Page 27 of Unholy Confessions
"What do you mean?" I look up from my phone. Montgomery hasn't spoken to me much since I posted the picture of me and Celeste. I knew it would cause a rift between us and she'd be pissed, but I still did it anyway.
"Posting that picture. You might as well just tell Montgomery that you want to argue."
"Oh we're doing that," I mumble.
"Hey, are you okay lately? I know touring isn't your favorite. We've only got two weeks left, but I know this takes a lot out of you. You haven't seemed like yourself."
My stomach flips. I'm not hiding enough of what's happening, and it's making me nervous. "You're right. I'm just tired, missing Montgomery, my own bed, and not having to be on all the time. I'm sure I'll be fine once we get home and really dig into writing the next album."
He doesn't believe me. I can tell by the way his eyebrows rise. "Well I'm going to tell you again. If you need to talk, I'm always here. We may not see eye-to-eye on everything, but you're my little brother. I love the shit out of you, and if something is wrong I want to help."
My throat tightens. "Thanks Everett, I love you."
"Love you, too."
The extra pill I've started keeping in my pocket is burning a hole, along with the shame burning my face.
"Five minutes!" someone shouts from the hallway, and EJ claps me on the shoulder before heading toward the stage entrance. I watch him go, his easy confidence pissing me off more than it should.
The show passes in a blur of lights and screaming fans. I play my parts, hit my cues, smile when I'm supposed to. But underneath it all, my mind keeps circling back to that small pill in my pocket. I took my prescribed dose this morning—just like I'm supposed to. But the focus isn't there anymore. It feels scattered, and the thoughts. They're already giving me anxiety.
Just one more. Just to get through tonight.
Back in my hotel room, the silence is deafening after the roar of the crowd. I sit on the edge of the bed, rolling the pill between my fingers. My phone buzzes, and I see it's an Instagram notification. Montgomery posted something.
I shouldn't look. We've barely talked since the Celeste picture, and it feels fucking shitty. But I can't help myself.
The photo loads, and my chest tightens. It's Montgomery with her study group, all of them squeezed together in what looks like the campus library. She's laughing at something, her head thrown back in genuine joy—the kind of laugh I haven't heard from her in weeks. And there, right next to her with his arm casually draped over the back of her chair, is Hayden.
Fucking Hayden.
The asshole nephew to Tex Lawson. What kind of a fucking name is that anyway? Hayden though, he's creative in that way a 90's grunge rocker was. Long hair, curly, and always pushed over to the side of his face. I've met him a few times. He's always been friendly enough, but there's something about the way he looks at her, that sets my teeth on edge.
The caption reads: "Late night study session with the best group ever! Working hard on our big project that's due at the end of the semester "
I scroll through the comments, and there's Hayden: "Couldn't ask for better study partners " with a heart emoji. Montgomery liked the comment.
My hands shake as I set the phone down. The pill is still there, waiting. I know I shouldn't. I know this is exactly the kind of moment that leads somewhere darker. But the weight in my chest, the jealousy eating at me, the exhaustion of pretending everything's fine—it all feels too heavy.
Before I can second-guess myself, I swallow it dry.
The relief is almost immediate, that familiar clarity washing over me. I know part of it is placebo, it's the actual ritual of taking it and knowing it'll be hitting my bloodstream soon. But underneath it ALL, guilt gnaws at my stomach. This isn't what I'm supposed to be using this medication for. It's not how I should be using it, and I know this. My mind goes back to the times Montgomery's told me about the relapses Jared has had, and I hate myself, but not enough to stop doing this.
I lie back on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. The air conditioning hums, and somewhere down the hall, I can hear muffled laughter from one of the guys' room. They're probably ordering room service, maybe playing video games. Being friends with one another. They've asked me numerous times, and tried to include me, but I push back for some reason..
Instead, I'm here, riding the edge of a high I don't need, thinking about my girlfriend potentially slipping away while I'm too fucked up to even call her.
Sleep comes eventually, but not before one last thought creeps in: Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the turning point I've always been worried about, the moment everything starts to unravel. Two more weeks until I go home, but I'm not even sure what home will look like anymore. Will Montgomery still be there, or will she have found something—someone—better while I was gone, too lost in my own mess to fight for what we had?
The darkness pulls me under, and I'm calm. But at the same time, the guilt is right there, almost shameful enough to make me question it all. In the end though, I'm not strong enough.
Chapter 14
Montgomery
Two Weeks Later
RJ and I haven't spoken much since our text fight. I hate it, it's not like us. But at the same time, maybe we're entering a phase of our relationship where we have to make a choice. We've been together seven years, and I've always heard others talk about the seven-year-itch. If I'm being honest, I'm feeling it.
