Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“I’ve been myself, and I’ll always be myself, but what if I don’t even really know what that is anymore?”
She blinks at me like she’s surprised I’m not mad. The overhead light hurts my eyes, but it creates a halo around her dark hair. A few frizzy strands stand out on top. It’s an honor to see them because she always has it perfectly tamed. She even manages to make the scrubs she wears—not the kind that people wear in hospitals and clinics, but dark black pants and a black button-up long-sleeve shirt—look pretty.
The world thought I was dating one of the most beautiful women on the planet. I thought Alicia was pretty, and she was ambitious and nice, but a lot of her beauty was on the outside. She’d be the first to admit she’s not afraid to use people to get where she wants to go. She’d draw the line at doing real damage, but she liked the type of agreement we had. Mutually beneficial. She liked being seen, gloried in the spotlight, and soaked up all the attention. I don’t even know her well enough to call her insecure underneath her flawless exterior, but isn’t everyone?
Carissa doesn’t appear to be, though. She’s private, but not withdrawn. She cares deeply about the world around her. She observes, listens, and takes it all in. She’s always helping out, and when she’s absolutely not needed, she reads. In our downtime, if we ever have any, she likes to find a local library or figure out where her time can be of use volunteering.
She somehow looks at me like I’m not completely repulsive, her soft brown eyes holding zero revulsion. It’s not just because I’m her job either. She’s comforting me because I need comforting. She’s hurting because I’m hurting.
“Can you explain what you mean?” Carissa asks.
It’s such a Carissa question. She doesn’t insert her own experiences into other people’s conversations. She doesn’t assume she understands.
“I think we all… need a break.” My throat is raw, my voice scratchy. It’s not just my body that’s taken a beating. I’m going to have to pull out all the stops and really nebulize the shit out of myself tomorrow. Lots of throat spray and extra vocal warmups if I can handle it. “I used to want to tell my truth to the world. I was angry and hurting, but I also wanted to transform that into a thing of beauty.” My grandma’s advice: Turn nightmares into poetry. “People have grown with me. They’ve changed with me. No one really knows how deep those childhood holes go, or how tough losing my grandma was. It was her love that healed so much of the damage inside me. It was her love that made it possible to be here right now.”
I swallow thickly past the lump in my peppermint-coated throat before continuing. “I know I’ll never be fully healed, but for the first time ever, I don’t necessarily want to give my emotions to anyone else. I just want some quiet. I don’t need the affirmation. I’ve spent all these years healing. Part of getting older is just moving past what happened to me. I know how to get that from within myself now. I have a lot to give, but I don’t know if I want to keep giving it like… like how I’ve been doing it.”
That makes me sound like a know-it-all, selfish prick. I wince on top of the perma-wince my face has been screwed into for the past few hours. “I don’t want to be ungrateful. I’ll forever have a heart full of gratitude for every minute of this life, even the toughest parts. I’ll always love my fans. I’m so afraid of disappointing them. If I just disappear, they’ll miss me. They’ll be worried. I used to be afraid of being alone, but I’m not anymore. I don’t know when it changed or how. I… I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now. I just don’t want to hurt the people who have given me all of this and made it possible, and who feel like family because they’re part of the fanbase. Can that still exist if Wilder’s Peril isn’t even together anymore?”
That’s a lot.
We sit in silence for a good chunk of time. The bus hums along, the noise of the engine and tires on the road being the only sound in the room.
“It has been a long tour,” Carissa finally whispers. She strokes my arm again. My skin is cold and clammy, but her hand somehow glides smoothly.
“I’m not scared of change. I’m only afraid people will think every single thing I did and said was a lie.”
Carissa’s hand freezes on my bicep. She hums low in her throat, a beautiful sound that I don’t think she’s aware she’s making. “So many of your songs have been about your journey into healing. I think if you’re honest about your intentions, people will understand. Healing isn’t something that stops. Neither is growth. Some people might be angry at first. They might see it as somewhat hypocritical, and rude things might be said, but after taking some time to think it over, people will stick with you. They love you for you, and I think most of them just want you to be able to share your gift to the best of your ability, whatever that looks like.”