Oh, Calamity (Alex Gaskarth/ ATL fan-fic)

Under a Paper Moon

Alex's POV:

This seemed like the worst-case sceanario. My anxiety had been off the wall since we split, and it seemed to come on fully right now. I looked at my hands, then stood from the dressing room. Nobody was inside yet, but I had gotten out of bed to move around. I hadn't slept more than five hours combined within the past week and a half. 

I was practically running right now. Physically running from my thoughts. Nothing made sense. I sat on the ground, holding my head. I was tired, but paranoid. I stood again to keep running, but saw Jenna.

"Alex, what is up with you lately?" She asked, with an aggrivated tone.

"Jenna, please." I said. It almost felt like I was having a heart attack.

"Please what? How about you please explain to me what's been going on!" She set her hands on her hips.

How the hell do you explain a mental disorder to someone? Oh, and the fact that I wasn't taking my medication. "Jenna, I have extreme anxiety. Whatever you're doing right now, interrogating me, isn't helping at all."

"Alex, you've been acting all weird! I don't know another way to explain it!" She threw her hands up in the air, like she was looking for something. 

"Well I don't know what other way to express to you why I'm so stressed. The tour is ending, and I don't want to go back to America." I said.

"Are you worried about us?"

"No, Jenna-"

She let out a shrill scream. "So you're saying you just don't care?"

"I do!" I begged. "But could you stop being so dense for a moment! This isn't about you."

"It's never about me, obviously." She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

"Well if you weren't so superior-" I began, but caught myself. Christ, she was just a worse version of Rina.

"Alex, I treat you like a saint."

"Since when?" It was such a ridiculous statement that I laughed.

"Are you mocking me?"

"No!" I kept a mad face now.

"What's so wrong with me? Why am I never enough for you?" She began. I was silent. "ANSWER ME!"

"YOU'RE NOT MARINA!" I shouted, then realized what I said.

"You've got to be kidding..." She walked away.

I paniced. What if she told someone? "I meant Lisa!" I yelled, which was a complete lie.

"It doesn't matter who you meant. That doesn't make it any better." She kept walking. "FUCK YOU!"

I guess I deserved that. I walked off and held my hands in fists to relieve some amount of frustration. As my wandering continued, I realized I needed to self medicate (otherwise known as self destruct). I went back into my dressing room, which was still empty. Suddenly, it caught my eye.

I picked up the large bottle of vodka and chugged. It burnt my throat and reminded me of her, but I didn't care. I needed to blackout. I needed to become unconcious. My insides grew warm with the liquid fire. I set it down, my brain fuzzing over. How much had I even had? About half of the large bottle.

I used no chaser. I kept it all down, refusing to vomit. This was me, swallowing my past, praying it wouldn't regurgitate like it just had. But the bubbling in the depths of my stomach argued.

I ran to the bathroom, kicking open a stall and hurling into the toilet. I threw up every last bit of food that I'd had in the last twenty four hours. The color was orangey, but watered down with the clear vodka. I wondered if I may have better luck by chugging rubbing alcohol. Then I might actually die.