Broken String

XI

He never really sleeps again, getting nothing more than short bursts of drousy dozing off, then waking up again with a start as those eyes of the reception lady haunt him from behind the stage door. 
Seriously. What did she ever do to offend him? She's nice, in fact, she knows him well and he thinks she likes him enough to give him a key to a room when in reality it's not his turn, yet. So what the fuck? His subconscious is seriously funky. 

"Good morning." he grunts as he passes Brett in the hallway, on his way to the bathroom. 
"Hey."
He doesn't miss Brett's concerned glance. He appreciates that he doesn't press it, though, and locks the door behind him so the world can no longer see how tired he looks, at least for now. Surely throwing a bucket-full of cold water in his face will help? 
"Ow!" he calls as he squirts tooth paste on his tooth brush and his wrist makes just the wrong kind of movement. Shit! What the hell is wrong with his hand? They have rehearsal, today, and he needs to practise. Absolutely must practise, because he can't have another lesson like yesterday, and he definitely can't wind up in the toilet again, crying his eyes out like a toddler. Or grabbing his best friend's waist in the middle of the night. 
It's time to get his act together, and for real, this time. 

"So, did I hear that Anna roped you in for her Sarasate?" Todd asks as they are, once again, walking to the con as a group.
"Yeah."
"She seemed happy enough. Pretty tough piece, though?"
"Maybe." he grins. "Haven't looked at it yet."
"Ah, saving that for the first rehearsal?"
Eddy grins again and jabs his great friend in the shoulder. 
"Thanks, Todd, for that vote of confidence. No, I'll practise it. Today."
"Yeah, 'cause you had nothing to do, yet." Brett quips. 
Eddy eyes him from the side. He means it as a joke, he knows that. But somehow it smarts all the same. He knows Brett doesn't think he can do it all. He also knows he's probably right. 
"I know." he says softly. "I couldn't say no, though. I should have told her to ask Brett."
"I don't think so." Brett retorts. "I have a final exam to prepare for. I'll play it with you though, if you want. Some point later on in the year."
"Cool. Let's do that." he says. Although he's not sure if Brett's only saying it as a platitude. 

He scans the reception desk quickly when they walk into the con, then averts his eyes. It's her, of course, the lady from his nightmare, sitting, typing away at her computer. 
And it's stupid. This woman has done nothing wrong. It's his subconscious that's at fault here. So he mans the fuck up and steps forward, looking her squarely in the eye. 
"Hi. Do you have a practice room for me by any chance?" he smiles and braces himself for her eyes. 
But she doesn't leer. She just scans the computer screen in front of her. 
"Sure." she says then, turning around and grabbing a key, then looking up at Brett, who is obviously there with the same question. "If you guys can share. You're friends, right?"
"Yeah." Brett says. "No problem."

And he would be right. Absolutely. I mean, how many times have they shared a practice room over the last three years? Hundreds of times. Last week even, Brett would have been right. But now Eddy's heart jumps up and tries to climb out of his chest through his throat and his stomach swims uncomfortably. 
There's no way he can say no. No fucking way. How could he explain to Brett why he doesn't want to share? That he doesn't want to have him there to watch him fail, over and over again? 

There's no way.