Page 53 of A Tragic Melody

“Sure.” Wyatt laughs. “Whatever you say, Tues.”

“Go to hell.” I push myself to my feet and march down to my bunk.

Maybe a nap will help pass the time.

When the evening rolls around, the bus stops for food. Everyone gets off the bus to grab something to eat, but I find myself leaning against the bus in a tank top and sweats, enjoying the cool air.

“Put a sweater on before you catch a cold,” Wyatt says, walking up to me with a bag of fast food and a soda.

I try not to gag at the sight of his food. “I hate you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He laughs. “I picked you up something. Fries will be easy on your stomach. You’re going to need something in your stomach for when the heaving starts.”

“It’s not going to start,” I snap back. “I’m not an addict.”

“Okay.” He laughs, walking onto the bus.

I curl up on the couch as everyone eats and shares stories of the different tours they’ve been on. The bus moves, and the combination of the movement with the smell of food makes my stomach queasy.

My head still throbs. My whole body feels weird. I don’t remember my limbs ever feeling like this. I feel foreign in my body. Memories I don’t like dance in the corners of my brain, with nothing to distract me from them.

My mouth feels so dry, despite the fact I’ve been drinking enough water to fill a kiddie pool. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, my lips are cracked, and I’m melting into the couch.

Eventually everyone settles into their bunks. I don’t have it in me to move to mine. Instead, I stay curled up on the couch. Wyatt sits in the booth, scribbling away in a notebook.

“What are you writing?” I finally ask, forcing myself to get up and walk over towards him.

I feel unsteady on my feet, weak and ready to sink into the ground. It’s not lost on me that this is the longest I’ve gone without drugs in years. I forgot what sober felt like. My body and mind don’t know what to do with themselves.

“Music,” he says simply, looking up at me. I slide into the booth beside him, hoping he doesn’t notice how miserable I am. I just need a little longer, then my body will adjust. “How are you feeling?”

“Swell.” I smile. “Can I steal it?”

“Steal what?”

“Your music.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t need my permission for that. All you have to do is ask Hendricks and he’d force me to hand it over. Stealing won’t be necessary.”

“Would you write me something?” I ask. I rest my hand on top of the table, but it begins to shake, so I quickly slip in underneath, placing it in my lap.

“Tues, you’re detoxing. I know the signs. I’ve lived them.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

“Write me a song. I’ll give you full control. Music, lyrics, the whole thing. Just write me something.”

“I’ll work on it tomorrow.” He smiles at me. “You should get some sleep. It helps.”

I roll my eyes, but I know he is right. It’s just the walk back to my bunk suddenly feels like ten miles.

“How did they die?” I ask instead.

“My family?” he asks, and I nod. “Car crash. A semi’s brakes went out, slammed into them from behind. My dad swerved, trying not to hit the car in front of them, and instead clipped another car and crashed into the center divider. The car caught fire, and they couldn’t get out. They say my father was dead on impact, but my mom and sister…Hard to say if the smoke got to them, before the fire.”

“I’m really sorry,” I whisper.