All Hope Is Gone?

ㅇDuality Of Realityㅇ

I PUSH MY FINGERS INTO MY . . .
EYES!
ITS THE ONLY THING
THAT SLOWLY STOPS THE ACHE!

   Corey sighed, nervous for the show that was about to start in a few hours, as alcohol touches his lips going down his throat, making him light headed. It was never recommended for people to drown the nervousness and anxiety with such powerfully substances, neither was it recommended to any members of the band before even starting a show.

"Fuck."

    He muttered, looking through the fine glass of the now empty Vodka bottle, as he tossed it in the bin and walked over to the tour bus's couch. His walking was sloppy and tipsy from the effects of the drug, but he managed to catch his fall when he stumbled like a first born calve. The kind of compulsion he got to down an entire bottle right before a 2 hour long show was from some sort of feeling that something was about to go wrong, like when your mom says some guy isn't good for you.

    It's not only that evening he got that feeling, he's been like that for a few weeks in on the tours final days. Some of the band members noticed his jumpy, bipolar, nervous and quiet attitude, but played it off as just a little shaken after the bus had hit a goat and killed it, it's blood and guts making every man on there want to flat line. All but 1 man; Paul Grey. He was the bassist of the band, and like his instrument said, he was the base of it, along with Joey and Clown, two other members.
    He tried and tried to grill Corey for information about his anxious behaviour, to not avail. The man kept on lying, saying the goats stupid face was what caused that fear, but Paul knew lies. He just needed to give it time for the acid to slowly gut at the walls he's put up, and maybe find out what's wrong with his dear brother.

   The bunks mattress shrunk on itself as Corey laid their, staring at the ceiling just a few inches away from his head and thinking, whether to sleep to speed run through the pain of fear, or swim through it like millions of times before.

When Slipknot was just a local Iowan band.

   Shaking away the bad memories of the past, he got into the fetal position, facing away from the curtain and at the wall, the little ball getting smaller and smaller as he closed his eyes tighter.

   Just what the fuck was wrong? Why did this feeling in his gut tell him to run and keep running? What from? Why? Why??!

"Corey?"

   A voice called, replacing the meaner one in his head. When his name roles off their lips, he jump a little and looked around, hearing the voice again, confirming that it was Joey outside of his bunk. Opening the curtain, he saw him standing their, a Metallica shirt on, some tight ripped jeans and his long hair tied back. He was holding a bottle of pills, presumably for him to get away from the hangover he'd feel after tonight's round of heavy drinking to celebrate another successful tour.

"Oh, hey dude."

   His chill, laid back voice was replace with a bland, careless one. One Joey G- checked as 'relieved in some way'.

"Uh, sorry to wake you but, the stage is almost done and we'll be kicking off in a few hours."

"Yeah I know that."

   He replied, ending the awkward convo on the lowest note possible and shut the curtains a little hard.

   Joey stopped fighting. He had to at least say something to encourage Corey to get over running over Satan's pet, and finally stop worrying about his brother and band mate.