Saved By Steven (the first story)

24. The Quiet Collapse

Lauren slipped quietly past a row of crew members and into Joe's dressing room, the door creaking softly behind her. The room still smelled like cologne, stale beer, and sweat—an oddly comforting mix. She moved with the ease of someone who knew her way around temptation.She didn't hesitate. She opened the low cabinet under Joe's makeup counter, where he always stashed a bottle of Jack Daniel's "for emergencies." Lauren scoffed at the phrase as she pulled it out and twisted the cap open.

"This qualifies," she muttered to herself before tipping the bottle back and swallowing three deep gulps. The burn was sharp, clean, almost medicinal. She drank until the bottle was half empty, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tucked the bottle back where she found it. Her vision blurred a little as she stood. She steadied herself against the counter, inhaled deeply, and left the room.

The music reverberated through the concrete walls as Lauren made her way back to the sound booth, swaying slightly. She could feel the alcohol settle behind her eyes, the warmth giving way to something dull and heavy. She lit a cigarette as she stumbled into her seat next to Mick, who was too wrapped up in his girlfriend to notice how pale Lauren had gone. She sat stiffly, trying not to lean too hard into her own body.
Mick's arm was draped around his girlfriend's shoulders. The girl cast a side-eye at Lauren when she dropped ash near her boot.

Lauren stared ahead, her eyes barely tracking the band onstage. Steven was radiant under the lights, sweat shimmering along his neck, voice cutting through the crowd like gospel. Lauren blinked slowly, watching him, then nodded off mid-song, cigarette dangling dangerously from her fingers.

She jerked awake as a burst of applause broke out. Her head had landed softly on Mick's shoulder. He looked over, surprised, but didn't say anything. His girlfriend, however, stiffened and glared.
"Maybe she needs water," she whispered, not kindly.
"I'm fine," Lauren slurred under her breath, straightening up. Her cheeks burned. She didn't look at either of them again.

As the encore ended, Lauren followed the others backstage. The band was buzzing with post-show adrenaline as they filed into the main dressing room—a warm, lamp-lit space with couches, snacks, and half-drunk beers scattered across the tables.

Mick and his girlfriend joined Tom, who'd known them both since high school. Joe and his wife sat in a corner, quietly talking. Joey and Brad had disappeared to change. Lauren spotted Steven, shirt damp with sweat, sitting with a towel draped around his neck. He was gulping water like he hadn't touched a drop all day.

Lauren walked in, her balance precarious. She flopped down beside him, letting her head rest on the back of the couch. Steven instinctively draped his arm over her shoulders.
"You okay, baby? Did you enjoy the show?" he asked, studying her face.
Lauren blinked at him slowly. "The show was great."
Steven gave her a crooked smile. "You disappeared for a bit. I missed you. I sang a song for you, you know."
"I just... I wanted to see it from backstage. And then I got distracted."
"I don't judge," Steven said gently. "I'm not your father. I just care for you."
Lauren gave him a weak smile. "I gotta get something to drink. I'll be back."

She walked out before he could say anything. Her steps grew heavier, more erratic. At the catering table, she unscrewed the half-empty bottle of vodka she had opened earlier. No one was looking. She drank what was left in a few gulps, her throat burning, her brain cottony.The lights were too bright. The conversations were too loud.

Lauren slipped away again, down the hall, past a few crew members and into Steven's dressing room. She shut the door behind her like it might keep the world out. The couch was a soft blur. She sank into it and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, Steven was standing in the room, shirtless, talking to his manager in low tones.
He paused when he saw her. There was concern in his eyes—but something else too. A flicker of realization. The vodka. The slurred speech. The way she swayed.
Steven nodded to his manager, said something quietly, then walked him to the door.
As soon as they were gone, Lauren stood and bolted for the bathroom.

She barely made it to the toilet before throwing up, her stomach heaving with fury. When it was over, she splashed cold water on her face and leaned on the sink, eyes bloodshot, lips pale. Her reflection stared back at her: a stranger in raccoon-eyed makeup and smeared lipstick. By the time she left the bathroom, Steven was gone.

She moved slowly to his vanity table, grabbed a tissue and her bag. She fixed her face with robotic precision—powder, mascara, fresh eyeliner. Then, without really thinking, she opened the second drawer. Inside, tucked beneath a box of mints and guitar picks, was a small black pouch. Her pulse quickened. She opened it.

Cocaine.

She didn't hesitate. She emptied it on the table, made a few quick lines, and snorted them, one after another. Her body jolted with a mix of shame and relief.

She barely made it back to the couch before everything started spinning. Her limbs went heavy. The sound of voices down the hallway dulled to nothing.

The sharp buzz of the cocaine tangled with the sluggish weight of alcohol in her bloodstream. Her head lolled to one side, the room folding in on itself. The faint bass thumped through the walls—someone laughing, another door slamming, distant voices calling names she no longer recognized.

She reached weakly for her bag, missed, and let her arm fall limp over the edge of the couch.The makeup she had just fixed began to smudge again from the sweat gathering at her temples. Mascara streaked faintly down one cheek. Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Outside the door, the world moved on—Steven somewhere down the hall, Mick probably laughing with old friends, the concert crowd still lingering in the stadium like ghosts of energy.But here, in the quiet cocoon of the dressing room, Lauren sank further into the cushions, unconscious, her body curled awkwardly beside the couch—half on, half off. 
She looked like she'd simply fallen asleep.But she hadn't.She'd given up.
And then—darkness.