Band On The Run

Burnout

The tears had stopped, but my breathing was still coming out in short gasps.

In the collapsed huddle on the bathroom floor, I tried to slow my heart rate, lose that anxiety and the revolted sensation in my stomach. But I was beginning to feel numbness spreading from my fingers and inwards. That was good, that was what I wanted. I had to be slightly numb to live these days.

Using those numb fingers, I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket and hit redial as I pressed it to my ear.

“Hey,” I said in greeting when the phone was answered. The moment the word was out of my mouth, a grimaced at the sound of my cracking voice, it still sounded like I’d been crying. No one was supposed to know that.

However, he didn’t hear the difference. “You never told me that Maureen didn’t want to The Spares to happen,” he informed me, the sound of his voice still excited.

Clenching my jaw at the sob that wanted to escape at his words, I held my silence for a moment, controlling myself. There are a lot of things I never told you, I thought, but I didn’t say those words aloud. “Really?” I returned, my voice in monotone as I drew my knees up to my chest, leaning back against the door. It was better to show no emotion right now.

Finally catching on, there was a moment of silence on the end of his line too. But when he spoke, there was a sympathetic tone to it and it hit me right in the gut like a knife wound. “I’m sorry Peter’s going so hard on you,” he told me gently, “I wish he hadn’t pried into Will and Marissa.”

Even though his kind words should be a comfort; they just made that figurative knife twist in my stomach.

“Nick,” I managed in a choked voice, “I don’t think I’m coming over tonight.”

With no anger from him and no need for explanation, he just questioned me, “Do you want me to come pick you up and drive you home?”

Feeling as if his words might make the tears come back, I shook my head, pressing my trembling lips together. “No,” I assured him, “The fans and paparazzi are going to be insane after this. I’ll just make a run for it and take a cab.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, though?” Nick asked.

“Yeah,” I agreed, and before hanging up added, “I love you.”

He answered in kind, but I was already hanging up just in time for a knock to go through the door that I was propped against.

“Miss Staub?” a voice called through, “We’re back on in three.”

Hauling in one last deep breath, I countered with a strong voice this time, “Thanks!”

And dragging myself to my feet, I stepped towards the mirror, seeing my mascara smudged and swollen eyes, red cheeks and in general distasteful appearance.

Mechanically I snagged a bundle of toilet paper and wetted it before dabbing it to get rid of the black smudges streaming down my face. Afterwards I dried my face, hoping to get rid of the red tinge my skin had gotten. My face was still swollen from the crying bout, yet there was nothing I could do about that.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I forced a blinding smile onto my face. It looked almost painful to me, but unless someone was watching that really knew me, no one would know the difference. Hell, I doubted even Nick could tell. A smile was the best disguise that a person could wear, no matter who they were or what they were doing. It was the easiest and most effective way to fool another person. I used to wonder how someone could fake like this so easily, but I guess I knew now.

I’d done this way too often to be truly scared of walking back on stage. The first two years after The Spares had made me an expert.

Pushing out of the door, I made my way steadily this time back to the stage. Out of the corners of my eyes I could see those sidelong worried glances from the people as I walked, as if they were terrified that I might just have a mental break down in front of them at any moment. However I just clenched my jaw, focused my eyes ahead and kept walking.