Let's Pretend

What Now?

   "Adam, Adam, Adam!"
    Adam stood center stage alongside his bassists Tommy Joe, where they both, together, gazed into the crowd lit up by the stage lights before them. Hearing his own name being chanted out by the mouths of thousands of fans usually left him breathless, but tonight, it was just another night on the stage.
    He took his bows, ignoring the crowds' request for an encore, instead turning to make his way backstage. He hadn't spoken a word since the very last lyric of his last song he had performed. 
    "Dude, you killed it out there!" Tommy ran over and threw a gentle slap across Adam's back
in congrats toward the kick-ass show they put on.
    Adam, once again, ignored the comment, a frown resting along his lips. Tommy was displeased by the way Adam had been acting recently, and strolled over to the small, portable fridge they kept handy during tour.
    "Dude, drink something." Tommy's voice was laced in annoyance as he tossed the bottle of cheap tequila at Adam. That was Tommy's solution for everything.
    Sad? Drink. Mad? Drink. Distressed? Drink.
    Adam took the bottle into his hand, swirling the liquid around in the transparent bottle before popping off the top, tossing the cap aside, he takes a whiff of the alcohol. A ghost of a smile hints at his face as he lifts the bottle to his lips and begins chugging.
   "Adam, man, you can't do that to yourself," exclaimed Monte from the other side of the room. "You're gonna get yourself sick, we can't have that, man..."
    Adam, having not spoken since they've reached the large room of the backstage area, lowers the bottle from his lips, staring blankly at Monte.
    "Monte, I gotta ask," Adam started slowly, his voice soft and monotone, "what's coming from all of this?"
    "What d'ya mean, man? This is what you wanted, you're living out your dream right now, man! Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position?"
    Adam dropped his gaze back down into the liquid in the bottle, swirling it hesitantly in small, repetitive circles.
    "What's up with you, Adam? This ain't you. You ain't you, what's the matter?"
    "If I thought for one second that you would understand what 'the matter' is, I would have told you by now," Adam said softly before raising the bottle to his lips, beginning to chug again.
    Monte rolled his eyes, annoyed with Adam now. "Whatever, man. Whatever." He stares at Adam for a few moments before shaking his head, stepping over to the couch to take a seat with Tommy, grasping onto a free video game controller and joining in on Tommy's game.
    There he was again, left alone, not one friend, not a single man to care. Adam lowered the bottle from his lips, the bottle half empty, and sets it down onto the cold tile floor beneath him. He stares at the floor, his eyes bloodshot, his hands trembling mildly.