The wreckage

Takeoffs

As he pulled into the North Carolina airport he couldn't help but sit with his motor stuttering for a few minutes stuck on his wife's words. He quickly seemed to brush them
Off though because he popped open the trunk and hopped out of his car. He went around to the back and started to unload his duffel bag along with a carry on bag. He pulled them out of the trunk and with a thunk he slammed it shut. He scooped up his bag and threw his duffle over his shoulder as he sauntered away from the car. With a click and a beep of his keys the car's doors locked and like his hometown he continued onward to walk away from it, once again. As he got through baggage claim he laid his duffel on the tray and zipped open his carry on to show the guard at the counter that he wasn't carrying any "illicit" or "illegal" things. Little did the bag checker know he had already smuggled in a small zip tied bag of Ritalin and ambien. He Alamogordo always mixed the two drugs together whenever he had a plane flight. He knew it was bad. He knew he could die. He knew he may never wake up from his plane seat... But in his own sick way, he enjoyed that possibility. As he parted the baggage area he headed straight for the bathroom. He needed to choke down his concoction before it was time for his flight. He approached the men's room and swiftly slipped in right after a young gentlemen with glasses and burgundy hair came out. He approached the third stall to the right and knocked on the door. There was no answer so he curtly entered inside. He hung his bags on the hook on the back of the door and reached into the secret flap of his carry on. He made the flap himself and even the most trained detective could not discover it. As he unzipped his pack, visions of Haley and Cara passed through his mind. He felt his brow start to sweat but he quickly pulled out a handful of pills not even knowing how many he grabbed or what out of his stash that he grabbed. He just hurriedly popped them in to his mouth and gulped them down. He felt the white chalk like outlines fall down his throat and gagged and coughed slightly but regained his composure so to make sure no other person who happened to be in the men's room would hear. He quickly gathered his things and left smoothly. As he walked to is terminal he felt a sense of almost dizzying nausea pass over him and then he could feel the pills take hold ever so violently yet with the grace of a slight push off of a mountain into a river of emotion and numbness all at once. He knew he was still walking but he felt as though he was now on autopilot. He approached the terminal and the "now boarding" sign was illuminated. He joined the line and soon enough he got to the desk as the attendant took his ticket, tore the side, handed it back to him. As the attendant did this she looked up and recognized him (something that often happened in the airports) "oh my god you're!-" but he cut her off. "Yes, yes I am" he said. "I love your music!" She replied back "could I have your autograph by any chance?" He smiled back and shook his head "yes, of course I would be happy to." So he pulled out a pen from his bag and clicked the ballpoint spring outward and cursively and swiftly signed his name on the back of his boarding pass and handed it back to her. "Here you are" he said. "Oh my gosh! This is so cool I can't thank you enough!" She replied back ecstatically. He thought to himself how awkward it was that now people wanted his name. Even though he had been at this whole world touring "famous" thing for some time now it still amazed him at what people would ask him for. One man asked him to sign his used napkin, his greasy, oily napkin. That is what amazed him the most. He still felt like just himself but yet to everyone else, he was someone else. As he parted ways down the terminal to the plane the attendant looked back and with a huge grin and a glimmer in her eyes said "please enjoy your flight"