Page 24 of The Drummer

I pull out my phone with unsteady hands. I don’t even know what I’m planning to do with it. Molly is studying abroad in Europe, but I don’t dump my pain on my little sister anyway. I don’t dump it on anyone, and that’s the problem. I only take it. Absorb it and internalize it so other people can survive, even though it never works. All it does is turn me from a victim to an enemy when I’m not enough to save them.

Please. I need you. I can’t do this alone anymore. Please don’t leave me in this hell alone anymore.

The words blur through my tears. I’m shaking so hard I can barely type them out. In a hazy pocket of agony, I press send before I realize what I did.

When I do, my phone clatters to the floor, my head falls to my knees, and I break down for the first time since that night.

I wake to an aggressive bang.

The sound reverberates through me, and I realize it’s coming from the door behind me. It’s not the first one I’ve felt since escaping to my room. I ignored the others until they finally stopped and I fell into a fitful sleep.

With the blinds drawn, I can’t tell what time it is, but nothing’s changed since I left the private lounge on the second floor of the hotel.

“Casey!”

Every inch of my body is cramped and sore as I try to push up from the floor. Another pound on the door is interrupted by a second voice.

“He wants to be alone.”

“He needs to fix this!”

“Fuck, dude, cut him a break, will you?”

“It’s your career on the line too!”

“Yeah? Well, maybe he’s right. Maybe this is over.”

“How can you say that?! He’s being selfish.”

“He’s being a fucking human being! You suits keep treating him like some damn commodity! He’s a person. His life was ripped apart. Worse than the rest of us. I’m tired of this. You want to keep torturing him, fine, but I’m done.”

“Sweeny! Hey! Jeff!”

I clench my eyes shut. There are no tears left, just scratchy pain as I try to soothe the burn inside and out.

I know who’s standing on the other side of the door. All he wants is confirmation that I’m not broken. That once I finish pouting, I’ll pull myself back together and play my puppet role with a smile on my face like every other time.

But I can’t do it right now. I can’t take more criticism and anger and disappointment. Even worse would be the pity if anyone saw me like this.

My phone buzzes near my head, and I roll my aching eyes toward the illuminated screen. The surface is covered with notifications. Probably missed texts and phone calls from my bandmates and TJ. Maybe a diatribe or two from the Label when word got back to them about the disastrous interview. I’ll pay dearly for that, but it’s hard to care when it feels like I have nothing left to lose.

Last night, I broke.

Today…

I don’t know yet.

I push up to my elbows, testing my limbs and my blurry vision. My phone flashes again, and I can’t help the programmed response of checking the notification.

My heart stutters in my chest.

Can’t be.

I scoop up the phone for a closer look and activate the screen.

The name is unmistakable. Not TJ or the Label or a bandmate, but the last person I expect to see.

A new text. A reason to keep going and force myself to confront the reality of what I’ve done.

---