“Ali,”I croaked, my forehead rolling against the door as I shook my head. “I reallycan’t talk about this right now, okay?”
“Oh,no. Of course, you can’t.”
Iclenched my fist at her patronizing tone and raised my hand to the door.Pressing the side of my palm against the cool solidity of it, I shook my headagain. “Ali.Please. I’ll call you when I can, but Igottago,” I begged weakly.
“Youdon’twannaface what’s obviously going on here,Chad. That’s all this is. You’re running away and—”
“God,fuck you.” I wished there was more strength in my voice. I wished I could’veshouted it. But instead, it was whispered and emotional, damn near teary, and Ifelt like less of a man.
“Excuseme?”
Withoutthinking, I hung up the phone. A distinct feeling of tearing in my abdomen leftme breathless and doubled over.Holy shit.I tried to take in a breath, tried to coach myself into working my lungs, butthe pain … Jesus Christ, thepain. My mouth was so dry. I was sothirsty. Lightheaded, dizzy, and weak. I should’ve been more worried about allof that. Hell, normally I would’ve been. But none of that concerned me like theblood.
Ithadn’t stopped since last night, and after entering the bathroom at the venue,it was unrelenting. There was so much.
You’re hemorrhaging.
Ikept thinking I could will it to stop. I kept believing I could use the powerof my mind and force it to taper off. But the sense of being so out of controlwas overwhelming andabsolutely terrifying.
Thedoor to the restroom opened. Footsteps moved across the floor. “Chad?” It wasSebastian, and I clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Bro,I know you’re in here. Molly’s set is almost done and we’re going on in aboutthirty. You okay?”
Tell him no. Tell him you’renot okay. Tell him to call 9-1-1. Tell him you’re fucking dying.“Yeah,” I replied, lowering my hand from my mouth. “I’ll be out in a fewminutes.”
Hehesitated, then asked, “Are you sure, man?”
Anotherrip tore through my body. I wanted to scream but stifled the noise behind mypalm.
“Chad.Seriously. Talk to me.” Urgent concern threaded each word with demand, and Irelented.
Withtremored breaths, I told him, “When Molly’s off, tell her to come in here.”
“It’sthe men’sroo—”
“Sebastian.Please,” I begged him, needing him totake things seriously for once.
“Yeah,man. Okay.”
Iwaited for fifteen long, pained minutes. The bleeding hadn’t stopped, but Ileft the stall, anticipating her arrival. I waited on unsteady legs with thehope she would hurry, and then, the door pushed open.
“Chad?”Molly’s voice was small and echoed off the tiled walls as she came into therestroom. “You guys are supposed to—”
“Ican’t do it,” I told her, leaning against the porcelain sink. “I can’t play.”
Sheapproached; her bare feet forgotten as she walked along the cold floor. Shecame to stand beside me and my shaking limbs and my eyes that would tear up ifI wasn’t so damn dehydrated. Her mouth was agape, staring startled and afraid,her hands fluttering to touch my face, my shoulder—anything.
Swallowing,she nodded relentlessly. “Okay,” she said in a whisper. “Where’s your phone?”Everything in her actions suggested panic, but when she spoke, there was onlycontrol. I lifted it from the lip of the sink, and she took it from me. “Chad,you need to sit down, okay?” she coached, wrapping her hand around my bicep.“Let me—”
Ishook my head. I didn’t want to voice that I couldn’t be too far from thebathroom, that I felt more secure being here, nearby.
Shedidn’t push it, just eased her grip on my arm to rub her hand up and down,soothing in whatever way she could. “Hold on, sweetie, okay? I’mgonnaget help,” and she turned away for two seconds. Onlytwo, as she dialed the phone.
Onesecond. A heaviness loomed over my shoulders, pressing and coaxing.
Twoseconds. My vision spotted, and then …
Nothing.
