Page 25 of Unholy Confessions
My phone stays silent.
I know she's probably asleep, or at least trying to be. She has an early class tomorrow, something about Victorian literature that she's passionate about in the way only Montgomery can be passionate about things. I love watching her talk about her classes, the way her whole face lights up when she shares that creative part of herself with me. Most people would know a creative writing major won't get you many places these days, but not her. She's getting the degree, and I know she'll use it.
But right now, lying alone in my bunk while the miles roll by beneath us, I just need to hear her voice. Need her to tell me everything's going to be okay, even though we both know these separations are getting harder instead of easier.
I text again: Can't sleep. Wish you were here.
Still nothing.
The pill container in my jacket pocket seems to be calling to me, teasing me with the artificial calm it'll give me. I know it's a fucking placebo affect this soon from taking the last one. I know I shouldn't. I know I already took more than I should have today. But my thoughts are racing, jumping from the interview to Montgomery to tomorrow's show to the way EJ handled every question with such natural ease while I stumbled through my responses like a goddamn newbie.
I fish the container out of my pocket and stare at it in the dim light filtering through my curtain. Such small things to have such power over me. When did I become the kind of person who relies on medication in a way he shouldn't? Has it really only been a couple of days? But then I think back to when I was a teenager, how quickly I got swept up by the fighting, the drinking. It took one fight, and that was it. I obviously have a very addictive personality. Probably something I should talk to Jared about.
The rational part of my brain – the part that's getting smaller every day – knows I should put the bottle away and try to sleep naturally. Maybe do some of those breathing exercises Montgomery taught me, or listen to one of those meditation apps she's always recommending.
But the other part, the part that's tired of being tired, that's sick of feeling like I'm always one step behind everyone else, that part whispers that just one more won't hurt. Just enough to quiet the noise in my head so I can get a few hours of peace before we roll into Kansas.
My phone buzzes. Finally. But when I look at the screen, it's not Montgomery. It's a news alert about Grey Skies, something about our album hitting a new milestone. The kind of success that should make me happy but instead just feels like more pressure, more expectations I'm not sure I can meet. It's almost hollow.
I dry-swallow the pill before I can talk myself out of it.
The shame hits immediately, hot and familiar in my chest. This isn't who I wanted to be. This isn't the life I imagined when we first started the band, when music was pure joy instead of performance anxiety and fake energy.
But even as the shame burns through me, I feel the edges of my thoughts starting to soften, the racing in my mind beginning to slow. Soon, the bus's rocking motion will actually be soothing instead of agitating. Soon, I'll be able to close my eyes without seeing every mistake I made today playing on repeat.
I put my phone on silent and close my eyes, welcoming the peace even as I hate myself for needing it. Tomorrow I'll do better. Tomorrow I'll try harder.
Tomorrow I'll be the person Montgomery thinks I am, instead of the mess I'm becoming.
But tonight, in the darkness of my bunk with the miles rolling by beneath us and Kansas waiting ahead, I let the pill do what I can't manage on my own.
I let it give me peace.
Chapter 12
Montgomery
M: I know, I'm sorry. I thought it would be okay for me to come out, but this project is huge for my grade.
R: I hate this shit. Why don't you quit school and follow me around? You can always go back.
Groaning, I sigh heavily and try to calm my racing heart. I hate when he says things like this to me. My mom was okay following Hannah and then my dad around, but I'm not. I've never been the type of person who wanted to be wrapped up in a relationship. Not like they were. I've always wanted to be independent, and I've worked hard at it for most of my adult life. Rhett and I have had this conversation more than once.
M: You know I want things that are my own. I can't have my own identity if I follow you around. We've talked about this. It doesn't mean I love you any less, RJ.
R: Never said it did, I just don't think you understand how much I miss you.
This tears my heart out, how does he not know how much I miss him?
M: I do miss you, and I know this happens right after we see each other, but I need you to bring it down a notch, RJ. I have to go into class...
R: The same class you have the project for?
Mother. Fucker.
M: Yes. I'll talk to you later.
R: Whatever
