The Fan- A Bastille/Dan Smith Fanfiction

Chapter 21

Dan's POV

I restlessly pace the floor of our dressing room, just like I did the night I first saw Caela in Nebraska so long ago. I stop and stare intently at my computer screen, waiting for any kind of response. After refreshing the page, to no avail, I continue my march. This routine of pacing, staring, and checking has been going on for hours, and a light sheen of sweat has formed on my brow from all the anxiety.

"It's show time, mate. We go out in five," Woody informs from the doorway. Sighing heavily, I push my hands through the matted mess of hair on top of my head.

Resigned, I say, "Alright. Let's do this."

I turn away and head for the door, just as a familiar chime from my computer pings throughout the room. I freeze and my blood runs cold.

"Hey, hold on Wood, there's one more thing I forgot to do!" I call out to Woody before turning around.

Excitedly, I run over to the computer and eagerly open the email, adrenaline coursing through me at the sight of a reply. And then I start to read.

Dan,

It is clear that you want no part of this...

I read the email with mounting bewilderment. Did I miss something? I desperately wrack my brain for some sort of memory as to why she would write this to me. Was it something I said? Looking through the emails labeled 'sent', I peruse the one I wrote for anything that might've been the cause of her anger, but I find none. I try ringing her cell multiple times, but I am immediately sent to voicemail.

I poise my fingers to form one last plea that might change her mind, but stop short. She said not to contact her. I sit with shaking hands hovering over the keyboard, my mind struggling to make a choice through the indecision, until they finally drop to my side. She already wants nothing to do with me, the least I can do is respect her wishes.

The room begins to spin and I drop my head into my hands. My life- hell, my entire world is crashing in around me. This is my child, my family, that's about to be born and it's all being ripped away from me. And for what? A misunderstood email?

And Caela- Oh God, Caela. All I could think about this entire time was how excited I was to go home and hold her in my arms again. To hear her voice, feel her touch, tell her how much I love her...

A single tear rolls down my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I let out a rattling breath.

God, do I love her. Funny how the person you care about most in the world can hate you more than anything.

"Dan! Let's go, get out here!" Our stage manager yells.

I wipe my eyes and stand up, trying my hardest to push my personal problems aside. Time to perform, I tell myself. Save your own life for afterwards.

I stumble onto the stage with Kyle, Will, and Woody. The crowd is massive tonight and rowdier than usual, everyone pushing each other in their excitement. The lights are hurting my eyes, so I raise a hand to block out their harsh glare. Several girls mistake this as an acknowledgement towards them, and screams erupt from the right side of the room.

I shuffle around in confusion for a few moments before I hear Bad Blood start to play and realize that I should probably start singing now. The crowd loudly claps along, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil going on inside of me.

All I can think about is how much I wanted that life, how much I was looking forward to being a father with the most amazing woman in the world. If only I'd been home, maybe we could've worked it out...

There suddenly doesn't seem to be enough oxygen in the room and I am finding it hard to catch my breath. My chest rattles with every pull of my lungs and my voice cracks on a few words, throwing off the rest of the band. A ragged sob escapes me and I stumble off stage before I cry in front of all those people.

Kyle and Will follow me, leaving a confused Woody to offer up an explanation. I collapse into the nearest chair, trying to gain control of myself. I am crying profusely now, tears rolling freely down my face.

"Dan. Dan, what the hell just happened out there?" Demands Will, angrily.

"I wa-anted to ma-arry her," I sputter. My voice is hitching from those strange hiccups you get when you've been crying. I am sure I look like a small boy weeping because he didn't get his lolly, but I don't care. "She ha-ates me." Kyle sits back, and both him and Will stare at me in confusion.

"You mean Caela? Dan, last time I checked, she's your girlfriend who loves you very much." Will says with raised eyebrows.

I shake my head miserably. "Not anymore. She's mo-oving back to America, and she told me no-ot to come after her." I stare blankly at the floor, tears dripping into my hands. The next thing I say is barely above a whisper. "I was so excited to be a father." Talking about it makes everything worse, and I squeeze my eyes shut, dropping my head heavily into my hands.

"Oh mate... I am so sorry." Woody says.

"I can't do this," I stand up. "I need to get out of here."

"Wait, what about the gig?" Kyle rises to come after me.

Will puts an arm out to stop him. "No. Let him go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I fall into my apartment at around 2 in the morning. I'd driven all the way home that night and then gotten spitty drunk at some pub. My head is pounding so hard and I can hardly see anything from all their spinning.

I shuffle into the kitchen, throw my keys onto the counter, and promptly throw up onto the floor. I straighten up and wipe my sleeve across my mouth.

The sadness from before had slowly ebbed away with my sobriety. Drunken anger and hurt immediately took it's place, and that's what I am feeling now.

Who the hell was she to take away my child? I am their parent! I've done jack shit to deserve this, and yet it's happening to me anyway. All I've ever done is love her!

I suddenly feel the need to cause some damage. Swinging my fist around, I slam it into the wall, leaving a decently sized hole. Yelling, I sweep everything off the counters and crash them against the floor.

I stand there with my chest heaving and fists balled at my sides. I admire my handiwork, assessing the damage. I expect to feel some sort of satisfaction, but all I can think is, 'She's gone.'

I don't need to call or text anyone to figure this out, I can feel it. The aching absence in the pit of my stomach tells me enough. My breathing slows and I sink to the floor. I allow two defeated tears to roll down my cheeks. Surrendering to my body, I rest my head against my forearms and close my eyes.

"She's gone."

That's the last thing I remember before passing out.