We need you to make this happen.I tapped out a response.
I’m on my way.TwoEmily“Emily!” My brother shouted from behind me, trying to push his way through the group of people that had descended on him the second we’d come off stage.
Backstage, the energy was alive, the way it always was, only dim lights illuminating the wings. Roadies hustled to tear down our gear and set up for the next band, local reporters vied to get the scoop, and fans tried to get a closer look. To brush up against the only world that I knew.
I ignored all of it.
Feet pounding the floor, I fumbled over cords and pushed through curtains and dodged equipment.
“Emily,” Richard shouted again, “would you fuckin’ wait?”
I didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to turn around and see the questions in his eyes.
Without looking back, I pushed myself faster. Fought to get away.
Hide.
As if there were any hope to change any of this.
Fear pulsed like wildfire through my veins, lungs burning with panic and exertion.
Where I was going, I didn’t know.
Searching for a solution.
A safe place, I guessed.
A way to scrape the ugliness that had seeped into my consciousness, this gross feelin’ I couldn’t escape.
Trapped.
And God, I hated it. Hated it so much that I was doing my best to outrun it.
Keeping my face down, I slinked around a group of fans with backstage passes, their excitement a palpable brand of anticipation and suspense.
I said a silent prayer that they wouldn’t recognize me, though I figured they were probably there to see Civil Stone, the headliner on the tour, anyway.
There wasn’t even a rustle of awareness. Thank God.
Increasing my pace, I rounded into a narrow hall that ran along the back of the old club. With every step that I took, my heart rate spiked, amplifying the suffocating sensation that pummeled me in nauseating waves.
I almost shouted in relief when I found a side door, my hands planting on the heavy metal latch as I shoved it open to the waiting night.
It banged against the wall, and I stumbled down the three steps into the dark alleyway, gasping for breath and wondering how I thought isolating myself in the shadows was any better.
Humidity slapped me in the face, clogging my lungs, and the panic only intensified.
Footsteps clamored after me, my brother slowing when he found my hiding place. A shiver of unease rolled across my flesh as he eased down the steps, stopping two feet away.
“What the hell is going on with you, Em?”
My throat grew tight, locking up the confession. One I wasn’t sure I wanted to make anyway. I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Richard grabbed me by the wrist and spun me around. “That wasn’t fucking nothing,” he spat.
Frustration and confusion and anger marred his attractive face. My brother was about as handsome as they came. One-hundred-percent masculine with a striking, unforgettable face, the guy was nothing but charisma and drive and a talent unlike any other.
Night after night, he won over crowds, and they worshipped at his feet.
They liked to say I was the face of Carolina George.
I knew better.
It was him. My older brother who I respected more than anything. I still couldn’t believe he’d get mixed up in what he had. That he could be partner to it. I wondered what he’d say if he found out that I knew.
If it would change anything.
“I just . . . I think I’m tired.”
Tired of pretending.
Tired of covering up this hurt.
Tired of being afraid.
Doubt pinched his face, and he roughed a hand through his dark blond hair. “Are you joking right now, Em? You’re tired? You fucking blew the call with the record company this morning, and then you ran off the stage in the middle of our last song . . . because you were fucking tired? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?”
He kept angling closer with each word he shouted, the anger in his voice echoing against the brick walls and pelting against the dingy, dirty ground.
Tears burned in my eyes, and I struggled to hold them back.
Didn’t he get what I had done for him? What I’d gone through for him? But I knew he didn’t have the first clue, and I had no idea how to tell him. Terrified for him to know what I’d endured. Almost more terrified of what he was hiding.
Wrapping my arms over my chest, I took a step back, as if it could shield me from his anger. Protect me from the pain ripping me apart.
“I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”
Richard grabbed me by the upper arms and shook me. “What the fuck does that mean?”
I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me, that he somehow thought he could shake some sense into me, but it didn’t matter. I felt it like a blow, terror ridging my spine, my nerves racing as my breaths turned shallow.