Sanity // s.m. [IN EDITING]

[1]

Shawn

***

It was late at night, and dusk occupied the vacant sky outside the hotel. I could feel my heart beating a million times per second as I lay awake in bed, throat constricted.

The soft moonlight spills through the window panes and casts a shadow of light onto the duvet I lay in, and across the walls to my right.

I stare at the ceiling. It was dark, but I could see the way the light made it look like it was caving in, right in the middle, and I just look at it for a while, breath halted.

I feel myself sweating, panting. It's hot in here and I can't sleep, and can't shake the feeling that something deep inside of me has come undone. My breath shakes as I close my eyes tightly, trying to get back the tangible ghost of myself.

When I open them, the ceiling seemed darker, like I was falling into it.

It took me quite a while, but eventually I fell asleep to my own thoughts, stopping where they were, promising to return another night.

I worry the nightmares may never disappear.

***

I wake to the flicker of the lights and a loud thud, then the slamming of a door and a "goooooood morning Mr. Shawn, rise and shine!"

It was Andrew, I knew it. I groan and bury my face into the pillow, trying to ignore the burning of my eyes and the sting of my throat.

"Okay," Andrew says, setting my coffee and muffin down on the table and crossing the room to get to the bathroom, where I hear him start the shower.

Without warning me, he suddenly smacks me with a pillow, and I jolt forward.

"Get up," he grins.

"Why?" I manage, my voice groggy and drained, wishing I could lay in the comfort of the hotel bed forever. Or any bed, for that matter, as long as I could get a decent amount of sleep.

"Because. We have places to be. We have an interview at six with Brooke from Rolling Stones, then lunch with Perry, he wants to take you to the studio to re-record Stitches. Very simple, just add in a little flare that will make everyone want to buy it all over again."

He bites his lip, continuing.

"Then you're on your lonesome until London, where we'll kick off the European leg of the tour, and the rest of the label flew out yesterday so we can't be late because we have a meeting as soon as we land. We also need to check out of this hotel at 5:45, so get up, shower, get dressed, and we're off."

I resist the urge to groan, fighting with the voice in my head that drones, it's too early to be famous, be a human being and sleep.

Andrew is my manager. He's my friend, but I'm also his responsibility, so it's hard not to be tough on me most of the time. Because, I'm me. And if I didn't have motivation from someone else, I would never get shit done.

I slowly lean to the side of the bed and very ungracefully slide out the side, moping into the bathroom to get in the shower.

I do my warm ups while washing my hair, not because I want to but because Andrew requires me to, and I don't really have a choice.

I sing mommy made me mash my m&m's, see the swimmers swimming in the deep blue sea, me mae ma mo moo, all kinds of things to awaken my vocals, while the scorching water hits my back and damps my hair.