First Chance (2 page)

So I can feel numb? I would rather live in a constant state of fear and worry about everything, than spending my entire life walking around like a zombie unfeeling.

Anxiety
started ruling my life. Not long after the accident. It’s a difficult thing to deal with so I have never been able to shake. When the attacks hit, I feel suffocated and unsure of how I am going to continue to keep living my life without people knowing how much it truly affects me. How debilitating it makes me feel. I use to have nightly panic attacks, it would start with a lightheadedness feeling then nausea would creep in, in turn causing me to exert my breathing then it would escalate to hyperventilating.

All the while my heart
palpitating and my fears climbing so high that these attacks seem like they will never go away.

I learned
taking walks helped when I felt the familiar feelings clawing their way in. Something about the crisp, fresh air would calm me, help me rationalize my fears. Now the nightly demons are faint memories, I have been doing pretty well keeping it at bay. Generally the monster only reveals itself when I have an emotionally charged day.

As I wander outside I wonder what the hell I was
thinking, telling Layla I would walk. I'm at least five miles from home. Luckily the heat is bearable and the sun is shining. Boston is a beautiful city. Full of preserved history and more than once I have walked the Freedom Trail retaining all of the knowledge. The Boston Harbor, only blocks away from me at all times, is a wonderful place to find peace when I am fighting the long ago memories.

Two hours
later, I walk into our apartment, Layla's in the living room talking to some guy.

This is normal, she randomly picks guys up that she meets
. I tell her it worries me but it’s her choice to make. This is how she deals. Everyone has their own vice, something they go to. A habit or an addiction maybe, to save themselves from feeling. From facing the past. I would never fight her on it because I do things too, things that she doesn't agree with. I decide to go to my room because I don’t want to ruin her night by my showing my disapproval.

Our apartment is a decent size, it consists of two bedrooms and three bathrooms. We both have our own bathroom connected to our rooms, leaving a bathroom for guests.
Adjacent from the living room is the eat-in kitchen, a large archway leaving an open floor plan. There is a hallway off of the living room where the guest bathroom is located off to the right before our respective bedrooms. It’s all pretty compact and modern with updated appliances.

I h
aven't had a hand in decorating. I left it all up to Layla. She doesn’t have any extremely eclectic tastes. So I have trusted in her to make it feel like a home in whatever way she wants. Layla and I moved in last summer, a few weeks before school started so we could get a layout of the city and where everything was located. 

The only room I have
somewhat touched is mine. The walls in my room are an alabaster white and bare. I have two large bay windows at the top of my queen sized bed. I usually leave the windows open allowing the breeze from the harbor to roll in. Two nightstands adorn each side of my bed. A nicely framed picture of my parents is centered on top of the right stand. On my left is the bathroom, and to my right is my six drawer dresser positioned next to my closet. It’s not a mansion sized room, but it fits my needs and its mine.

I open my door and shut
it, while yanking my shirt and pants off. Layla's favorite restaurant is kind of upscale so I can’t go in looking like a teenage hipster. I have a few pieces of clothing, telling of my life before. Walking over to my closet I pull the door open and grab a few items of clothing, not even checking to see that they match. I decide I'll take a quick shower and change. Hopefully Layla will be ready when I am, maybe she won’t take the guy with us.

Opening my personal bathroom door, I turn the shower on choosing to let the water warm up for a few minutes, usually I face a strong shock to my system by getting in and j
ust turning the shower on. A stream of icy cold water is a fairly easy way to wake up quickly. Not taking time lingering under the showerhead, I wash my hair and body with speed and step out of the shower, drying my body off then wrapping the towel around my hair. I walk back into my bedroom.

Having
sat my clothes out on my bed I pick the black designer dress and examine it. It ends at the knee, acceptable. I throw on a pair of flesh colored hosiery and black strappy high-heels. Unwrapping my hair, I run my fingers through it, combing out any knots I find. Then grab my handbag and walk out into the living room. Layla's there alone. Thank God, I didn't want to be a third wheel making an uncomfortable dinner. She’s ready, jacket and all.

“All ready?” Layla asks.

I nod. Maki
ng my way out of our apartment while she locks up. A few seconds later she joins me in the elevator making our decent to the lobby of our building. I question her about the new guy, she answers evasively. That’s how I know it’s another unserious fling. Exiting our building we start walking to the car garage across the street.

A lot of college students that opt not to live o
n campus choose apartments here. Being a secure and safe building, while offering a huge well lit parking lot. When we reach her car she takes her keys out of her clutch and clicks the unlock button, I climb into the passenger seat, her in the drivers. I do not drive, maybe someday, but for now my fear is much too overwhelming. Anytime I have ever tried sitting behind the wheel I freeze, my hands unable to move. When immobile it’s impossible for you to steer let alone start a car.

She whips the car out of the parking lot, making me thankful for seat
belts, and we head out to dinner. Throughout the drive Layla is blabbing about the concert. How she’s elated the school won and how she has always wanted to see Steele’s Army live.

“T
heir music has always been inspirational to me.” Layla says as I try to hold back from laughing.

She pays no mind to me and continues off on her
spiel.

“You know how much I love the band Nat. As my best friend you should just go along pretending you do as well. Try not to be a Debbie downer tonight alright?”

“I’ll
try, for you Lals.” I say to appease her. I’ll try to pretend I am enjoying myself while we are there. Layla then goes into her plan of how she’s going to sneak back stage and seduce the lead singer. This isn’t something that I care to hear about.

Unable to hold my interest in her going on and on about
a band like a proud groupie, I stare out the window thinking of the past, the present, the future. All the while mumbling generic responses to what she’s still blabbering about.

I
’m positively sure that she doesn’t notice.

About thirty minutes l
ater we pull up to Layla’s favorite restaurant Antonio’s. A Valet attendant opens my door before I can. Stepping out I gawk at the upscale décor. Above me is a black awning with millions of miniature golden lights hanging about like vines, recreating the starlight in the night sky.

Layla joins my side, no sooner than the door is open the smell of a mixture of garlic, basil and pasta hits my senses in strong wafts. My mouth starts watering for a taste and my stomach unintentionally rumbles out loud. I look around at the restaurant I have dined at no less than fifty times, many walls are made up of wrought iron wine racks holding some of the most expensive and diversified wines in the world. Earthy Tuscan color tones are
strategically placed throughout to give the atmosphere the feel that you’ve flown into the heart of Italy.

The hostess ta
kes our coats and seats us in our preferred location hidden in the back. The round white covered table is sat for two, wine glasses already over turned and ready to be filled. Our waitress comes over to our table, telling us of the daily specials. We decline, already knowing what we are going to order. It’s the same thing we get every time we dine here.

After placing our
orders, I glance over to Layla and can tell she has something on her mind, she smiles a huge grin.

Fuck.

I knew this was going to happen. She’s pulling the god damn best friend card out again, twice in one day. This was uncommon, even for her. So I automatically put my defenses in place.

“Nat, so about this concert, the guy you saw earlier in our apartment, I invited him. Now I know you won’t date but...”

"
It’s not going to happen Layla, I really would rather not go but, if you insist then I am going solo.”  I say with much disinterest.

 
“Live a little” she begs.

“Layla, you know I love you and I would do anything for you, you don’t ask for much but I'm not doing that.”

She sighs, resigning her hope as she does so.

“By the way when is this concert?”

“Don’t worry Nat you have two days to prepare yourself, it’s on Saturday.”

  Fucking Great.

Chapter 2

Steele

“Fucking
College!” I scream into my cellphone.

“Ryan
, I told you about the contest.” Mel says dismissively.

“I
am pretty sure you fucking didn’t Mel.” I reply, losing patience.

“
Live Nation sponsored, students put in their votes for the artist they want to perform at their college, and the college who had the highest participation level won a concert by the artist they chose.” Mel explains.

“Tell me Mel, why would we want to perform at a fucking college when we have worked our asses off the past eight years to sell out Madison Square Garden?” I scream back again, not letting this shit just slide under the bridge.

“Steele
calm down. Think about it, this is like giving back to your fans, young adults are your biggest fan-base, they are the people buying your records, and they put you where you are. So think of it as paying them back. You go there for a week, do a show. Then interview intern candidates and then start your tour. This is just a minor bump in the road." Mel states, pleading his case.

“Mel, I'm hanging up right now. I'm going to pretend you didn't suggest that I interview anyone. This. Is. Not. My. Job. I am going to pretend you didn't just spring this shit on me. You’re lucky we have a contract or you would be fucking fired.”

I want to slam my cell down. K
nowing it would smash it to pieces, I don’t. Instead, I put my fist through my bedroom wall. I can’t believe he did this to us. For Mel to wake me up at six o'clock in the morning just to tell me that we have to leave tonight to do a show in two days and then visit the damn college for a week is complete bullshit. I do the music, I pay everyone else to do the other shit. I put my heart and soul into my music, I have worked so fucking hard to get here.

All to go back to a fucking college.

I can see gossip papers now. “Steele's Army: Sales must be down, once sold out now touring colleges!”

It will be untrue of course, but what else do
papers and magazines print if not anything except rumor. We just finished an album a couple of weeks ago, our people are predicting it will top the last album we released in sales. Already set to break the charts once again. I put more of myself into these songs then any I have made before.

Knowing there is no w
ay I can go back to sleep now, I decide to go for a run on the public beach just outside of my condo. Every morning when we aren't on tour I opt to take a jog on the beach. The day we cashed our first check from our recording company, I bought a condo in Long Beach, California. It’s been the closest thing to a home that I have ever had.

Something about the scent of salt in the air and
the wind blowing my hair, also forcing the sand to root in every crevice always helps keep me at peace. Most days it’s where I find my songs. It‘s also where I go to pick through my issues.

I finish my run. F
igure I'll call the boys then take a shower. It is easier calling them all at once, that way I can hear the “What the fucks” and the “why didn't you tell us sooner” once and then “yeah, yeah were packing. Where and what time.”

So much easier.

I call them, and it goes just as I had guessed. When I hang up I decide I should lay back down and get some rest. With all of the times I have flown, you would think it would be simple for me to just close my eyes and fall asleep. Nope. With the ear popping, and possible turbulence it always leaves my nerves a wreck.

I’m sure the press would love to run with that as a front page article, me an alpha, bad b
oy rock star afraid of flying. The guys know about it, so they are always trying to distract me by fucking around with fellow passengers or the flight attendants. We have to fly quite a bit so they are always pushing that bar higher and higher. It’s surprising we haven’t been kicked off of a flight yet.