treacherous | ethma

7

Emma

Tour was going great. Amazing. 

It was way more enjoyable than the first leg of the tour, and having Ethan and Olivia's overwhelming support was what kept me sane.

We were playing so many good shows, and Ethan and I were doing so great. I felt like the world was at my fingertips, and I felt like life was moving forward again. 

I won a few awards, Grammy season approached, and I was nominated for Best New Artist, Album of the Year, and Song of the Year.

Olivia, Ethan and I were all nominated for Producer of the Year. 

I was also nominated for Songwriter of the Year. I couldn't believe any of it.

I lost Album of the Year, but Taylor Swift deserved it more than I did anyway. She was amazing. 

Winning Best New Artist was probably my biggest achievement of my career, and I knew I couldn't have done it without Ethan, and without Olivia. They were both so important to me.

Ethan won Producer of the Year, and I couldn't have been happier for him. He really really deserved it.

Finally, I won Songwriter of the Year, and Song of the Year. The amount of support I received was absolutely insane, and this night was amazing for Signature Records.

But after the show wasn't so amazing for me.

You see, if you're even remotely popular in the music industry, you'll get invited to an after party. I should've just went home.

Ethan and I both thought that it would be fine. I would be fine, right?

Wrong.

I don't remember exactly how it went down, but I know I had way too much champagne.

I was talking with some old friends, and one of them offered me a line of coke. I figured one little hit wouldn't be too bad, and I was craving it anyway. I would be fine. I figured one hit wouldn't do anything, but it did everything.

I didn't tell Ethan. I didn't tell Olivia.

I didn't tell anyone.

But that's how it started the cycle all over again.

It happened a week later after a show. I had my plug bring me some more. 

One hit doesn't hurt, right?

Well, wrong.

One hit per week turned into two. Then three. Then five.

Then it turned into one per day.

Two per day.

Four.

Six.

Ethan didn't know.

It was getting me through the shows, it was getting me through the days, and he wasn't finding out.

At least he wasn't saying anything if he did know.

I knew he would've if he knew.

I spent sleepless nights on the tour bus quietly writing songs with my guitar.

I knew what I had to do.

It wasn't fair to Ethan. It wasn't fair to Olivia. It wasn't fair to my family, my friends, my tour crew, my employees, my fans.

I needed to tell them the truth.

I sat down at the piano at the next tour stop, and I sang a song I had written, revealing my relapse and addiction. 

That was the last song of the night, and I didn't say anything to anyone after that. I simply went back to the hotel, and stared out the window, thinking about how my life ended up back at this point.

"Emma," I heard him say. "Emma, why didn't you tell me?"

I couldn't even look at Ethan, but I heard him sit down on the bed. 

"I-I didn't want you to be mad."

"Mad? Emma, I'm not mad," he said.

Thank God.

"No," he continued. "I am furious. God, Emma. Why do you do this to yourself? And you lied to me this whole time. You could've told me after the first slip up, and I would've gotten you the help you needed, but you kept it from me. I trusted you. I trusted you so much. I don't even know who the fuck you are anymore. You're definitely not the woman I fell in love with in Connecticut. You're my fucking wife. We're married,  and we're supposed to tell each other everything. Right? Isn't that you know, how a marriage works? How am I supposed to trust you?"

I was silent for a long time until I finally broke down sobbing. "I didn't mean to get back into it, but it's so damn hard to stay away sometimes."

"Yeah, well I gave you a choice the first time, and it feels like you've changed your mind."

"Ethan--"

"No. Don't start. I think I need time to think about this. About us. I don't know what to do. I really don't know what to fucking do, Emma."

"Ethan--" I whispered this time. "Please don't go. Don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you, Emma. I'm just saying that we need to separate for a little while."

I turned to look at him, and he was already walking away.

Walking out of our hotel room.

Olivia somehow read my mind, knowing I needed her, and she came to my hotel room.

She laid with me, cried with me, and she listened to everything. I told her everything about the drugs, about Ethan, and how heartbroken I was that my marriage was falling apart. I never thought I'd end up in a place like this, losing the one person I've unconditionally loved since I was a fucking infant.

I tried texting Ethan, but he didn't answer. I think he went to hang out with the guys from the tour band.

I cried myself to sleep that night, and it was even worse when I woke up the next morning to twitter blowing up about my relapse. 

News articles, fans' commenting on my instagram, and even some of my celebrity friends wishing me to get better.

I felt so bad. I just wanted out of this mess. I didn't want people to worry about me. I didn't want to be losing Ethan, but I could tell he was the most pissed off at me that he had ever been.

I didn't know how to function without him. I didn't. I didn't know how to survive without his constant support and love. Now he wasn't even talking to me, and I felt so alone. I missed him more than anything already.

The problem was that the only way I felt like I could cope with this loss was to take another hit.