What if my stalker reallydiddo something this time, after two months of silence? I’d thought he was gone.
“I can’t go out there,” Irepeated, pleading. The thought of it made my whole body tremble, worse thanstage fright, worse than any nerves I’d ever felt.
“Hey,” Ivy snapped herfingers in front of my face. “Breathe,” she said. “Don’t make me use my nursevoice on you.”
I swallowed down a mouthfulof air, my lungs burning now that I’d noticed I was panting for breath andcouldn’t fill them.
Panic attacks weren’t new to me, butI’d thought I was over the worst of it. Ihadbeen over theworst of it. I’dhad six good years in San Francisco and now ten months of this. Of neverfeeling safe. Of worrying about which pair of eyes in the audience was lookingat me and plotting to hurt me.
“You need to go home,” Amandasaid, putting a hand on my knee. “Gabe, can you take him?”
Imusthave lookedpale if Amanda was calling us by our real names while we still had the wigs on.That was the rule—wigs go on, you’re whoever you are on stage.
Except in emergencies, whichthis was.
“I need a minute,” I gasped,throat still tight. “Can I just… I need a minute alone.”
“Clear out,” Amanda saidwithout a moment’s hesitation, ushering Ivy and Helena out of the room.
Being alone was worse. Assoon as the door closed behind them, I wanted my friends back. They were all Ihad, the only thing protecting me from the world, and I’d just shooed them out ofthe room.
Tears welled up in my eyes.This waswhyI’d shooed them. I knew I couldn’t hold it in anylonger and I wasn’t up to crying in front of people who’d supported me withoutflinching since all this started.
I couldn’t put any moreof this on them. Friends were there to lean on, but I’d done more than my fairshare of leaning.
I dug my phone out of mybackpack, fingers trembling as I scrolled through my contacts and came to theone I wanted.
As soon as the callconnected, I breathed a sigh of relief.
A glance in the mirrorrevealed panda eyes and pathetic streaks of not-waterproof eyeliner runningdown my cheeks. I grabbed a baby wipe, wanting all of it off my face beforesomeone saw me like this.
Gabe was getting married.Martin didn’tneed to deal with me crying when he dealt with crying three-year-olds all day,even if he was good at it. They didn’t need my bullshit spilling over intotheir lives. Not again. Not after we’d thought it was all over.
“Ashley?” Grandma asked onthe other end of the line.
“It’s me,” I said, my voicetoo quiet. She’d know I was upset. Grandma was the only person who’d everreally understood me.
“Oh, Ashley. What’s wrong?”
I burst into tears trying topeel my fake lash off. As soon as they started coming, I couldn’t stop them. Myhead hit the table, sobs making my whole body shake as fear and helplessnessoverwhelmed me. They dragged me off to a dark place in my mind where I wasalone and defenseless and there was an unseensomethingcoming for me,which was exactly how I felt.
“Let it all out,” Grandmasaid. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay.”
She was also the only personwho’dever told me that.
“He’s back,” I sobbed intothe phone. “He’sbackand I can’t… I don’t…”
“Shh, honey. Just breathe.Can’t have you passing out on me,” she said. “Not when you’re so far away. Isthere someone with you?” A pause. “You’re getting ready for your show, huh?”
I sniffed, nodded, and thenrealized Grandma couldn’tseeme.
“Yeah.”
My voice sounded cracked andbroken even to me. There was no way I’d recover in time to get on stage.
Not that Amanda would havelet me.
“I can’t—”
