Sweet Emotion

Chapter 28

The airport buzzed with chatter and the sounds of rushing footsteps and squeaks of luggage being wheeled along the hard, smooth floor. Joe tried to remain inconspicuous as he made his way through bustling crowds of people, a floppy sun hat jammed tightly on his curls and a pair of black sunglasses shielding his eyes from strangers' gazes.

Picking him out in the midst was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. He looked just like another tourist, and that was exactly the way he planned to keep it. He didn't want to be mobbed by diehard fans or the press.

Joe awkwardly guided himself through to security, wheeling his luggage bag behind him, his guitar strapped firmly to his back. No matter how many times he caught a flight, going through security always gave him anxiety. He had nothing to hide, but it still caused a sense of uneasiness from within him. It just was a situation that he never liked or wanted to be in, but it was inevitable.

And by now, Joe had accepted that with or without pretending to be another ordinary American citizen, there was always the chance that he'd get recognised.

Ever since Aerosmith had taken off, it was getting increasingly more difficult not to get recognised as one of the main faces of the band, especially with the upcoming release of the new album, which he had a feeling was going to be a smash hit. He'd had his name screamed many times and been hassled by fans for autographs whilst in public, so he just needed to lay low for a while.

Shreds of fear encased him as he stood in the long queue of people, gripping the handle of his suitcase tightly till his knuckle turned white. Phalanges were pressed firmly against his skin, the bones visible. They looked like they would burst out of his flesh at any moment.

Joe had no idea why he was scared. He was usually just a little nervous, but scared? He wildly looked around, looking for something or someone that was gonna cause him harm. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck. His heart was racing like crazy.

Finally, he reached the front. At last. Surprisingly, going through all the usual procedures and whatnot was less hassle than what he was accustomed to. Probably because he didn't have Steven clowning around and overall being a nuisance to him. He kind of missed it, to be honest.

Joe quickly rescued his bag when he got through security and quickly found a seat that separated him far away from the masses. He felt under a lot of pressure and wanted to be alone for a while. Human interaction was the last thing on his mind right now. After going on a sporadic cocaine spree in the men's bathroom, he wasn't in a good state to be able to have a conversation. All he could do was string together a short sentence and form a lazy smile.

Yes, Joe was more than aware that he had to quit; he'd had countless interventions with his family and friends, raising their concerns for his well-being. After spending three weeks in the psych ward after his overdose, he'd only had one meaningful conversation with his psychiatrist, and it really kept him thinking long and hard for hours.

~

A ballpoint pen drummed against a clipboard, tapping in unison with the silent ticks of the clock that hung on the wall. It was the only source of joy that was offered, but yet it was a hurtful reminder of how many hours fell away. All the time that could be spent running riot and living life to the extreme was now being spent inside a soul-sucking white box, completely isolated from the real world.

The pale, dour face of the psychiatrist observed the thin shell that was slumped down in bed saying nothing. "Joe, you do realise that your long-term drug use is seriously impacting your health and could lead to irreversible consequences if you don't quit soon, don't you?" Her pen hovered above the paper, waiting patiently for the man to respond.