Odds are, I missed some spelling mistakes in this one. I'm tiiiiired. I was reading it and almost fell asleep. It's 4 am. Me sleeeep now.
I suck at regularly uploading.
RP shall be over very soon. Possibly only one chapter left. Possibly two.
Love you guys.
I found after a while that I didn’t notice the pain in my wrist so much. The hurt was there, the odd ache that settled in my bones just never went away anymore. I’d gotten so used to it being there that it was a part of me now, a part of playing.
It never affected my performances and I still practiced late into the night and whenever I couldn’t sleep which was...always. Every time I fell asleep I would hear Dom in my head telling me that I’d better measure up, I’d better be careful or I’d lose everything and then before I could even think about it, I was on the couch with the guitar in my hands, wishing I could still be wrapped in Mac’s arms but helpless to keep the panic at bay.
I fell asleep with my face on my guitar most of the time. Sometimes I didn’t fall asleep at all and I felt like I never really woke up until our performances.
But every performance was perfect. I never failed to deliver, not once.
In your face, Dom.
After the performance I did whatever I had to, answered any interview questions before heading onto the bus, ready to drive to the next stop on our gruelling tour schedule.
“Don’t,” Mac said one night as the bus started up. I’d just picked up my acoustic by the neck, ready to sit down with it in my lap like I did after every performance but his hand was next to mine, gripping the neck a little lower down making me freeze.
“What?” I asked, frowning at him and giving my guitar a little tug.
“Don’t play tonight. You’re so exhausted that you can barely stand up straight. You need to sleep badly.”
I glanced over at Troy and Dan who were looking at me with stern expressions. “Guys, I’m just practicing,” I said, giving them a perplexed look. “We all practice a lot, it’s no big deal.”
“We don’t practice like you, Rose,” Troy said softly, crossing his arms over his big chest.
“Why are you pushing yourself so hard?” Dan asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.
I swallowed hard and shrugged. “I’m just working hard. It’s not a crime.” I gave them a reassuring smile and let go of my guitar, ignoring the voice in my head shouting at me that it was wrong that I needed it in my hands, that I needed to practice so that every performance was perfect.