Breaking Point

Chapter 50 // Jesse

[Stockholm, Sweden – Copenhagen, Denmark]

Stars marred my vision and everything went black.

I'd just finished singing "Here I Am" and to finish that part of the set I had a dance solo, and that was when I felt flushed all over, akin to a hot flush. Moments prior I was fine and suddenly perspiration was breaking out along my forehead. Dizziness was the next stage. Stars bordered my vision and I could feel myself swaying through the movements, becoming more and more lethargic. Then I think I fell. I think I blacked out before I hit the stage.

When I became conscious again, I was greeted by incessant, hysterical screaming. One of my dancers who was vying for my attention faintly mumbled something about fans being ushered out of the arena and an ambulance was on its way. I was later told that I fell unconscious for eight minutes. They were told not to move me until the paramedics arrived. By that point I was irate and agitated. I hadn't given my fans what they wanted and I'd made a fool of myself in front of the world and everyone was fussing over me like I was some feckless being. I hated the attention.

I fucking hated it.

"You okay?" Lewis asked me as we rode in the ambulance to the hospital.

"Yes," I muttered, embarrassed.

They gave me a bed and told me to relax before doing some tests and also told me to then wait until the doctor showed up to announce the results. Some of my team were sorting out the arena and the hotel, though Lewis, Tyler and other bodyguards were in the hospital with me. My phone had been inundated with messages from my family and friends. There was nothing from Chantelle and that made me feel worse. She'd reach out to me, surely?

This wasn't some attention-seeking act. But I'd like the reassurance that she still gave a fuck about me and cared for me. We might not be talking at all and instead be getting on with our separate lives, but I still loved her and can only hope she still loved me.

That was when the doctor showed up. He was old with almost pearl-like eyes they were such a light grey and hair to match. But he smiled warmly when he entered the room and I noticed Lewis straighten his spine out of my periphery. I almost rolled my eyes at his behaviour but I had a feeling it wouldn't aid this process further.

"In short," the doctor began, "you're exhausted. I don't need to read the test results – though I have – to deduce that from the crescents under your eyes. You are also somewhat malnourished." He shuffled in the available seat next to the bed on the opposite side of Lewis and added, "I've seen the news. I know what's happening. But you still need to take care of yourself. Would you allow such neglect to occur to your voice?"

"No," I admitted.

"Precisely. Because you're a singer. But you need to make sure you're following that approach for the rest of your body. You need to make sure you're eating more and you need to sleep more. It's easier said than done, I know. But small steps. As I was told, you were in the middle of a dance routine when you collapsed?"