I Still Love You

Chapter 4: Dream On

As I'm sure one could understand, I was far from overjoyed to be stuck in one of the most depressing places on earth.

That place, of course, being a hospital.

The obnoxiously white walls in combination with the inescapable smell of death and latex was the perfect cocktail to induce a torturous splitting headache. My one joy that morning was that I didn't have to go it alone; it was the very next day and my room was still packed with people, some of whom I would've been sure hated my guts last week.

Regardless of how they felt about me, not one of the people in attendance were paying me any mind when my eyes first fluttered open. They all had their focus either onto the soap opera that was playing on the tv set placed high on the wall, or glued to one of those pamphlets people would annoyingly leave laying around.

Hazel wore her usual stone-face, but the redness on her nose and beneath her eyes gave it away that she'd been crying. She stood primly in a corner, arms crossed with tissue in hand as she desperately avoided eye contact with everyone — myself especially. I could tell she had absolutely no interest in the overdramatized program, but it beat conversing with her fellow tour-prisoners about the half-dead drummer in the hospital bed.

As for me, my throat was uncomfortably dry, and my eyes trailed around the room searching for something to soothe the scratching sensation. Eric was one of the few who deviated from the aforementioned pass times. He was sitting next to me, fast asleep in a creaky wooden seat.

Following in my footsteps, I see.

His face was partially obscured by his now-frizzy curls, his head resting against the back of the chair. I slightly turned my head to face him, a small smile creeping onto my lips. There was Eric, Gene, Bruce, Paul, Hazel, Steph, Jess, and Laura; plus two frantic KISS managers pacing and fussing into their portable phones just outside the door.

But in the coming days, there appeared two additional presences in the room: one whom I couldn't wait to see, and one whom I didn't dare to face — nor I didn't want to.

The former was my beloved physical trainer, the one who was going to get me back on stage. The other: the one who was going to take the stage for me until I could.

It completely ate away at me that some other girl had taken my place, even if it was only temporary. If I wasn't practically bedridden, I would've been raising hell until my body gave out from exhaustion. The chick in question was a drop dead gorgeous red-haired girl who worked as a session musician — one of those Lita Ford-types with a face like Madonna.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous — of course I was! Not only were thousands upon thousands of KISS fans going to remember her as drummer of VIxen's Asylum, but she was getting to spend her days drinking and partying and fooling around on the bus with my bandmates.

And, well... Eric.

Eric spent a good amount of time with me; probably more time than he should've. And, as much as I hate to be the stereotypical needy girlfriend so early into the relationship, I couldn't shake the way I was feeling. I was going through a really hard time struggling with my dependency on others, and seeing my boyfriend joshing around with a drumming genius slash supermodel wasn't exactly soothing to my rapidly crumbling self esteem.

Her name was Angelie, and I had to admit it was the perfect name for a girl like her. Inside I felt a little guilty about hating her; she was nice girl. Always bubbly and friendly, the type to set next to you and try to cheer you up if you were on the bus looking sad and lonely. But no matter how shitty that specific part of my felt, the part that hated her was much, much stronger. Louder, too.