Making Trouble by Emme Rollins

Author:Emme Rollins [Rollins, Emme]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fido Publishing
Published: 2014-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

It was funny how easy it was to sing about your heart breaking when it actually was. Or, maybe it wasn’t so funny. I certainly wasn’t laughing most nights. Most nights, I cried myself to sleep, as quietly as I could manage, because tour busses, even big ones, didn’t exactly overflow with privacy. Not that anyone noticed. I was the opening act and I slept on the bus with the crew, most of whom were drunk or high by bedtime. I’d gone on tour with Trouble, but that had been an entirely different experience. I’d been with Rob then and his tour bus was a palace compared to this.

Not that it mattered. I didn’t notice how miserable it was most of the time, that the bathroom toilet sink work, that it smelled mostly like stale farts, cigarettes and beer, that my mattress sank so much in the middle it was like sleeping in a cocoon. Off stage, I might as well have been dead. It was easy to lose the last five pounds Arnie had grumbled about. The food on the road was all ordered in and I didn’t have any appetite. Besides, I was nauseous all the time anyway. Probably motion sickness from being on the bus all the time. I ate enough to keep my stomach from hurting and drank water like a fish. Tour busses were hot, and being under the lights was like burning in hell, which felt just about right.

It was only when I stepped out onto the stage that I came alive.

I put everything into those performances, night after night.

And before I fell asleep, I checked my phone for the zillionth time for a message or a text from him¸ knowing of course there would be none, because I was the one who told him I needed time, I needed space. And he was giving me that. It was just like Rob, to give me exactly what I’d asked for instead of what I really wanted. It was just like him to make the sacrifice, to tear out his own heart to make me happy.

Except I wasn’t happy. This wasn’t what I wanted, not really.

I wanted him to protest. I wanted him to come after me.

But this had been my choice. My call. This a personal hell of my own making.

“Great show, little lady.” Jimmy Voss caught me coming out of the bus, my stomach insisting I find something to eat before bed.

“You too.” I gave him a tired smiled. “Picked the perfect venue for the recording.”

They’d recorded our live show that night and the crowd had been great. Sometimes I thought the energy of the crowds was the only thing keeping me alive. That, and my calls from home—Katie, Celeste, Sarah. They all told me how Rob was doing. The album was in the can and he spent all day in the music room, according to Celeste. He didn’t talk to anybody. Daisy had called and told me she was still feeding him, although he wasn’t eating as much as she would like and he was losing weight.

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