Whats the plan?

Iwoke up on the floor, and that in itself was a little terrifying.

I’d closed all the doors, put the chain on and everything, and gone to sleep in the bed, yet I’d obviously been pottering around in the night. Now it was morning, and the curtains were letting in far too much light around the edges, and I was…

What the fuck was I doing on the floor?

Reuben had been right. What the hell was I doing here?

I tried to shake myself out of the weird haze of sleep. I’d only taken half a sleeping tablet and dropped off within the allotted hour like my doctor said I should, but I didn’t feel rested.

Which was why I needed to get back to some kind of normal functioning state. No more tablets. They obviously didn’t stop me sleepwalking, and the constant anxiety surrounding me, I needed…

I had no idea what I needed.

I shuddered with unease.

“So. Graham,” I said out loud. “What’s the plan?”

Breakfast, obviously. my imaginary friend answered because, apparently, I spoke fluent air-con, like I could say all the necessary phrases in Japanese, Korean, French—whatever language was spoken in whatever country we played in. It was part of the job, and I was drilled in the correct pronunciation before every show.

One day, I wanted to travel properly, immerse myself in the places, eat the food, meet people…real people. Not just people who worked for other people whose job it was to shove me from A to B in one piece.

I hated most people, I really did. I even had a strong dislike for my fellow band members. We might once have shared a great bond, but we annoyed the crap out of each other these days. Even though we publicly put on a front of sickeningly sweet unity, I dreaded going back to the studio—more than I wanted to admit to myself—and I knew the feeling was mutual, since we had a secret WhatsApp group. The bitchiness on there was real. Bash had got some girl pregnant and wanted out on every level. Cork was in ‘hospital’ again and would be a few weeks late into the studio. God only knew what was going on in Josh’s head. Musa was staying with his family in Sheffield. Lee hadn’t actually been online for…I didn’t even know. We weren’t friends. We were just humans who had to deal with each other in forced proximity, and it was starting to show.

I honestly wasn’t sure about anything these days.

That burger had sat comfortably in my stomach all night, but now, thinking about returning to a studio environment, I felt nauseous. And I was starving, like I’d run a marathon in my sleep. I hoped I hadn’t and looked around the room looking for clues, panic once again brewing in my chest.

The last album, I’d had all my lyrics completed and a theme of chords ready to go. I’d had beats and bass lines jotted down with a string of voice notes where I’d sampled different versions of future hits.

This time, I had nothing. Not a single word, note, chord. My head was as blank and flat as the floor I was still lying on, not even able to get myself up.

I did now, though, scrabbling around the room until I found my phone. At least I’d remembered to plug it in and it was back up to full charge. Good stuff. What was not so good was the notifications that were blowing up the screen.

I didn’t look at them. I never did. Just scrolled past and opened up my contacts. Dialled. Because. Yeah.

“Hello?” he answered. Thank God for that.

“Hey. It’s…Gray.”

“I know,” he mumbled. “Dude, it’s like…fuck o’clock and this is my day off. But yeah. What do you need?”

“You said I could ring you?” My face was flaming. How much of a dick was I? Well. He had said. And I was…

“Yeah, you can ring me. Sorry. Just grumpy in the mornings. Whatcha need?”

“I’m really sorry.” Fuck.

“No, you’re not.” That was the Reuben I liked. The one who spoke to me like a human being, a little laughter in his voice. “You’re a dick and you know it. And it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, you do,” I snarked back. “But there’s this huge, international star, super famous, and however much he would love to go downstairs and help himself to the breakfast buffet, that’s—”

“Not an option,” he finished my sentence. “There’s this lovely modern thing called Room Service. You go on that QR code by the bed…”

“Yeah, and then some stranger delivers me shit that I don’t dare eat because they might have licked my fruit or spat in the coffee or whatever. Did I mention I’m super famous?”

His laughter was nice, and I was kidding—not about someone tampering with my food and drink. It happened.

“I can ring someone,” he said. “We’re professionals in this place. I can get—”

“Can’t you do it? I mean, I’d rather you came. I’ll pay you. If you bring me proper coffee—a latte or something. I’m not fussy.”

“You’re being fussy, right there, and mate? You can’t buy friendship, even if you are The Dieter.”

He was still laughing. I liked that.

“I’m not buying you. You like me. I like you. We’re mates. You even call me that. So you’re going to get up, get me food and bring it here.”

“Seriously?” I could hear him move around, huffing into the phone, a zipper being pulled up. “You’re a dick, Dieter or G, whatever your name is.”

“I am indeed. I don’t mean to be, but I’m kind of desperate. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You won’t. You don’t have any cash and I’m already out of pocket. You’re the millionaire. I’m on minimum wage here. This is total coercion and slavery.”

“God, we’re really acing this friendship then.” I laughed. “Seriously, I’m sorry. It’s…I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

“We’re a professional hotel. I can get people to bring you stuff. Nobody would spit in your coffee, man.”

“It’s just—”

“See you in a bit.” He hung up.

I sat there with a daft grin on my face, until my phone rang again and I answered, expecting it to be him ringing me back. It wasn’t. Shit.

“Graham.” Lauren. My manager slash handler slash enemy-of-everything hellish human being. I really disliked her, mostly because of the way she spat out my name like I was trash under her high-heeled boots. Lauren had one of those permanently pissed-off voices with a face like thunder, and her eyes were always cold, even when she put on one of those fake smiles, but she was hardcore. She got what she wanted, produced results. We were just casualties. Well, mostly me since I was usually the one who bore the brunt of her pissed-off-ness.

“Yup?” What could I say?

“You need to stop this ridiculous running off. You are contracted to be available, and once again, your security guards are on Red Alert because you’ve snuck out. You know the rules. We’re only hours away from a major contracted appearance. What the hell are you playing at? Where are you?”

“Photoshoot Sunday. Studio Monday. I’m not stupid, Lauren.”

I didn’t usually speak to her like that. To be fair, I didn’t usually answer my phone.

“We need you tomorrow as well. Did you not check your emails? Seriously, Graham! Meeting with your agent, and the publishing house want fresh headshots.”

“I. Don’t. Care!” I hissed through my teeth. Yes. It was true. I was every bit the diva, refusing to cooperate, but I’d cooperated for years. I could feel the stress rising through my veins. My neck stiff, I gritted my teeth as Lauren droned on. I had obligations. Meetings. My doctor wanted to see me and the insurance people needed reassurance and, and, and, and…

I kept my mouth shut, trying to swallow down the stress that came with every bloody word out of her mouth. I wanted to hang up but I didn’t dare.

“I’ll come get you. Just send me your coordinates, don’t be a child. I’ll have a driver with you within half an hour. Please don’t piss me off, Graham, you know what we’ve got at stake here.”

I did know, but I think I was starting to rebel. To not care. I knew I would give in. I always did. I tried to cut loose and ended up being roped back in. I had contractual obligations, and I knew full well that management would sue me for every single little cost incurred.

I sighed in defeat.

“I’ll be there on Sunday. Pick me up from home.”

“Graham!” Lauren shrieked in my ear. Just her voice was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up to attention.

“Sunday,” I repeated, hoping I sounded steadier than I felt. She hung up on me. As always. I wasn’t important enough to say goodbye to. Whatever.

I stared at the wall, my eyes too tired to even focus. I had to take control. Control. I laughed at the idea of ever getting that back and then almost wet myself when the now familiar bang on the door broke the silence.

“Mate,” Reuben gritted out, pushing the door open with his shoulder, balancing coffee cups and holding a bag between his teeth. I tried to help, but I still had my phone in my hand, and I was seriously rattled by Lauren’s call.

This wasn’t a job. This was my life. Being at everyone’s beck and call. All the time.

“What day is it?” I asked, tapping on my phone. Friday. Oh…fuck. That was a lot of messages.

“You’re a piece of work.” Reuben was pissed off with me too. I didn’t blame him.

“I know I am. It’s just not easy being me…”

“Mate!” he almost shouted. “It’s not all about you! What the fuck? This was my day off. But yeah, here you go. Latte and croissants and some overpriced fruit jar. Anything else your personal slave can assist you with?”

Reuben was cute when he was grumpy. And yes. Yup. I didn’t blame him. I had no clue how to be a decent person.

“I’m really sorry.” True as it was, I doubted Reuben believed me, staring at me like he wanted to kick me. I wanted to kick myself.

“Next time, I’m not picking up the phone. Trust me.”

“I know, but I’m…desperate. And I do trust you. That’s why I’m…the idiot who calls you to do all my dirty work.”

“I wouldn’t call this dirty work. It’s annoying AF though.”

“If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here either. And I wouldn’t be annoying you. I just got off the phone with management, and they’re not happy with my little disappearing act. I have somewhere to be tomorrow, and they want me to get in a car now to…I can’t even remember what I’m supposed to be doing, Reuben. I just…”

I threw my hands in the air.

“You’ve got a bunch of paps at the door downstairs. Word is out that you’re hiding here, and there’s some story in the papers about you getting dumped by some model. Wanna elaborate on that?”

He was pissy. And the fear was back. My chest constricted as I tried to breathe. I couldn’t. I plonked my sorry arse on a chair.

“It’s fine, mate, honestly,” he said with a sigh. “I know you can’t just go down and grab a coffee and not expect to be mobbed by people. And I hate those paps as much as you do, but we need to keep them sweet so they don’t print shit about us too. It’s a fine line.”

“It’s a shitty line. I just…fuck. I don’t know. I need to get out of here.”

Panic was a horrible thing. I hated it. The walls felt like they were moving, pushing everything towards me. The space shrinking, and all I could do was sit there and wait to get squashed. No air.

“Breathe,” he said, suddenly in front of me, holding onto my hands. “Coffee is probably the last thing you should be having right now, but trust me.”

“Trust you,” I repeated. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“And that stuff about the model is probably made up. I don’t trust that site anyway.”

I grunted. Whatever.

“Come on. Drink the coffee. I’ll tell the guys downstairs in reception that you’re checking out. My car is parked in the garage. I’ll stick you in the back, and you come home with me. Dad’s cooking Sunday roast. I mean, it’s Friday, but it’s a roast. Don’t expect gourmet cooking. It’s basically a cook-in-the-bag chicken and ready-made roasties, but whatever. It’s food. You’ll be safe there for a bit and then you can figure stuff out. Okay? And wherever you need to be tomorrow, I can take you.”

“You can drive me?”

“Dude.”

I hated that word.

“You’re pushing your luck,” he warned, but he was smiling, so I smiled too. It was tentative and weak, but I needed out. Now. Before the entire world caved in on me.