Page 86 of A Tragic Melody

The drugs hit quickly, and I’m a mess during sound check. Wyatt doesn’t say much during it, and it makes my skin crawl. I crave his voice talking over me. Telling the sound guys to change whatever I recommended because he knows better. Even if I pretend to be annoyed, it’s become a fun little game for me.

But this time, he just lets me make all the decisions. He only has them turn up the bass line in his amp. Besides that, he just plays what he needs to test his set up.

After, he goes back to the bus and I take to drinking. The high started to wear off a bit ago, so I took another pill. I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve stuck to coke like I normally do, but I fear coke isn’t enough to ease the guilt gnawing at me right now. Nor is it enough to rid the feeling of Wyatt’s absence.

I miss him. I know that’s what’s happening right now. I’m missing his company. I’ve never missed anyone, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I’m in a place where I can’t afford to miss him.

“Should one of us go check on Wyatt?” Quinn asks.

“No,” I groan. “He is a big boy, he knows when we take the stage.”

My leg bounces from all the drugs in my system. I push myself up, dancing to the crappy music coming from the stage. Honey Hive sucks, but I’m so amped up and need to get some of the energy out or I’m going to make a fool of myself on stage.

Wyatt strolls in, walking past us to the dressing room.

When he comes back out, he grabs a water bottle and goes to stand next to the stage. He stares out at the stage, and it makes me insane. I want him to look at me. I want him to want me. To miss me like I miss him.

I sigh, stomping back to the dressing room.

I’m too high. Too sad. Too lonely.

I pull out my vial of coke. I know this is a terrible idea, but I need to numb the thoughts. I need to stop feeling, stop thinking, only feel high.

I do two lines, letting the drugs seep into my bloodstream before walking out towards the stage.

Derrick and his band are just walking off, which means we have thirty minutes until it’s our turn to go up.

“You sound like shit,” I say to Derrick as he walks by me.

“And you fuck like a slut.”

“You fuck like a teenage boy who’s never gotten laid,” I counter. The words spill from my mouth far too fast. I stroll by him, walking to the side stage to get my mic pack on.

Wyatt stands off to the side, staring at his guitar rack again.

I told him I’d stay away, but it’s awful hard to do right now.

“What’s wrong with him?” Quinn asks.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Not my problem.”

When it’s almost time to take the stage, I slip back to the dressing room. My whole body is buzzing, but still I do another two lines from my second vial. I take a sip of water because my mouth feels dry before walking back to the stage.

My foot taps at the ground. My heart thumps in my chest. My skin feels like it’s vibrating. My vision dances, as I can’t quite focus.

My head feels heavy, or light, or both. I blink and everything slows. Blink again and everything speeds up.

“Ready?” I hear someone ask, but I can’t move. My feet feel like Jell-O. My whole body does.

“Tues?” His voice is low. “Hey, can you hear me?” I blink rapidly until I see his face, looking down at me, worried. “Quinn, ice water.”

“Yeah,” Quinn mutters.

“What now?” Paulie asks.

“Hey, Paulie, do me a favor and fuck off for a moment, okay?” Wyatt snaps at him. His eyes don’t leave me. “What are you on?”

“Stuff,” I mutter. My mouth feels so dry. “You said stay away.”