The Ties That Bind: Portrait Of An American Family

Don't Leave Me

Chapter Four

Cece

The bus pulls into the small town just as the sun begins to set, casting a warm, golden light over everything. There's a feeling of finality in the air—this is the last stop on the tour before they take me to Daisy's mom's house, where she'll help sort out the legal mess I'm in. I'm trying not to think about what happens after that, about what my life will look like once the tour is over. But it's hard not to when the end is so close.

We park behind a small venue that looks like it's been around forever—old brick walls covered in graffiti, a sign out front that's missing a few letters, and a faint smell of cigarettes and beer lingering in the air. It's the kind of place where the floor sticks to your shoes, but the music is real, raw, and alive. It's the perfect place for a final show.

The band files off the bus, stretching and yawning after the long drive. Marilyn glances back at me as he steps off, giving me a reassuring nod. I follow them inside, the sound of guitars and drums echoing through the narrow hallways as the opening act gets ready to take the stage.

The inside of the venue is just as worn as the outside—dim lights, peeling posters on the walls, and a crowd that's already buzzing with excitement. There's an electricity in the air, a kind of unspoken energy that makes my heart race. I've been to a few shows now, and I know the feeling well. But this time, it's different. This time, it feels like goodbye.

The band disappears into the green room to get ready, and I find a spot near the back of the venue, leaning against the wall as I watch the crowd grow. People are packed in tight, all dressed in black with the same kind of intensity in their eyes that I've come to recognize. They're here for the music, for the experience, but part of me wonders if they're also here for something more—something they can't find anywhere else.

The opening act takes the stage, their music loud and aggressive, but my mind is elsewhere. I can't stop thinking about what comes next, about what my life is going to be like once I'm off the road and back in the real world. The thought makes my stomach twist with anxiety, and I force myself to focus on the music, to lose myself in the noise and the crowd.

But it doesn't work. The anxiety keeps creeping in, reminding me that this is temporary, that I'm about to be thrown back into a world that I'm not ready to face. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, about to be pushed off, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

The opening act finishes their set, and the crowd cheers as they clear the stage. I watch as the crew sets up for Marilyn and the band, the anticipation in the room growing with every minute. I've seen them perform a few times now, and every time is different—every time feels like a new experience, a new chapter in this strange journey I've found myself on.

When they finally take the stage, the crowd erupts into cheers, and I can't help but feel a surge of pride. They've been good to me, better than anyone else has in a long time, and it feels like I'm part of something special, even if it's just for a little while.

The music starts, and the familiar thrum of the bass reverberates through the floor, up through my feet, and into my chest. The crowd is wild, feeding off the energy of the band, and I let myself get lost in it, letting the music drown out the anxiety that's been gnawing at me all day.

Marilyn is a force on stage, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. His voice is raw, powerful, and it cuts through the noise like a knife. The setlist is a mix of old and new, a perfect blend of everything that makes this band what it is—dark, intense, and unapologetically real.

As the show goes on, I find myself drifting to the edge of the stage, watching them up close. The crowd presses in around me, but I don't care. I'm caught up in the moment, in the music, in the feeling that this is where I'm supposed to be. Even if it's just for one more night.