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Paul slumped down on the seat and pulled his mask off, exhaling a sigh of exhaustion at the chance to rest. They had gone all out at the concert that night, and everyone was bone-weary, yet still had a buzz of excitement running through them. They had given it their all, and felt fulfilled at the knowledge that they had given the fans what they needed.
Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, selecting one and placing it in his mouth before finding his small lighter and igniting the end. He breathed in the bitter smoke, feeling his mind calm as it filled his lungs, and closed his eyes in a moment of serenity. It had been a grueling tour so far, with shows almost every other night. Matched with their style of performance, it was easy to get tired and burn out too fast. A second of peace was important, even if it was only an instant before being pulled back into the exhausting schedule the band called their life.
“You got any spares?”
Paul was so lost in thought he didn’t even notice Jim approach him. Opening his eyes in a start, he glanced up at the frighteningly tall guitarist.
“Yeah, for sure,” He offered the pack to his bandmate, who picked one out and raised it to his mouth, cupping his hand to direct the flame from his own lighter. He pulled the stick away, letting the smoke blow into the air as he breathed out.
“Thanks,” Jim said, turning away and walking towards where some of the other members were clustered in a conversation.
Paul smiled, glad that he could help. Gazing around at the messy backstage room, something caught his attention. A figure was walking out of the room, hastily, as though they were in a ruch to be somewhere.
Hmm. Paul wondered, narrowing his eyes in thought. It was only the band members and a few of the techs who were meant to be in the room, and the show had only just ended. Nobody left until at least an hour after, because they would all relax and hang out together. So who left?
Looking over at the other members, Paul saw that Mick was watching the door with a skeptical look as well. Pushing himself up, he walked towards the guitarist to ask him if he knew who had left.
“Did someone leave?” He questioned.
Mick nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Corey did.” Glancing around the room, he noticed that Corey was the only one absent.
“Did he say why?”
“Nope. He hasn’t spoken to any of us since before the show.”
Paul felt a slight concern rising in his chest. “He’s probably just tired from the show.” He told Mick, also trying to reassure himself too. “I don’t blame him. I’ll go find him later.”
Mick nodded, turning back to the conversation the group of other members were having. Paul stepped back to his seat, reclaiming his place in a slouched position, breathing in the last ashes of his cigarette. He couldn’t help but feel worried about something, a foreboding that he couldn’t quite place. Corey was almost certainly fine, probably just heading back to the hotel rooms to get an early night. That made complete sense! It had been an exhausting show, and he just needed some rest.
So why did Paul feel so uncertain?
Sighing heavily, he pressed the last ends of his cigarette into an ash tray sitting on the table beside him. Something felt wrong about Corey, and he had to go check. Even though it was probably nothing, he had to be sure.
Standing up from his seat, Paul walked towards the doorway, following where he had seen his bandmate leave. Pushing open the wooden door, he stepped outside into the cool night air. A shiver ran down his arms as a winter breeze swept past him, and he pulled his arms closer to him, wishing he had brought a jacket. Fighting the frigid atmosphere, he trudged down the empty streets leading towards their hotel. The streetlamps shown down an ethereal light against the cold grey cement, with small moths fluttering around their godlike glow. The night sky was clear above him, with the faint burst of stars speckled against the inky darkness, like a crow's feathers. The air held a vague hint of gasoline fumes, remnants of the cars which passed through earlier in the day.
Shortly after, the hotel entrance appeared beside Paul. He hadn’t realised how far he had walked, while taking in the surrounding environment. Sliding the door open and stepping inside, a warm atmosphere greeted him in a longing embrace, and he eagerly walked towards the elevators located on the right wall. A lady sitting beside the administration desk regarded him with a slight glance before turning her attention back to her computer screen.
Approaching the elevator doors, Paul pressed the upwards pointing button, treaded inside once the doors opened and clicked for the third story. The metal doors slid close, and the small room hummed gently as it climbed the building. Soon after, the doors opened once again and he stepped out, moving down the hall in search of the room he and Corey were sharing.
Stopping in front of room 11, Paul reached into his pocket and withdrew the little metal key before using it to unlock the door. A dull anxiety jabbed at his stomach as he turned the handle, hoping that Corey had indeed returned to the hotel as he suspected.
Pushing the door open, he looked into the room. The lights were dimmed, vaguely revealing the two beds standing parallel to each other, and the various bedside tables placed beside them. Sitting on the edge of the far bed was a hunched figure, covered in shadow and facing his back to the entryway. He turned slightly as Paul entered, but soon resumed his position without uttering a word.
Relief washed over Paul, glad that Corey was safe. Walking closer, he greeted his bandmate.
“Hey, Corey. Nice show tonight, right?” When the other didn’t respond, he continued. “I saw you leave earlier and just wanted to check that you were all good. I get it- touring’s been crazy.”
Corey remained silent, back turned to his friend. He hadn’t reacted to Paul’s greeting whatsoever, not even a murmur. Paul tensed in slight concern, wondering if something was wrong with him. He started closer.
“Are you okay, man? Did something happen or-”
“Just leave me alone.”
The words sounded like a snake hiss, although very exhausted and intolerable, and made Paul freeze in place. He felt a drop in his stomach at the realisation that something was wrong with Corey. But he couldn’t leave him like this; he had to help him.
“If something’s wrong you can tell me about it, you know. I know that-”
“Just go, Paul.” Corey interrupted again, voice firm in a demanding tone.
Paul backed away, eyebrows knotting into a concerned expression. No matter how much he wanted to help him, he knew that he would only anger Corey more if he pushed any further.
“...Okay, but I’ll be back soon.” He quietly informed the vocalist while backing towards the exit.
Corey didn’t reply, just remained staring at the wall in an uneasy silence.
Paul left, clicking the door shut behind him. It hurt to leave his friend there, but he had to respect his wishes. He would come back soon to check on him, but right now all that would help was for Corey to be alone. Anxiety curled in his heart as he worried for his bandmate, yet he forced his legs to move away from the door and back towards the elevators. He had to find something else to do while waiting, something to distract the fear rattling in his mind.
After an hour or so had passed, Paul returned to the entrance of the hotel. He had waited at some burger joint for the time to pass, snacking on occasional chips or soda, but didn’t feel that he could eat with the nerves pressing against his stomach. Slowly, his watch ticked away until an hour had finally passed. Now he was here, walking to the elevators in the same motion he had just before, pressing the same buttons, hearing the same chime as the doors opened. Cautiously, he stepped out and walked to room 11, inserted the key, and gently opened the door. He peered inside, and without much surprise surveyed that Corey was sitting in the same position, having appeared to have not moved at all.
Paul stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind him, and walked over to the vocalist.
“Corey,” he began. “I’m back. How are you feeling?”
The other gave a tired sigh, but didn’t respond in any other way.
“Can you please tell me what’s wrong? I’m only going to help you.” Paul pressed, moving closer.
Corey stayed facing the wall, eyes not moving. Paul felt a spark of despair flash inside him.
“Please, I’m worried for you, Cor. Is it something about the shows? I want to help you as best I can, but you have to talk to me.”
As a long silence weighed between the two, Paul thought that his bandmate was going to keep ignoring him, but slowly, Corey turned to face him. His eyes were shaded and grey, like staring into a pool of hopeless reflection. His long hair was messy and untidied. His profile was exhausted and weary, as though he might pass out at any moment. Eventually, he spoke in a drawn out voice.
“I’m tired of it all.”
Paul stepped closer, faint excitement flaming his chest that his friend was acknowledging him, but he didn’t let that show. Instead, he moved to sit beside him, face etched with concern as he listened carefully.
“Of touring?” He asked.
Corey looked away from him. “Of everything.”
Another long silence opened between them both, seeming to stretch for a lifetime.
“It’s so tiring, having to fly and drive everywhere, to perform, to schedule it all, and when we finally get a break, it’s for two weeks before we’re pushed back out again.” Corey explained, voice raw from the previous concert. “I’m just so done with it.”
Paul nodded in agreement. He understood what Corey meant. “Are you thinking about leaving?” He questioned.
“Yeah,” Corey sighed. “I don’t like this rockstar life. It seemed great at first, but now the reality of it is all starting to kick in. I feel like everything’s just gotten worse after this last tour. I’ve never been good. Never. But now there’s just so much shit in your face all the time now that it’s starting to really get to me.”
Paul hummed in understanding. He was starting to feel it too, but Corey was clearly taking a toll from it all now.
He continued. “I feel like I don’t really deserve it all, though. I was just some dumbass kid who could sing. How did it get to all this? I’ve met so many wonderful people and done wonderful things, but I don’t want it anymore. I’m starting to get sick of it all, I’m starting to break from it all. It should be given to someone else, someone else who will actually be grateful for it.” He paused, catching his breath. “I don’t deserve you, Paul. You’re too kind for this. You didn’t yell at me earlier, like I know the others would have. You always listen to me and care for me and I don’t deserve it. I deserve any of this.”
Corey pulled his gaze away from Paul’s, his emotions an unclear mix of spite and gratitude. Paul looked down at him, unsure of how to reply to that. Gently, he wrapped an arm across his friend’s shoulders and leaned against him comfortingly.
“I’m broken, Paul,” Corey muttered towards the floor. “I’m a mess of a person, and I don’t deserve your kindness. You should leave. You should find someone who treats you better. Who’s deserving of your love.” The last words were lost in a choke.
Paul felt a thorn prick his heart. He knew that Corey was deserving of his kindness, but why was the vocalist not seeing that?
Paul leaned forward, catching Corey’s gaze. “I like you broken,” He started. "Because aren't we all? I think it makes us distinct, and it’s what makes me like you. There’s not another person who can match your personality, and that’s been shaped by everything you’ve been through. You’re deserving of everything that’s happened, because you earned it. You wouldn’t be the same if you hadn’t, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Corey looked into his eyes deeply, as though deciding whether to believe those words or not. But one of them must have struck something, because his face was slightly more hopeful, more optimistic, if only by a slither. He leaned into Paul’s side, body growing wearier as the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day began to take its grasp. Finally, Corey spoke.
“Thank you, Paul.” He murmured quietly, words starting to morph together as fatigue settled in.
Paul smiled at him, glad that he had seen some sense through to his brother.
“It’s okay. I think we should get some sleep now, though.” He suggested.
Corey nodded drowsily, sitting straighter to let Paul stand up and quickly following after him. He turned and pulled the blankets across the bed before laying down, reaching the blankets back over him comfortably. Immediately, he felt his eyelids grow heavy as sleep began to take hold. Paul watched over him for a moment before heading to his own bed and crawling beneath the thick layer of blankets. As he flicked the lights off, he gave a quiet whisper to his bandmate, even though he suspected that he was already asleep.
“Goodnight, Corey.”