It's been a few weeks since Finn died. I've been doing okay, but my heart hurts more than I can explain. Noah only missed one show, but they were going to make that up at the end of the tour. We picked up at the next show and the show went on, as they say.
The world kept turning regardless of if I felt like I wanted it to stop or slow down, even. Jolly and Sage had to walk on eggshells that first week. I could tell they were both so worried to upset me. Noah paid a little too much attention to me lately.
I had been distant, I knew it, but I didn't know what box to put my grief in. So, my grief was in all of my boxes, leaving a stain on every single one of my emotions. While everyone around me treated me like a glass doll, needing to be handled carefully. So carefully. It made me want to scream.
"What are you thinking about?" Noah asks, sitting across from me at the table on the bus. It's late, Jolly and Sage had already turned in. I was still up, having my third glass of Macallan. Noah wearily eyes my drink, but doesn't say anything.
"I'm trying to not think of anything," I tell him, just like I do every night when he asks me this.
"Pushing your feelings down and ignoring them is just going to prolong your grief," he says, just like he does every other night when he tries to get me to stop drinking.
"I guess you just know everything, don't you Delaney," Noah spits, his voice raising slightly. I don't react to him saying my name the way he used to, I know it's what he wants. He wants to invoke some feeling of any kind in me, but I am just numb. I was numb before the whiskey, I'm don't feel anything at all with it.
I sip the drink in front of me, "stop trying to therapist me, Noah. And keep your voice down, Jolly and Sage are sleeping."
"I don't care, Laney. If you don't want to talk, that's fine, you don't have to. But I have some things to say and you're going to listen," he pauses, searching my eyes for signs of life, but I don't meet his gaze. I have to fight an eyeroll, he's been giving me the same speech for weeks now. "You can't keep doing this, ignoring your pain, one day you are going to explode like a bomb. And you aren't going to mean to, but you are going to hurt everyone around you. If you don't get some help, and stop medicating with whiskey I'm going to send you home. Finn wouldn't want this, Delaney, he would hate seeing you like this."
All of those words are new, I think to myself as I finish the Macallan. All I can think is if he sends me home, I won't have him breathing down my neck. I can deal with my pain without being judged.
"Send me home then," I shrug at him. A few weeks ago I would have challenged him, fought back even, today I just want him off my back. The way his face falls tugs something deep inside of me, but not enough. He doesn't say anything else, throwing his hands in defeat, and disappearing into his bunk.
I sit up a while longer, watching cars pass the bus on the interstate. I know what Noah is saying makes sense, but I didn't know how to start. I didn't know how to tell him I was so lost in my pain that I didn't know how to crawl out of this shallow grave. I didn't know how to tell him how dark my thoughts have gotten. I didn't know how to tell him I was so, so scared the same thing was going to happen to him. I didn't know how to get help, because I don't know what I need.
The bus pulls up to the next venue just before sunrise. I wasn't ready for sleep, and I was feeling trapped here. I let myself off the bus while the driver settles in to get some sleep. When I round the bus Nick is standing by their bus, smoking a cigarette.
"Hey," he calls, his deep voice quiet as if not to spook me.
"Can I have one of those?" I don't smoke, haven't smoked since I was in college. He extends his pack and I stick the cigarette between my teeth and he reaches over to light it for me. I barely inhale the first drag, feeling it fill up my lungs before exhaling the smoke out.
"You're up late," he says carefully, everyone is so careful with me.
"I needed some air," I reply, eyeing him studying me.
Nick and I were friendly, but kept our distance most of the time. I didn't want to make Noah upset if I got too close with his friend that I slept with. He had never seemed like he cared about our past, but I didn't want to chance it.
"I don't think this is going to help if you wanted air," he says, holding up his cigarette. An unexpected breath of air leaves me, not a laugh, but not not a laugh. "Look, sign of life," he says, sarcastically as he stubs out his cigarette. "Come on," he says, nodding his head in the direction of the sidewalk.
"Where are we going?"
"Nowhere," he grins and I stub my cigarette out and fall into step with him.
The whiskey was starting to wear off, some of the feelings were starting to slip in. Nick doesn't say anything while we walk, I was afraid he was going to try to give me the same bullshit Noah had been giving me, but he just walked. And I walked with him.
"Noah threatened to send me home," I say after twenty minutes of silence.
"You are an adult, Delaney, he can't tell you what to do," Nick says, his voice comforting in the early morning sun. "Do you want to go home?"
I am silent for a long pregnant minute, "I don't want to be away from him, but I don't want to talk to him."
"Why don't you want to talk to him?"
"I don't want to burden him with my grief when I know he's grieving too," I tell him, squinting in the sunlight.
"Do you want to know what I think?"
"Not really," I reply, and he chuckles.
"I'm going to tell you anyway," he bumps my shoulder with his, "I think you would be helping him by talking to him. The two of you are both in the same pain, but hiding it from each other. I think part of loving someone is leaning on them in times of need."
"I know," I sigh, "I know I can lean on him, but it's easier not to. I don't want to start talking, because if I do all of my pain is going to bubble to the surface again. It doesn't hurt as much where it is."
"For now," he replies, "but one day your grief will turn into a cancer that spreads to anyone and everyone you love."
"I know," I say, "I know all of this, it doesn't change anything, though."
"It doesn't have to change right now, but you can't keep it bottled up. I know it seems easier, but it's not in the long run."
Nick and I turn around and head back to the buses, we stop at a coffee shop and pick up some muffins and coffee for everyone on the way. I feel a little lighter after my talk with Nick, but I don't feel better. All of the whiskey has worn off by the time we get back.
Noah is awake when I step onto the bus, and he eyes me suspiciously. I can tell he wants to ask where I've been, but he doesn't want to upset me. I show him the coffee and food, he takes one of the coffees, but doesn't reach for a muffin.
"I went for a walk with Nick," I offer, because I don't want to keep things from him. Well, I don't want to keep everything from him.
He doesn't say anything, just nods and continues studying me. I can't stand the scrutiny so I grab my coffee and go sit at the table. Noah follows me silently, sitting across from me.
"What?" I snap, because what is he doing?
"What do you want to do, Laney?"
I don't know what I want to do. If I go home, if I'm alone in our house I'll drink myself to death. I'm self aware enough to know that I won't get help, I will just drink and drink and drink. I don't want to be here either, but I don't not want to be here. I don't know where I belong anymore, I just feel lost.
"I don't know," I finally say, honestly.
"Would you be open to talking to someone?"
"Nick tried this morning," I tell him and his frown deepens.
"A professional, Laney," he reiterates. I don't answer him for a long time. I've never been to a therapist, but it doesn't seem like I could do something like that. I can't talk to Noah about my issues, how was I going to talk to a stranger? And what are they even going to tell me other than all of the cliches I already know. I don't know if it will help, but I needed to do something.
"Yes, I think I could try to see a therapist," I reply, I needed help crawling out of this hole. Noah had done everything in his power to help, but I needed more than him. I needed a professional.
"Good, I made you an appointment for this afternoon," he stands and settles into the booth with me, kissing my hair, "I also threw away all of the alcohol on board. You can drink again when you aren't using it to medicate yourself."
I want to whine, and throw a fit, but I know that's what needed to happen. If he hadn't gotten rid of it, I would become more dependent than I already was. Besides, if I needed something to take the edge off there was always the venue and plenty of bars around.
-
While everyone went in the venue for the show, I had my first appointment with my first therapist. We didn't talk so much about how I was feeling as much as she wanted to ask about Finn and who he was as a person. I love talking about him, and how kind his heart is and the session was over before I knew it.
It's nearing time for doors to open so I make my way inside the venue, feeling a little lighter. Not a lot, I'm still very weighed down by my grief, but one day at a time. I find Noah's dressing room and find him getting ready for the show. He's drinking tea in his cargo pants, sans a shirt.
"Hey, how'd it go?" he asks gently.
"It went well, cathartic, I'm excited to keep going," I tell him honestly. "Are you ready for the show?"
"Yeah, just a couple more weeks until the end of the tour," he replies. He hasn't made a move to come to me, and I hate it. I hate that I made him standoffish, I keep my eyes on him as I make steady strides over to him. He has a hint of a smirk when I reach him. He watches me, looking for what I need, but making me take it. I step into him and press my ear to his chest, sighing when I feel the stead thump-thump-thump of his heart beat. It's beating strong in his chest, he's here. He's alive, and well. Noah's strong arms wrap around me, embracing me. Tears spring to my eyes, I haven't cried in weeks. My tears turn from blurry in my waterline, to full body shaking sobs. Noah doesn't say anything, he just rubs my back while my session catches up with me.
I don't let go of Noah until it's almost time for them to go onstage.
"I'm gonna be okay," I tell him, and I mean it for the first time in a long time. He smiles at me, a wide genuine smile that I haven't seen on his face in too long.