Future Days

Slow Deep Breaths

It's been about three and a half weeks since the incident. Something is wrong. Something is wrong with me. It's like he came into my life, my beautiful, wonderfully dysfunctional life, and he sucked all of the color out of it. I have moments of spirts of color through the day, but it seems to only ever be just long enough for me to feel the warmth of the Sun on my face before the rug is pulled out from under me and then I'm left scared and alone on the cold hard ground.

I'm still here at Chris'. He and Rooster have been the constant source of light navigating me through my darkness. I know he feels like he's failing me, not being able to fix me and the weight of that guilt is almost unbearable on my shoulders. I feel like I'm failing him, my band mates and friends. I'm failing Rooster, and I'm failing Eddie. I survived. I escaped. The wounds have all but healed. So the worst part is over..right?

Chloe's slurred words still echo in my mind in a quiet room. The new scar over my left cheekbone makes the bile rise in my throat, so I avoid mirrors and my reflection at all cost. Im having trouble with the simplest of task, from remembering to eat, to writing music. Chris has mentioned he's worried about how quickly I'm losing weight and has been on me about going to see someone. I just - I just don't want to leave the comfort of these walls. Everything on the other side of that door is an uncertainty and I honestly don't know if I can survive another fucking curve ball from the universe right now.

I was sat in a large, bubble filled jacuzzi tub with the lights dimmed, vanilla scented candles lit, and Rooster snoring peacefully right next to the tub. Chris is right in the other room strumming on his guitar. I'm safe. So why am I still so scared? Why can't I make my mind stop creating these horrendous scenarios?

I feel my breathing become labored and erratic. I feel trapped and exposed all at once. My soft weeping turned into panicked sobs as I gasped to breathe in between fitful coughs. I heard the bathroom door swing open and the clad of large feet barreling towards me as I tucked my head into my bubble covered knees. Chris wrapped his long arms around me from behind the tub, his cotton shirt clinging to the bare wet skin of my back. He rested his head atop of mine and rubbed circles onto my arm.

"Shh, it's okay Syd. It's just me, you and Roo. You're safe. We're safe. I'm here. Shhh. It's okay love. Slow deep breaths. Focus on my breathing." His voice was low and smooth as velvet pulling me back down to earth. Back into his arms.

"Slow deep breaths." He whispered again into my hair. He placed gentle kisses on the crown of my head and held me until I caught my breath. Despite my best efforts in holding onto him, Chris released me from his sheltered embrace only to grab the shampoo and start working it into a lather on my scalp. His fingers moved and scratched in all the right places, completely distracting me from my most recent state of panic.

Chris is so gentle with me without treating me like I'm a broken mess. Eddie, and the guys all kind of look at me now like a broken toy that's being held together with cheap glue, kind of like if they play with me too hard I might break completely. The dynamic between Chris and I has been relatively the same, like nothing ever happened. We still pick at each other and goof around, the only difference now is he holds me a little tighter like he's scared I'll just vanish into thin air.

A chill of goosebumps washed down my spine as Chris worked the conditioner through the ends of my hair, once again pulling me from my thoughts. He hummed along to a melody I didn't recognize, but admired nonetheless. He reached over me to retrieve the retractable faucet head and began showering me with warm water. He gently pulled my head back so my face was facing the ceiling and placed a soft upside down kiss to my forehead that made me melt. The water now running down my scalp as he massaged the remaining strawberry scented suds from my hair. I don't know how I ever survived this life without him.