Without You

3. It Was All Wrong

Davina wasn't sure what to do. Should she acknowledge the fact Dec was upset, or should she avoid embarrassing him by ignoring his tears for now and just focus on getting some food into him? Surreptitiously glancing at him again, she noted that he seemed to be trying really hard to get his emotions under control. Best to pretend she heard nothing, then. It was obvious he didn't want anyone to see him crying.

Reaching the break room now, Dec scrubbed down his face with both hands, hoping he'd managed to remove any evidence of his little breakdown. It seemed Davina hadn't seen or heard anything, which was a small miracle given he hadn't been very subtle, but a fact he was very glad of, not feeling up to interrogation at the moment. Davina nudged him, handing him a plate and gesturing towards the platters of prepared food laid out on a table in the center of the room. Grabbing a vegetarian salad for herself, she was surprised when Dec eventually did the same. He was looking really fit these days, but she'd never really pegged him as the salad type. Shrugging, she figured a salad would be better than nothing – it would at least be something in his stomach to provide a bit of energy.

Little did she know that getting him to pick out something to eat was the easy part. After putting some dressing on his salad, Dec just stood there for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do next. Finally squinting up at her, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck, he murmured, "Wanna go to our...to, erm...my...dressing room? They'll call us when they need us," worrying constantly at his lower lip as he tried desperately not to break down after accidentally reminding himself of the fact that what was his and Ant's shared dressing room had now become only his.

"Lead the way," Davina replied with an encouraging smile, following him as he wound his way through the corridors before reaching a door adorned with a star that had a single name on it: Dec. Wincing internally at that, Davina followed Dec into the room after he'd punched in the security code to enter. She couldn't help but notice the number sequence, and wondered if it had always been that combination: 181175. Watching as Dec sank down onto the far end of the plush couch, leaving an open space to his right, Davina couldn't help but feel like she was committing sacrilege as she sat next to him, presumably taking the spot where Ant normally would be seated.

Tucking straight into her salad – she was genuinely hungry, and knew they probably had limited time until they were needed on stage – Davina watched as Dec repeatedly stirred his salad, mixing in the dressing but never actually eating anything. He seemed miles away, like he wasn't even present in the room with her. There was a tremendously sad look on his face, and a definite hint of pain there, too.

"Dec, come on now, you've got to eat something," Davina urged through a mouthful of salad, patting the underside of his arm in an attempt to lift him out of his heavy thoughts and get something into his belly. In the end, he only managed a few bites in the time it took Davina to eat her entire salad, eventually pushing the salad container away and clutching at his abdomen with a pained expression. He was extremely uncommunicative, giving her one-word answers whenever she tried to start a conversation with him. Even congratulating him on the recent news of Ali's pregnancy failed to raise a genuine smile; all he did was mumble "Thanks," while massaging his forehead with his hands. He was in very bad shape, and Davina was beyond worried.

They soon got the call to head back to the studio, and rehearsals for Davina's part of the show began. It wasn't quite 2PM yet, and Dec was beyond exhausted. His brain felt like it was made of cotton candy, and there seemed to be an elephant residing on his chest – he just couldn't get enough oxygen, finding it impossible to take in anything other than a terribly shallow breath. He was trying really hard to focus on the task at hand, but his brain just kept screaming at him that this was wrong, it was all wrong. There was just no sense to anything he was doing today – it all felt terribly foreign, and he just couldn't reconcile himself to the unbearable loneliness he felt every time he was on stage.