Page 93 of Anything But Lonely

The words that haunt me.

Because I know what it feels like to miss someone who isn’t here anymore. To still reach for them without thinking. To have things left unsaid and nowhere left to put them.

The song fills my headphones, but suddenly I’m not lying in my bed anymore. I’m back in every moment where I forgot, for just a second, that she was gone.

I let the song play until the last note fades, because turning it off won’t bring her back.

And maybe, for a few minutes, letting myself miss her is the closest thing I have.

The songs that follow sound like nothing more than static, and the darkness—the numbness—starts to feel dangerously calming.

And I’m tired enough to succumb to it.

Just for tonight.

“About time you answered.” Ava’s voice sounds in my ear the next morning, causing my head to pound like I’m hungover without even having a sip of alcohol last night.

I press my palm against my forehead as I sit up, the morning light coming through the cracks in the blinds stinging my eyes.

“You have to call me this early on my day off?”

“It’s like noon your time,” she argues, and all of a sudden the stark sunlight makes sense. “And you weren’t texting me back.”

“I was asleep.”

I can practically hear Ava’s eyes roll. “I was calling to see when you’d be home next? Georgie’s soccer season starts next month, and she’s been asking if you’ll be able to come to any of her games.”

I criss-cross my legs under me, tucking some hair behind my ears. “We’re pretty booked through February and March,” I answer. “So probably April.”

“April,” Ava echoes before asking a few more questions about the tour’s travel schedule. “And where is the final show?” she asks.

“Milwaukee, duh.”

Ava snorts. “I should’ve known.”

“And you call yourself a fan,” I tease.

“Oh, no one can call themselves a fan compared to you,” she teases back.

We each offer some other updates before she asks, “How has therapy been going?”

“Oh,” I say, the smile that was on my face dropping. “It’s been hard to keep up with.”

“Em,” Ava starts, and I know I’m seconds away from a scolding.

“I know, I know,” I rush out. “I’ll pick it back up next week. Traveling has just been a little crazy.” The excuse I’ve been giving Dr. Hannah—and myself—comes off the tongue as natural as breathing.

“You really need to keep up with it if you want it to actually help,” Ava says carefully, a knowing, motherly tone to her voice, and it instantly puts me on edge.

I nod my head, even though she can’t see me. “I’ll get back to it.”

Once we say goodbye, I convince myself to get out of bed—I don’t let myself dwell on the thought that it takes a lot more energy than it has in the last few weeks, or that I almost listen to the voice saying that it’s okay to sleep the day away.

Instead, I get myself ready, vowing to spend my day off doing things that are good for me. Getting an iced americano, bracing the cold for some Vitamin D, doing a solid walk through New York City, grabbing some breakfast.

Or maybe I can find a certain rockstar.

That always gets my mind off the things I don’t want to think about.