"I hate your fans," I mutter, laying back on the ice pack. My brother chuckles, tossing me a bottle of Advil. I pop it open, pouring a couple into my hand. I close the bottle and toss it back, catching the water bottle he throws to me. I take the Advil, laying back down with a wince. "I don't even know how I flipped over the barrier or how I got to their side in the first place! One second I'm with you the next I'm with them then I'm landing on my head back on your side!" I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest. "They just got over-excited is all. Don't blame them." Blake shrugs, sitting down by my feet.
"They pushed me over a metal barrier, Blake. I have a concussion. I can't be in the arena during the show for at least a week." I enunciate everything, glaring down at him. "You do not have a concussion." He sighs, shaking his head. "The doctors almost here and you have two heads. I think I have a concussion." I mutter, slumping into the couch. "Blakey!" Rachel's screeching voice pierces the air, making me cringe. "Turn her off," I mutter, closing my eyes. Rachel leads a doctor in, grinning. "Doctors here!" She announces loudly. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling a pillow over my face.
"Dylan, is it?" The doctor asks, and I nod. "Yeah," Blake says, slowly pulling the pillow from my face. "Let's take a look at this bump then, sound good?" He asks, helping me sit up. He examines the back of my head, poking and prodding at the bump. "Can you focus on my finger?" He asks, holding it in front of my face and shining a light in my eyes. It's bright, making me squint a little. "Alright, she does have a little bit of a concussion, so no loud noises so for the next week to a week and a half, she can't be in the arenas while the show is going on. No bright light, no electronics, lots of sleep. Got it?" I nod, giving Blake a pointed look. The doctor leaves, Blake closing the dressing room door behind him.
"I really, really hate your fans," I tell him, narrowing my eyes at him. "So you said." He sighs, plopping down on the other end of the couch. Rachel sits down on his lap, running her fingers through his hair. "Blakey, would you be a doll and rub my back? This baby is getting heavier by the minute." She pouts, making me sick. So, so fake. She's twenty-three weeks pregnant, and she looks twenty weeks pregnant. This is ridiculous. I sit up, leaving the room.
I wander down the hall until I reach 5SOS's dressing room, going in. "Hey, how's your head?" Luke asks, looking up at me. "Concussed," I mutter, laying down on their couch. "Seriously?" I nod, covering my head with a pillow. "Luke! Dan wants to talk to you!" Lana shouts into the room, making me wince. "If one more person yells in my ear I will shoot them," I mutter, slowly pulling the pillow from over my face. "Luke!" Lana screeches again, and I chuck the pillow at the door, hearing it make contact with something that was not hardwood. "What the hell was that for?" She demands, glaring down at me. "She has a concussion, stop yelling," Luke says, leading her out of the dressing room. "I hate people," I mutter, grabbing another pillow and pulling it over my face.
"Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?" Ashton asks, peeking under the pillow. I nod, letting him pull me up. I follow him out to a waiting car, getting in the back seat.
-
"We go on in thirty, you good here?" Calum asks, standing in the doorway. "Yeah, I'm just going to sleep, well, try. Thanks." "Call if you need us." He says, giving me a small smile. "Thanks." I nod, closing my eyes and getting comfortable.
"I know I have to come in for my twenty-week check." I frown when I hear Rachel's voice outside the door, interrupting my peace and quiet. "I know the checkup was last week, but I didn't have time to come in. Twenty-one weeks is close enough to twenty. Calm down. I'll be in tomorrow." I stand up, walking over to the door. "I don't care that I'm going to my twenty-week check-up a week late! It's not going to kill anyone!" She says, sounding exasperated. I swing open the door, raising an eyebrow. "Twenty-one weeks and twenty-three weeks sure are far apart when we are discussing pregnancy time," I tell her, leaning on the doorframe.
"I have to go." She says, hanging up. "I don't know what you're talking about." She tells me, crossing her arms over her chest and staring down at me. "I heard your conversation, you're not exactly quiet, Rachel." "I don't have time to discuss this with you, I have to get to the airport." She says, walking to the elevator. She presses the button and waits, tapping her foot. "Does my brother know you're cheating on him? That your baby isn't his?" I ask, getting in the elevator with her when it arrives. "Of course not." She rolls her eyes, pressing the lobby. "Why keep this a secret? Neither of you are happy with each other so why wouldn't you stay with the real baby daddy?" I ask, watching the numbers count down.
"Because I'm happy with your brother and he doesn't need to know I cheated on him and got knocked up from a one night stand with a football player." She says as the doors open, paps waiting. They all stand there silently for a minute as Rachel turns around, turning red. "What?" Comes from behind the camera, the cameramen moving apart to reveal my brother. "What football player knocked you up?" "When was this?" Questions started flying, and the flashes came, blinding me.
"Stop! Dylan has a concussion! Stop taking pictures!" Blake shouts, walking into the elevator and standing in front of me. He presses the door closed button, pushing our floor. "What do you mean I don't have to know you cheated on me and got knocked up by some football player? Of course I have to know! I shouldn't be paying for any of this shit since I'm not the fucking father!" The elevator stops and Blake leads me back to my room, giving me a smile. "I'm sorry," I tell him. "What for? This isn't your fault. I should have believed you and asked her when you first told me. It would have stopped a lot of this drama." He says, wrapping his arm around me. "I came up here to grab my lucky necklace, but I'm kinda glad I forgot it. That way I wouldn't have had to find out about this through the tabloids." I nod, giving him a small smile.
"Ice cream run later?" He asks, looking down at me. "Yeah, if I'm still awake." "Sounds good. Take it easy, okay?" I nod, watching him leave.
-
I chuck my phone at a snoring Luke, the lounge on the bus going silent as he wakes up. "What was that for?" He asks, slowly sitting up. "You snore. Loudly." I inform him, leaning back in my seat. He flips my phone over, unlocking it. "Hey! Stop snooping through my phone! I gave you my password so you could answer my texts. Not snoop!" I tell him, standing up and walking over. He puts his foot out and stops me, scrolling through something. "Luke." I groan, trying to move his foot and grab my phone. He smiles, looking through something. "Stop it." I start to whine, hitting his leg.
"Your Twitter mentions are really funny. Everyone's telling you how lucky you are to be Blake's sister like you got to choose this life." He laughs, reading another one. "Okay wow." He mutters, his smile faltering. "What?" I ask, trying to grab my phone. He moves his hand away, typing something. "Luke, stop! What are you doing? Don't reply to anything! Luke-" "just informing a person they can go to jail for telling someone to kill themselves." He says, making me freeze. "Delete it," I say, becoming serious. "Luke. Delete it now. Last time I did that I got a shit ton of hate for being a bitch to someone. Delete the tweet." "I said it was from me. Calm down." "I don't care! Delete it!"
He sighs, deleting it but I hear the notification that someone tweeted me. "Give me my phone," I demand, holding out my hand. He hands it over, and I look at the new tweet, biting my lip.
@lukeisnotapenguin: wow, now she's pretending Luke is tweeting from her account. She's still a bitch!
"Thanks a lot, Luke," I mutter, putting my phone down and going back to my bunk.
I stare at the wall of my bunk, trying not to cry. I can't keep letting small stuff like this trigger me. My body can't handle it. I hold my breath, trying to hold the sob in. "Dylan, I can talk to them. I can tweet from my account saying it really was me." Luke offers. "They'll accuse me of hacking your account," I mumble, not turning around. "I'm sorry, Dylan." He says after a short pause. "I didn't mean to start anything." "It's whatever. I don't care." I reply, pulling my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.
"It's not whatever, Dylan. I shouldn't have tweeted without your permission." He says, letting out a sigh. "I'm really sorry." It goes silent, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Stop thinking about it. You're better than that. I remind myself, clenching my fist to distract myself.
"Hey Dylan, we are stopping for gas if you want to get out," Ashton tells me, putting his hand on my back. I shake my head, unable to speak. "You alright?" He asks, to which I nod. "You sure?" I nod again, holding my breath to stop the sob creeping its way up. I wipe my eyes, hearing him walk off.
My body is soon wracked with sobs. I try to quiet them with my hand but to no avail. Why can't they just leave me alone? I turn over, climbing out of the bunk, and wiping my eyes. I look through the drawers, trying to find something sharp. Anything. I grow more and more frustrated as I close drawer after drawer, my movement growing more frantic. I move to the bathroom, still looking. I look through bags, hoping to find something! Scissors, anything!
I dig through my bathroom bag, seeing what I had. "What are you doing?" Ashton's voice pierces the silence and I freeze, my hand wrapping around my razor. I clear my throat, not looking up at him. "Looking for something," I reply, staring at the bag. "Need any help?" He asks. "I'm good. Thanks though." "Good luck looking." He goes back to the backroom, leaving me alone. I rush into the bus bathroom, staring at the razor.
"Why can't you be more like your brother? You're flunking half your classes right now, Dylan! You aren't going to get anywhere in life if you keep this up!" My mom shouts at me, shaking her head. "It's like you aren't even going to school, dammit!" She crumples the report card and chucks it, the paper going a few feet before dropping to the ground. I stare at it, tears streaking down my face. "Look at me when I talk to you!" She demands, grabbing my face roughly and turning it to look at her.
"And now you're crying! Grow up, Dylan! You're fourteen years old!" She says as she leaves the kitchen, grumbling about how I'm going nowhere in life. I run up to my room, locking myself in the bathroom and crying against the door.
I can't tell you what compelled me to cut for the first time that day, but it helped. A little. It took my mind off of what my mom had said, made me focus on that pain instead of the pain my mom put me through.
I wipe my eyes, popping the blades from the rest of the razor. I carefully pull them from their holder, seeing how sharp they were. "Dylan? You in there?" Ashton asks, making me jump. I drop one of the blades, hearing the metal bounce on the tile. "What was that?" Shit, he could hear that? It wasn't that loud! "Nothing. What do you need?" "To go to the bathroom. I didn't have to go at the gas station, and now I do." "Can you hold it? I'm kinda busy..." "Not really. I chugged a Coke." Dammit.
"Just, give me a few more minutes." I curse, fumbling to put the razor back together. I drop another blade trying to put it back, the bus turning and the blade slides under the door. I freeze, my heart pounding.
"Dylan... do you want to talk about something?" Ashton asks slowly and quietly. "No," I mumble, biting my lip. I throw the razor in my bag, quickly leaving the bathroom and brushing past Ashton and into the back room.
I shut the door and sit down on the couch, staring out the window and try not to start crying again. A couple of minutes later Ashton comes in with Luke in tow. "How come this slid under the door?" Ashton asks, both of them sitting down across from me. "My razor fell out of my bag and broke. I was trying to fix it and dropped it, and it slid with the turn." I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. I stare at the floor, chewing on my bottom lip.
"Can I see your wrists then?" He asks, waiting. I don't say anything, tucking my arms between my knees pulled up to my chest and my chest. "We can help you, Dylan." Luke offers, finally saying something. "I don't need help. I'm all right." I reply, staring at a stain on the carpet.
"Then can I see your wrists so I know for sure you're okay?" I shake my head, glancing up at them as I continue to chew on my bottom lip. "Why?" "Because I don't have to." "We just want to make sure you're really okay." "Why can't you take my word?" "Because we've been in your position before." My eyes begin to well up, my breathing becoming more labored.
"I wanted to, but I never got around to it this time. But I have before, and that's why I didn't want to show you my wrists." I tell them, showing them my wrists. They stare down at my wrists, and I begin to grow self-conscious, pulling them back. Luke catches my left hand, holding tight. "We can help you, Dylan." He tells me. "My brothers couldn't even help me, Luke," I say, wiping my eyes with my right hand.
"Maybe that's what you need. Friends that can help." He tells me, giving my hand a squeeze. I pull my hand out of his grasp, pulling my sleeves up even further, staring at the ground as I show them the scars that ran the length of my arms. "I'm beyond help," I mumble, pulling my arms back.
"When was the last time you cut?" Ashton asks quietly, moving to sit next to me. "When I attempted to kill myself," I reply, wiping my eyes. "So about nine months ago." I finish, watching Luke move to sit on my other side. "So you're nine months clean," Ashton says. I nod slowly. "We can help you stay clean, Dylan." "Ashton, I-" "Dylan, you've gone nine months already. That's an amazing accomplishment! It took me years to be able to say I was nine months clean." I look up at Ashton, seeing him give me a smile.
"It can still be hard for me to stay clean, but we can help you. We know the tricks." "Like what? It took so much willpower for me to put the blades down when I wanted to cut." "It starts by telling yourself you're stronger than that, then you have to turn to trusted friends," Luke says, making me turn to him. "Then you have to get out of the situation that caused you to feel like you need to cut. So right now it'd be staying off social media." Ashton continues.
"Turn on a movie you like, read your favorite book, listen to music, do something to get your mind off of cutting. It can be anything, just as long as it gets your mind off of cutting." Luke says, ticking off the options on his fingers. "We found writing music to be our outlet. That may be yours, too, since you love to write songs." I shrug, leaning back on the couch.
The bus rolls to a stop, all of us glancing outside. "Let's head into the arena and take a break from bus life. I think we could all do with a little break." Ashton suggests, standing. I stand as well, Luke following my lead. They wrap me in a hug, all of us standing there for a minute. "It's gonna be okay," Ashton tells me, pulling away. Luke pulls away as well, and we all head into the arena.