Resting with my feet up did nothing to fix the issue, so I thought a nap might help.
No screens. No stress. I needed to force myself to relax.
My head was resting on a pillow, my neck slightly bent, and everything changed.
It’s never done that before, and I need to know how to make it stop.
The email swoop sound pings from my phone, and I flinch, able to guess exactly who it’s from. Jolting up right, I leap for it as it rests on the nightstand next to the head of my bed. I unlock the screen in a panic.
From:[email protected]
Olive,
Try not to stress. Your medication hasn’t had the chance to start working yet, especially if you’ve only administered the first dose this morning. If you don’t see any signs of improvement in the next month, or you notice the side effectsgets worse, let me know and we can arrange an updated MRI to check for any active lesions on your brain and spine.
Regards,
Martin Minton
Mentally, I feel a little better. I hate that my body is betraying me in the way that it is, and that I genuinely cannot control it.
Can’t fix it.
I can’t fixme,and it makes me feel…broken.
But I have a show tonight, the last in New York City, and it requires all of my attention. Which means the random, tingling sensation that has taken over my entire body will have to wait until later.
Tomorrow, even.
Preferably, though, I would like for it to just go away and never come back.
***
My footsteps echo through the speakers that surround the stage, and I let the quiet whispers fill in the blanks.
It’s day seven of me being in New York, and the final night of me playing at Madison Square Garden. A venue people dream of selling out, and I’ve done it on my first shows away from the place I call home.
Well, that’s not entirely true.Ihaven’t done anything, but people have still shown up to see me, and I don’t think I'll ever tire of that feeling.
My eyes scan the space in front of me, torch lights make it hard to see a damn thing, but when I strum the first chord on my guitar, everything stops for a brief moment before screams and cheers take over.
Automatically, I look toward the front row where my family were seated on opening night, but I come up empty. In a way, it almost feels like I’m missing my security blanket.
I look down at the neck of my guitar, and my spine pinches, sending that rush from my neck to my toes, and it forces my gaze back up to the crowd, to the front row.
My eyes gravitate to a figure I’ve grown familiar with against my own will. A figure with his hood down, cap on, and blue eyes that could slice through me at any given moment.
He actually showed up.
Fair play, Jones.
He has his phone out, recording me, then turns the camera to show the crowd.
I smile into my microphone as I sing the first string of lyrics, trying to forget he’s even there at all.
Because he’s not here for me, not like my family would be, he’s here for himself. Just like in two weeks' time, I’ll be at his gala forme.
