where we already had two others. We took one more out of the backlog before switching gears and listening to Max play one he’d written over the break, which we all unanimously agreed was going on the album.
A few hours later, we had our track list, and got to work recording Max’s new one, and re-recording a few of the ones we’d chosen for the album, this time with me on drums.
I’d forgotten how much fun being around the guys was. I’d missed the way we worked together, joked with each other, and shared our ideas. Everything in my life suddenly made sense again, and I hadn’t been tempted to drink all day. It was the most relaxed I’d been in months.
After Josh said his voice had had it for the day, we all went out to grab dinner at a restaurant down the street from the studio and caught up on what’d been happening over the break.
Max was set to pop the question to his longtime girlfriend, Ana, and could not stop smiling as he told us about his plans.
Josh had moved out of his apartment and into a house that he’d been able to pay cash for.
Kevin had recently found out he was going to be a father. He and his wife, Susan, had been trying for a few years, and had been told it likely wasn’t going to happen for them without medical intervention. They had been scheduled to begin IVF treatments in a few weeks, but I guess all they needed was some time apart and a whole lot of “let’s make up for lost time” sex.
When it was my turn to give an update, I was more than a little embarrassed to be the only one without anything to offer. The only one who seemed to be stuck. I should have known I could have confided in them about my newfound alcohol dependency, but to be completely honest, with everything exciting going on in their lives, I didn’t think they’d understand. They were all moving forward, so how could they relate to feeling behind? They’d clearly been able to readjust, and I was worried that if they knew I was struggling, I’d lose my spot in the band. Worried they would see my issues as weakness and cut me loose before I became a real problem.
I was so depressed after that dinner, that instead of going back to my apartment, I walked a few blocks to a local bar and got blackout drunk for the first time in my life. I woke up the next morning with two women in my bed, and had no recollection of who they were, where I’d met them, or what we’d done. I didn’t even care that I left them—two complete strangers—alone in my apartment when I left for the studio and our next day of recording. They could have robbed me blind, but I didn’t give a shit. Didn’t feel much of anything, really.
Except for the pounding in my head.
****
When we came off the road after our second tour, I thought I’d be able to handle it. I’d been sober, save for the pre-show shots of tequila, for the entirety of the tour. The road had a pattern, and when I was in the thick of it, every night gave me a new high, so I didn’t feel the need to create my own.
But back at home, once again, it was just me. No shows, no fans screaming outside, no laughter filling the greenrooms or backstage halls. No reason to keep moving, to keep my mind from wandering.
It was the second time I’d come back from a tour and fallen into the same routine. I probably should have seen it coming, should’ve known I was going to fall back into it, but I didn’t. I thought maybe it would be different this time. That since I’d moved out of my apartment and into a house and a different environment, or that it hadn’t been a problem in months, I’d managed to fight it off.
I don’t even remember how it started the second time. Probably with one drink, that’s how it always started. I think it was because I wanted to feel like I was still part of something. Velvet Shadows wasn’t just a band to me, it was my lifeline, and when it was pulled away, I didn’t know how to function.
The music, the rush, the stage, the fans—it all kept me from falling apart. I had all the shit people think they want—money, fame, women—and yet, there I was. Alone and drunk.
Again.
Even the sound of my breath seemed too loud.
I could go to rehab. I could tell the guys, but even as I considered it, I felt the pull of the bottle instead. It was easier. It was familiar.
And I was a coward. Afraid of what it meant to admit that I needed help. Afraid of what I might lose if I came clean. My place in Velvet Shadows. The money. The fame. The house. The car.
I closed my eyes and let the silence settle around me. Maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe I’d make the call. Maybe I’d put the bottle down for good. Or maybe, like the last time, I’d keep hiding from the truth, keep running from the quiet.
I woke the next morning to pounding on my front door and my phone buzzing beside me in the bed. My head was throbbing. I just wanted the noise to stop, so I reached over and grabbed my phone. When I answered, I heard my mom’s panicked voice on the other end of the line.
“Eric!” she breathed. “Thank God. Where are you?”
“Mom?” I asked, confused. I looked over at the clock on my nightstand: 2:07 p.m.
