Page 49 of Backstage

I’m sitting on the tour bus, my legs shaking. A couple of hours ago I went to see the stage where we’ll be playing tonight and it was the biggest mistake of my life. Brad was there, in the front row. When he saw me, he greeted me with that smug grin of his, then mouthed, “See you later, fatso,” so clearly I could read his lips. I felt fifteen again. I haven’t seen him since high school, and now he’s here, in the front row, ready to make fun of me.

I don’t even realize anyone else is in the bus until I see Damian kneeling in front of me, with Luke right behind him.

“Breathe,” he whispers to me, taking my hands and squeezing them into his.

I look into his eyes, and my heart starts pumping in my chest, furiously. “I can’t go out. I can’t get on that stage.” I hiccup, and the tears start streaming again.

“Yes, you can. You’ve overcome every obstacle so far, you’ll beat this too,” he says in a firm but calm tone, his gaze steady.

“No, not this time...I can’t do it.” I shake my head and stand up and pace. I realize that my bandmates and the Jailbirds are in here, all watching my pitiful behavior. I feel helpless, like someone has sent me back to the past, to that day when the fear attacked and got a hold of me for good.

“Lilly, please listen to me.” Damian gets up and tries to grab my hand, but I move away. “What the hell did they do to make you like this?” He sounds almost angry, but not at me.

“Leave me alone, Damian,” I whisper.

“No, I’m not leaving you alone. You’ve played dozens of shows, you’ve made it to the top of your career, and you’re acting like a little girl throwing a tantrum. I’m sorry, but I’m fed up with leaving you alone. Get off this bus and grow up!” he spits out, exasperated.

That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Being made to look immature, added with the memory of what happened to me, amplify my emotional state to the point that I finally surrender and explode.

“Do you want to know what happened? Really?” I yell in his face, catching him off guard, while Luke stands there, wide-eyed. “Fine, I’ll tell you. When I was fifteen, I liked Brad. I liked him a lot. He would ask me to do his homework, smile at me, come over to my house and get the math worksheets I did for him, and bring me doughnuts. I thought he was in love with me. Why else would he bring me doughnuts? He was the cutest guy in school, and I was the anonymous chubby girl no one looked at twice.

“So, one day I decided to make the grand gesture of writing him a letter declaring my love. Do you know how that turned out? He asked me to meet him at the gym after class, so I did, and he was with two friends when I got there. They laughed at me, teased me because I dared to think Brad might be in love with me. He made them undress me down to my underwear and bra, then they took me into the equipment room and shoved me into a half-empty wooden storage box. I was terrified and begged him to let me out, but he just laughed. Before closing the lid and putting weight on it so I couldn’t escape, he wrote “FAT” across my belly with a permanent marker and left me there.

“Luke found me, five hours later, my throat burning from screaming and my nails ripped out from trying to open the fucking lid. Brad’s here, front row, and you know what he said to me earlier? ‘See you later, fatso.’ So excuse me if I’m in no condition to go out on that stage with a fucking smile on my fucking lips!” I finish getting it all off my chest and I’m met with surreal silence in the bus. No one breathes, everyone looks at me with wide eyes. Only Luke lowers his sad expression.

I look up at Damian and find him seething with anger. “Holy shit,” he barely murmurs.

“Yeah, holy shit,” I say again, looking down and feeling the tears roll down my cheeks. Damian’s arms wrap me in a tight, comforting embrace, and gradually my sobbing stops. I feel empty. No one reacts, no one says anything, they all stand still as if breathing could somehow break my fragile state.

Damian sits down and pulls me onto his lap. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. If you stop now, though, bailing out two hours before the most important festival of your fledgling career, it will be professional suicide. For the whole band,” he explains to me, not beating around the bush, and I appreciate it. I don’t like being pitied for what I went through. Someone has to be the adult because in this instant, I’ve turned off the switch that keeps the rational part of my brain alive.

“I know,” I whisper as I look at the hands I’m holding together tightly in my lap like a vice. “I know that, too, but I really don’t know how to do it. Seeing him out there terrifies me.”

“Get on stage and show him you’re not afraid of him. In fact, get on stage and show him that you’ve achieved something he can’t even dream about. Let’s go up there, sing ‘Jude’ together, and when he sees how great we are, give him the finger,” he proposes in a whisper.

I really don’t want to see Brad. I don’t want him there to ruin the one thing that makes me feel really good in my life.

“Worst case scenario, you run off stage, and Damian goes on with the song.” Simon finally breaks the others’ silence, and they all sigh with relief.

They finally know my story and, while I feel embarrassed for exposing myself in front of everyone, I look around and realize that I am in the midst of a family that is going to protect me.

“Show that motherfucker he can go fuck himself with his criminal pranks,” echoes Luke.

I look at my bandmates and see the desperation in their eyes. I’d ruin their careers and their lives too. They’re the ones who stayed by my side growing up, the ones who never abandoned me. I have to behave exactly as they have with me: sticking together despite the difficult moments.

“If I throw up on him, promise me you won’t leave me on that stage, okay?” I ask Damian.

His smile is worth a thousand answers and the sweetness in his eyes breaks down any barriers between us. “I won’t let go of you for a second. I’ll hold your hair while you give him what he deserves,” he assures me.

I take some deep breaths, curl up in his arms, and try to convince myself to get off his legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see intrigued faces observing our intimacy without saying a single word about it.

*

“Look at me.”

Damian’s voice rings in my ears, but I can’t take my eyes off the screaming crowd in front of me, including Brad, who has a filthy grin and the phone pointed in our direction. I feel like I’m gonna throw up.

He grabs my chin with two fingers and squeezes my hand tightly, then turns my head towards him. Finally, I find his supportive eyes and some clarity.

---