I awake to find myself alone in my bed. I vaguely remember Kathy crawling out of bed but hoped it had been a hallucination and that I’d find her naked body still there when I opened my eyes. I reach over to grab the pillow she laid her head on, hoping to smell the scent of her shampoo just to confirm that last night was not my imagination. When I pull the pillow to my face, a note falls from it.

Had to leave for work. Call or text me later… Kathy

It’s all the confirmation I need to know that last night was not a dream, not a fantasy that I let myself believe was true, and I’m so relieved. When I reach for my phone, I see that I’ve got a text from her.

BRIGHT EYES: Good morning. I know you’re sleeping, but I just wanted to say thank you for last night.

Not exactly the text I was hoping for, but at least it isn’t telling me she regretted last night. While still in my bed, I do a little texting of my own.

ME: Morning. You don’t have to thank me for last night. Don’t ever say thank you, just tell me we can do it again tonight.

I wait for a few minutes to see if she responds, but when she doesn’t, I send a text to Cayson letting him know I’ll meet him at Tim’s and climb out of bed to get my day going.

I’m standing in the shower thinking about the little nymph that has settled into my heart. It doesn’t allude me that this is two nights in a row that I haven’t needed to self-medicate with alcohol. When I’m with her, my addiction is a distant memory. Kathy’s goodness brings light into the deepest darkness of my soul, leaving me to believe that maybe I can find happiness.

* * *

“What the hell is up with you,” Cayson demands. “You’re all over the board today, asswipe. Your rhythm and timing are all over the place, and you’re throwing us all off.”

I have to admit this has been one of the worst practices we’ve had in a long time, and it’s my fault. My mind keeps drifting back to last night. Images of Kathy’s naked body and soft moans are making it hard for me to concentrate. “Fuck, I know, I know. Sorry, guys, but my mind just isn’t focusing today.”

Tim pipes up. “You blew us off completely yesterday, man. Now today you can’t focus. What’s up with you. You using again?”

The question irritates me, and I throw my sticks at Tim’s head. “Fuck you, asshole. I’m not allowed to have a bad day without you fucking assuming I’m using again? Dick.” I stand and start to walk away, but Cayson reaches out and grabs my arm, causing me to pull it back like I’ve just been burned by a blow torch.

“Bro, calm down. You know Tim’s an asshole. He didn’t mean it,” Cayson tries to calm the situation down.

“Yes, he did, man. He meant every word of it. I don’t need this shit. Even when I was using, I never fucked up on stage. Why can’t I just be having a shitty day, and everyone leaves it at that?” My chest heaves up and down as I yell at the guys.

“Let’s all just take a break and calm down. We can start again in thirty. You okay with that, hothead?” I nod my head in agreement, then Cayson looks to Tim. “Fuckwad, you got anything else to say about that?” he questions.

I exit the room. I need some air to gather my senses. Fuck Tim and what he thinks. Maybe he’s finally realized that his wife is a user like I was. Maybe that’s the stick up his ass today. They all think I’m a self-centered prick, but they don’t realize I see everything around me. Most of the time, the guys think I’m lost in my own head, but I’m really assessing everything that’s going on. That’s how I know Tim doesn’t know that his wife is a user or that their open marriage isn’t so open. She’s already found a replacement for Tim, but he’s so focused on the band that even when we aren’t on the road, he isn’t there for his wife, and he hasn’t figured out that her new best friend who Tim thinks is gay isn’t gay at all.

Neal, he can say all he wants about not caring if his wife sleeps with other men, but it’s eating him alive. It doesn’t stop him from fucking groupies, but he justifies it by saying it’s what they both want. Strings but without attachments. What the fuck does that even mean?

Shit, we are all fucked up in one way or another. The only thing different is my fucked up almost took my life twice. My life isn’t glorious in the slightest.

People see the money and the fame, but they don’t understand the pressure of what we do. The music has to be perfect. Hell, we have to be perfect on the outside. Hide what’s bothering you on the inside. The public and fans can’t know that you’re struggling. It’s taboo to be famous and fall apart at the same time. But it doesn’t stop it from happening. Christ, half of what you see on TMZ is only the tip on the iceberg. The dysfunction runs so much deeper, but we all hide it the best we can. Some better than others.

I sit by the pool, taking in deep breaths and releasing them while trying to calm down. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I retrieve it, it vibrates once more.

BRIGHT EYES: Do what again?

BRIGHT EYES: Only kidding. How about I make us dinner, say eight?

My breathing immediately calms as I read her text. The beating of my heart that felt like it was going to burst from my chest slows to a soothing pace, causing me to relax ever so slightly.

ME: Eight? How about five? I don’t think I can wait that long to see you again.

BRIGHT EYES: No can do. I have a showing at five. You’ll live, I promise. See you at eight. I have to go.

I’m just about to reply when Cayson steps outside and saunters over to me, taking a seat on the lounger beside me. I look up from my phone, and my eyes connect with his. I can read his mind, what it is that he wants to say without him even saying it. It’s why we’re so close. We’re like twins who can speak without saying the words.

“Don’t, just don’t,” I tell him. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’ve already let it go. Tim’s a dick, and I know you and the others weren’t thinking the same thing as him.”

Cayson places a hand on my shoulder and then stands. “Good, just so we’re on the same page. Now, let’s wrap this one up so you can get back to doing whatever it is that’s got you so pre-occupied.”