Reality Without You

“This song-” I take a deep breath, feeling slightly dizzy from the previous song. The two beers I had right before the show seem to be having their effect on me, too: my eyes can’t focus on anything, and I can hardly stand straight. Everything around is spinning madly. “This song is about always remembering how-” I make another pause, scanning the quiet audience. Everyone is looking up at me as if I’m some kind of a Godly creature, or Jesus himself. Some are crying. Some are holding up posters, but I hardly acknowledge them. “...how your home smells like. Drugstore Perfume!” I take step away from the mic, letting the crowd erupt into cheers. They are mostly females, so it all sounds very high-pitched and sharp to the ear.

I weakly grasp onto the mic, closing my tired eyes and tilting my head to the side, tapping my foot to the beat before starting to sing. The screaming girls are practically tearing my ears apart. My voice sounds disgusting to me- it’s raspy instead of the clear I’m trying to achieve.

The fans’ hands are touching my feet and legs, holding onto my clothes and dragging me down with them. I stretch out my free arm and they squeal, grasping it, as if they just got to touch the hand of Midas. I wiggle my fingers out and walk over to the other side of the stage, continuing to sing with all my lungs’ force, trying to break some unset record. Everything is so blurry, as if I’m under the sea.

When the song is done, all the lights go out and more soul-wrenching screams erupt from the females. I quickly drop the mic to the floor and stroll past the guitarist, disappearing behind the stage and out of everyone’s sight. I sprint down the dark hallway until I finally feel the cold door knob under my sweaty palm. I turn it and fall into the room, almost collapsing on the floor. I feel like I’m going to be sick, so I drag myself to the the chair in the corner and heavily slump down on it, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths. I swallow down the bitter-sweet, nauseous lump in my throat, desperately scanning the small room for a glass of water, but all I can detect is beer, which I’m honestly sick of. I just melt back into the chair, my arms hanging freely by my sides, and squeeze my eyes shut again, hoping that I’ll blackout while waiting for someone to make appearance. Or perhaps die so that I don’t have to spend another day in my filthy, pathetic skin.

“Gerard! Great show man!” a loud, deep and slightly raspy voice booms right next to my ear and a hand lands heavily on my shoulder, almost knocking me off the chair onto the cold floor. I dig my feet into the linoleum and spread my arms out for balance, letting out a weak whimper as an agonizing headache hits me.

“Are you okay?” the voice asks and I shake my head, clumsily grasping onto the wet hand and not even bothering to look whose it is.

“W-water,” I utter throatily, croaking. I immediately bring my free hand up to my face, covering my mouth and trying to contain the upcoming vomit, the sour flavour of which I can already taste.

“Oh yes of course, of course,” the voice responds, the enthusiasm noticeably decreased. The hand pulls away and I let out a loud wail of pain, anguish and misery, all three of which seem to be following me around everywhere.

I feel a cold glass being brought up to my lips. I immediately open my mouth, feeling the icy liquid run down my throat as I hungrily gulp it down, wanting more. A cloth is firmly pressed to my forehead, and I’m being pushed off the chair onto my feet. Everything around goes rolling and I almost collapse, but two strong arms catch me before I hit the floor, holding me up. I feel my stifling suit being tugged off, and the top buttons of my shirt open. I sense air being blown on my face. I know I’m surrounded by a group of worried crew members, but I’m only vaguely aware of their voices and touches.

“Just breathe, it’s going to be okay,” someone suggests but I can’t even bring myself to open my eyes to look at my saviors. I’m still standing, held up by what seems like thousands of hands, unable to move a muscle.

“We need to get him out of here,”

“Somebody, get the pills!”

“Is he drunk? Should we get him to the hotel?

“No! We are supposed to be in fucking Warsaw tomorrow, we need to get him to the bus!”

“Look at him, he’s sick! Just get the plane tomorrow morning!”

I groan and feel a small, smooth pill being stuffed into my mouth, past my dry lips, followed by a generous amount of water. I try to protest against the idea of being taken to a hotel: I really do have to be in Warsaw tomorrow, and I’m not planning on canceling a show- I do, after all, have some respect for my fans. However my objections only come out as a strangled moan, obviously inaudible as nobody pays attention to me.

“We need to get him out of here, he’s going to suffocate!” a voice booms next to me and a new hand grabs my elbow, pulling me in an unknown direction. I’ve completely lost track of my surroundings.

“The pills should work soon, just don’t let him fall!”

I melt into the supportive hands, groaning. I don’t feel like I’m going to vomit all my intestines out, but I most definitely can’t walk or even stand on my own.

“Get me outside, fast…” I rasp out and I am immediately being pushed in the direction of another dark, unlit corridor. I hear the door unlock and creak open. In the same instant a cold night air hits my burning hot face and chest, wrapping me in it’s merciless frosty hands like a veil. I breathe in, filling my lungs to the maximum, trying to clear my head.

“GERAAAARD!” what seems like a thousand of irritating, high-pitched screams gush over me, and all of the sudden they are all stomping towards me, attacking me from all sides, touching my hands and ruffling my hair, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I'm half naked and being held up by the elbows by two guards. I try to move my tongue to reply to them, but I’m interrupted.

“I’m afraid Gerard can’t sign today, he is ill. Sorry,”

The girls scream even louder in disappointment, trying to pull me towards them by my shirt and hands. I feel someone’s palm on my crotch and immediately pull my hips back, wiggling out of the guards’ touch. I lean against the brick wall, taking long, deep breathes.

“I’m okay. I’m going to sign,” I mumble out.

“Gerard, snap out of it! You’re getting on the bus right this second!”

“NO!” I bark, wincing from my pounding headache. “I’m not leaving until I fucking sign everyone!” I shout aggressively and push past them, trying to keep my balance steady. “Bring me a fucking chair and a jacket, will you?”

Notes

First short chapter to get you guys started on this thing)
Feedback would be nice, thank you
gerard_needs_to_chill