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Jack flopped onto the worn-out couch in the greenroom, the fabric sticking slightly to his sweaty back. The air had the smell of stale pizza and the faint scent of the ocean breeze that managed to sneak in through the open window. His bandmates and brothers, Adam and Ryan, were still on stage, signing autographs and taking selfies with fans who had been waiting outside for hours. The thump of their footsteps grew distant as they disappeared into the night, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts.
He pulled out a small bag from his pocket, his heart racing. He'd been smoking weed before performances to dull the pain of his depression, a secret he'd managed to keep from Adam and Ryan. But the guilt was starting to eat away at him, especially when they played "No Grass Today." The irony of singing about not having time for distractions when he'd been getting high before every show was too much. He stared at the bag, feeling the weight of his lies.
Adam poked his head in, his eyes scanning the room. "Jack, you okay?"
Jack's hand shot up to hide the bag, his heart skipping a beat. "Yeah, just... tired." He forced a smile.
Adam lingered, his gaze lingering on the space between Jack's fingers before his eyes met Jack's. "You sure?"
Jack nodded too quickly. "Yeah, I'm good. Just need some rest."
Adam studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright, if you need anything, let me know." He left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Jack let out a sigh of relief and dropped his hand, his eyes landing on the bag once more. The guilt was a heavy weight in his chest, but the call of the high was stronger. He took out a joint, his hands trembling slightly as he lit it. He took a deep drag, feeling the warmth spread through his body, and for a brief moment, the world felt a little less overwhelming.
As the smoke curled around him, he couldn't help but think about the lyrics to their hit song. "No grass today, I've got better things to do," he murmured to himself, the words feeling like a lie on his tongue. He knew that getting high wasn't a permanent solution, but it was the only one he had right now.
The door to the greenroom creaked open again, and Jack's eyes shot up. This time, it was Ryan. His younger brother looked at him with a knowing expression, and Jack's stomach dropped. "What's going on, man?" Ryan asked, his voice low and concerned.
Jack panicked, trying to hide the evidence, but Ryan was already across the room, snatching the joint from his hand. "What the hell, Jack?" He said, holding it up like it was contraband.
Jack sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to think of an excuse. But the truth was too heavy to hide anymore. "I've just been... dealing with some stuff," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ryan's face fell, his anger giving way to worry. "What kind of stuff?" He sat down next to Jack, the couch groaning under their combined weight.
Jack took a deep breath, the smoke in the air thick and potent. "It's just... I've been feeling really low, you know?" He didn't meet Ryan's gaze, focusing instead on the frayed edge of the couch cushion. "This... this helps me get through it."
Ryan's eyes searched his brother's, the creases in his brow deepening. "Is it because of the tour?" He asked gently, placing the joint on the coffee table. "Or is there something else?"
Jack's silence was his answer. The weight of his secret pressed down on him, threatening to crush him. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "It's not just the tour, Ry. It's... it's me. I've been feeling like this for a while now. The weed just... makes it a little easier."
Ryan's eyes widened, but he didn't look away. "Jack, you can't keep doing this to yourself. What if Adam finds out?"
Jack leaned back, closing his eyes. "I know, I know. But I can't help it. The crowd, the lights, the pressure... it's just too much sometimes." He took a shaky breath, the smoke in the air making it feel like he was drowning in his own confession.
Ryan put an arm around him, his grip firm and reassuring. "You're not alone, man. We're all dealing with our shit, but hiding it like this isn't going to help."
Jack leaned into the embrace, the warmth of his brother's presence offering a small comfort. "I know," he murmured. "But what if it's messing up the band? What if we can't keep going?"
Ryan's arm tightened around him. "We're not going anywhere, okay?" He said firmly. "We're in this together, always. But we need to deal with this."
Jack nodded, his eyes still closed. "I know. I just... I don't know how to stop."
Ryan leaned back and looked at him straight. "Well, we're going to figure it out together." He stood up, pulling Jack with him. "Come on, let's get out of here."
They stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of waves crashing against the shore a soothing backdrop to their conversation. The salty breeze kissed their faces, carrying with it the scent of the ocean. "You can't keep hiding behind this," Ryan said, his voice firm but gentle. "You need to talk to someone, maybe even get professional help."
Jack nodded, a forced smile playing on his lips. "I know, I'll think about it." But as soon as he was out of Ryan's sight, Jack's resolve crumbled. He ducked into an alley, his heart racing. He needed to get high before the next show. The lie to his brother weighed on him, but the need for escape was stronger.
<<<
The lights on stage were blinding, the music thumping through his chest. Adam and Ryan sang their hearts out, their harmonies perfect as always. But Jack's voice was hollow, his mind elsewhere. He could feel the weed kicking in, a numbing agent to the storm in his head. The crowd roared, but all he heard was the echo of his own lies.
Ryan shot him a concerned look from his keyboard, but Jack just gave a forced smile and nodded, playing along. He knew his brother wouldn't suspect a thing; not now, not with the adrenaline of the show pumping through their veins. But deep down, Jack felt the guilt burrowing deeper, a parasite feeding on his soul.
As soon as the final note of their setlist rang out, Jack slipped away from the stage, the echo of applause fading into the distance. He found himself in the alley again, the shadows welcoming him like an old friend. He fumbled with trembling hands, lighting up another joint, the flame casting an eerie glow on his face. He took a deep drag, feeling the familiar warmth spread through him, a false sense of peace wrapping around his anxiety-stricken mind.
On stage, Adam and Ryan announced their last song, "Burn the House Down," their voices filled with passion and energy. Jack took one last hit before stumbling back into the spotlight, trying to keep his act together. His eyes were bloodshot, his movements a little too loose. The high was strong, but the guilt was stronger.
The beat dropped, and the crowd went wild. Adam shot him a questioning look, but Jack just managed a nod, his lips moving to the lyrics that seemed to mock him now. The words about burning away the past and rebuilding felt like a personal manifesto, but he was too trapped in his own addiction to make that change.
The high washed over him, a warm, fuzzy blanket that muffled the screams of his conscience. He danced and sang, his movements exaggerated, a performance for the crowd that had no idea what was happening behind the scenes. The lights played tricks on him, making him feel both invincible and utterly exposed.
But as the concert drew to a close and the applause thundered around him, Jack felt a pang of regret. He'd promised Ryan he'd get help, but here he was, hiding in the alley again, getting high. The lie weighed on him, a leaden stone in his stomach that no amount of weed could dissolve.
The brothers returned to the greenroom, the energy of the show still pulsing through their veins. Adam looked at Jack, his eyes searching, but Jack just shrugged it off with a laugh, claiming stage fright. The room was a whirlwind of activity, their manager discussing the next gig, fans' messages flashing on their phones, the caterer setting up for the after-party.
Ryan watched Jack closely, his mind racing with worry. He knew Jack was in pain, but he wasn't sure how to help. He made a mental note to talk to Adam about it, to find a way to get their brother the help he needed.
As the night wore on, the party grew louder, the air thick with laughter and chatter. Jack mingled, his smile plastic, his eyes glazed over. Adam and Ryan exchanged glances, their concern growing. They had to do something before it was too late.
Adam approached Jack, his hand resting on his shoulder. "Hey, man," he said, his voice low and serious. "Ryan and I talked. We're worried about you."
Jack's eyes flickered to the floor, his hand tightening around the plastic cup of water in his hand. "I'm fine," he mumbled, his voice lacking conviction.
Adam's grip on his shoulder tightened. "You're not fine. And you know it."
Jack sighed, the weight of his secret feeling heavier than ever. He hated the way his brothers' eyes searched his own, looking for a glimpse of the truth he was desperately trying to hide. He hated that he was letting them down, that his depression and his reliance on weed were becoming a third member of their band, a destructive force that threatened to tear them apart.
"I know you guys are worried," he began, his voice strained. "But I just need some space, some time to deal with this."
Ryan stepped closer, his expression a mix of anger and fear. "Jack, this isn't about you dealing with it alone. We're a band, a family. We deal with things together."
Jack took a deep breath, his chest tight with the effort of holding back tears. "I know you guys care," he said, his voice cracking. "But every time you bring it up, it just makes me feel like I'm letting you down."
Adam's eyes softened, understanding dawning on his face. "We're not trying to make you feel bad, Jack. We just want you to be okay."
Jack nodded, his gaze shifting between his brothers. "I know," he said again, the words feeling like a broken record. "But every time you guys look at me like that, it's just a reminder of how much of a mess I am."
Without another word, he pushed past them and out of the greenroom, his heart racing. He stumbled down the hallway, the walls closing in on him. The door to the balcony was a beacon of escape, and he threw it open, the cool night air hitting him like a slap in the face. He stepped out, the world spinning below him. They were so high up, the city a twinkling sea of lights stretching out to infinity. For a brief, terrifying moment, he thought about what it would be like to just let go, to feel the wind rushing past him as he fell into oblivion.
But then he heard footsteps, and Adam and Ryan were there, their eyes wide with panic. "Jack, what the hell are you doing?" Adam's voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of his thoughts.
Jack looked at them, his vision swimming. "I just... needed some air."
Adam and Ryan shared a look of concern before Adam stepped forward, his hand reaching out. "Jack, come back inside. Get off the edge. We need to talk."
But Jack didn't move, his eyes locked on the distant horizon. He felt a cold fury building inside of him, anger at his brothers for intruding on his moment of despair. "What do you want from me?" He spat out, his voice laced with bitterness. "To perform like a circus animal? To pretend everything's fine?"
Ryan's hand hovered in the air for a moment before it dropped to his side. "We just want you to be honest with us," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "We can't help you if you don't tell us what's going on."
Jack's eyes narrowed, and he took a step back, the railing of the balcony pressing into his spine. "You think you can just fix me?" He sneered. "You think you can just throw me into rehab and everything will be fine?"
Ryan's eyes widened in horror as Jack leaned back, his body weight shifting precariously. Without thinking, he lunged forward, his arms wrapping around Jack's waist, pulling him back from the edge. Jack's eyes went wide with surprise before anger flared in them.
"What the fuck, Ryan?" He shoved at his brother, his body trembling with adrenaline and rage. "What are you doing?"
Ryan's eyes searched Jack's, fear and determination fighting for dominance. "I'm not letting you go," he said, his voice shaking. "Not like this."
Jack's struggle grew more desperate, his legs kicking wildly. "Let me go!" He screamed, his heart racing, the world spinning around him.
Ryan's grip tightened, his eyes never leaving Jack's. "No," he said, his voice firm despite the fear that gripped him. "Not like this."
Jack's body went rigid, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You don't get it," he whispered, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I can't do this anymore."
Ryan's heart was racing, his arms like steel bars around Jack's waist. "You don't mean that," he said, his voice shaking. "You're just... you're just not thinking straight."
Jack's eyes searched the sky, the stars blurring with his unshed tears. "Straight?" He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "I haven't thought straight in months." His voice grew quieter, the anger seeping out of him. "I'm just so tired, Ryan."
Ryan's grip on Jack tightened, his own eyes welling up. "Don't say that," he pleaded. "We're here for you, okay? We're not going anywhere."
Jack's struggles subsided, his body going limp. He leaned into his brother's embrace, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "I don't know how to stop," he murmured, his voice raw with pain. "Everything just hurts."
Adam stepped forward, his eyes filled with empathy. "We're going to get you help, Jack," he said, his voice firm. "You don't have to do this alone."
Jack took a step back, his eyes wild. "Help?" He spat out the word like it was poison. "What do you know about help?" He tried to yank himself out of Ryan's grip and get back to the edge of the balcony.
Adam stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "Jack, please, just listen to us." But Jack's mind was elsewhere, lost in the fog of his pain and his need to escape.
With a sudden burst of strength, Jack wrenched himself out of Ryan's arms, his eyes wild and desperate. Adam reached for him, but he was too late. Jack stumbled back towards the balcony's edge, the railing rattling as he leaned against it.
"Jack, no!" Ryan shouted, his voice echoing in the still night.
But Jack's desperation had taken over, and he didn't hear his brother's cry. In a moment of madness, he threw himself against the balcony railing, his head connecting with the wall with a sickening thud. The impact was so great that the railing groaned under his weight, and for a heart-stopping second, the brothers thought he'd gone over.
Instead, Jack crumpled to the ground, unconscious, a trickle of blood seeping from his forehead. The silence was deafening, the only sound the distant echo of the city's heartbeat. Adam and Ryan rushed to his side, their eyes wide with horror.
"Oh my God," Adam breathed, his hand shaking as he touched Jack's neck, feeling for a pulse. "Call an ambulance!" He shouted to their manager, who was standing in the doorway, frozen in shock.
Ryan dropped to his knees beside Jack, his own heart racing as he cradled his brother's head. "Jack, wake up," he whispered, his voice trembling. The warm stickiness of blood coated his fingers, and he knew they had to act fast.
Their manager's voice crackled over the phone, urgent and panicked. "Ambulance is on its way," he said, his eyes never leaving Jack's unconscious form. "Hold on, guys."
Adam's heart raced as he hovered over Jack, his eyes never leaving his brother's pale face. "What have we done?" He whispered, his voice hoarse with fear.
Ryan's eyes met Adam's, a silent agreement passing between them. They had to get Jack help, now more than ever. As they waited for the ambulance, they talked to him, their voices low and soothing, hoping that he could hear them through the fog of unconsciousness.
The wail of sirens grew louder, piercing the quiet night air. The doors to the balcony burst open, and a team of paramedics rushed in, their faces a blur of concern and efficiency. They quickly assessed the situation, checking Jack's vitals before carefully moving him onto a stretcher. The brothers followed closely, their hearts pounding in their chests.
In the ambulance, the neon lights flickered over Jack's still form, casting shadows across his peaceful features. The paramedic spoke into the radio, their voice a mix of urgency and calm. "We have a 26-year-old male, unresponsive, probable concussion. En route to the nearest hospital."
Adam and Ryan sat in the back, their eyes never leaving their brother. The guilt was a palpable presence in the small space, thick and suffocating. "We have to tell them," Ryan murmured, his voice barely audible over the sirens. "They need to know about the weed."
Adam nodded, his eyes never leaving Jack's still form. "Yeah," he said, his voice tight. "But let's get him through this first."
The ride to the hospital was a blur of lights and sirens, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Adam and Ryan held onto each other's hands, their knuckles white with the effort of keeping it together. They watched as the paramedics worked tirelessly, their movements efficient and practiced.
Jack's eyes fluttered open, the world around him spinning. He groaned, his head feeling like it was split in two. "What happened?" He slurred, his gaze darting between his brothers.
Adam's grip on his hand tightened. "You hit your head, buddy," he said, his voice strained. "You're going to be okay."
Jack's eyes searched their faces, his confusion clear. "What... what happened?" He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him back down.
Ryan's voice was shaky as he spoke. "You... you tried to get away from us. You hit your head on the wall."
Jack's eyes grew wide with horror as the memories flooded back. "No," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to..."
The medic looked up at them, his expression sympathetic but firm. "We need to keep him still," he said, his hand moving to Jack's arm.
But Jack was already wriggling, his eyes wild with panic. "No, no, no," he murmured, his voice slurred. "I don't want to go to the hospital. I just need to get away."
Ryan's grip on his brother's arm tightened. "Jack, you need help," he said, his voice pleading.
Jack's eyes grew wild with fear. "No, no, no," he chanted, his body writhing against the restraint. "I can't go there. They'll find out. They'll ruin everything."
Adam's eyes grew wet with fear and desperation. "Jack, you have to calm down," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "You're not well."
But Jack's panic had reached a crescendo. He thrashed against the restraint of the stretcher, his eyes wild with a primal terror that seemed to have taken over his very soul. His breathing grew erratic, his eyes darting around the ambulance as if searching for an escape that wasn't there.
"Let me go!" He roared, his voice a mix of pain and desperation. "I can't do this!"
Ryan and Adam looked at each other, their eyes wide with fear. They had never seen Jack like this before. "Jack, please," Ryan begged, his voice trembling. "You're scaring us."
But Jack's panic was spiraling out of control. He pulled at the restraint, his eyes wild and desperate. "I can't," he panted, his chest heaving with the effort. "I can't do this anymore."
The medic's eyes grew stern, and he called out to his partner, "We need to sedate him." But before the second medic could act, Jack's hand shot out, grabbing the first one's neck. The medic's eyes bulged in surprise, and he choked, his grip on Jack's arm loosening.
Adam and Ryan watched in horror as Jack's eyes rolled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Jack, no!" They shouted in unison, their voices a cacophony of fear and desperation. But Jack's panic had become a living entity, consuming him whole.
With a strength born of desperation, Jack managed to free his arm from the restraint, his hand darting towards the needle that was meant to calm him. He snatched it up, the silver glinting in the flashing lights. Adam and Ryan watched in slow motion as he raised it to his neck, his eyes wild with a determination that chilled them to the bone.
"Jack, no!" Adam's voice was a desperate shout as he lunged for his brother, but the medic was quicker. A firm hand clamped down on Jack's wrist, the needle dropping to the floor with a clatter. The second medic was there now, pressing an oxygen mask over Jack's face, his eyes filled with calm authority.
Jack's body thrashed against the stretcher, his eyes bulging with the effort to resist. The medic's voice was firm but gentle, his hand steady as he injected the sedative into Jack's arm. The fight drained out of him almost immediately, his body going limp as the drugs took hold.
The ambulance ride grew eerily quiet, the only sounds the steady beep of the monitors and the rush of the engine. Adam and Ryan sat in shock, their hearts racing. They watched as the city lights streaked by, their thoughts heavy with fear and regret. What had they done? What had happened to their little brother?
Jack's eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. The medic checked his vitals, his expression grim. "We need to get him to the hospital now," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "He's not out of the woods yet."
The ambulance raced through the city streets, the sirens wailing a mournful song that seemed to echo the fear in Adam and Ryan's hearts. They held onto each other, their eyes never leaving Jack's still form. They were both thinking the same thing: Had they pushed him too far?
<<<
Time skipped, and suddenly Jack was blinking his eyes open in a sterile hospital room, the fluorescent lights glaring down on him. His head felt like it was being crushed by an anvil, and his body was heavy with the weight of his own guilt. Adam and Ryan were there, their faces a canvas of relief and fear.
The doctor's voice was distant, talking about a concussion and rest. He nodded, feigning ignorance, his mind racing with the lie he'd have to spin. When the medics left, he looked over at his brothers, their eyes filled with a mix of concern and accusation.
"What happened?" He asked, his voice raspy and weak, playing the part of the confused patient.
Ryan and Adam exchanged glances, their faces a canvas of fear and relief. "You hit your head," Adam said, his voice tight with tension. "You scared the shit out of us, Jack."
Jack's eyes searched the room, his mind racing. "What... what happened?" He feigned confusion, his heart hammering in his chest.
Adam leaned in, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and concern. "You don't remember?" He asked, his voice tight.
Jack's gaze darted between them, his heart racing. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "No," he lied, his voice shaky. "What happened?"
Ryan's eyes searched Jack's face, looking for any sign of understanding. "You had a... a panic attack," he said, his voice tight. "You got scared and fell. That's all."
Adam nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving Jack's. "Yeah, you just got overwhelmed," he added, his voice gentle. "You don't remember?"
Jack's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the night. The balcony, the railing, the sirens. He knew they were hiding something, but he couldn't bear to hear the truth. "No," he whispered, his eyes dropping to his hands, now free of the restraints. "I don't remember."
Ryan and Adam shared a look, their hearts heavy with the weight of the secret they now shared. They'd agreed on the story: Jack had a panic attack, a simple explanation that would keep the darker truth at bay. "It's okay," Ryan said, his voice strained. "You're safe now."
Jack nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "What if I...?" He couldn't bring himself to say the words, the fear of losing everything he had left paralyzing him.
Adam reached out and took his hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice a gentle promise. "We're here, and we're going to get through this together."
Jack's eyes searched their faces, looking for any hint of doubt or judgment. But all he saw was love and fear, a fierce determination to protect him. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his lies and his addiction pressing down on him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to scare you guys."
Ryan squeezed his hand, his voice gruff. "Don't apologize," he said. "We're just relieved you're okay."
The next few days passed in a blur of doctor's appointments and band meetings, all while Jack continued to hide his deepening depression. He'd lie to his brothers, to their manager, and even to himself, telling everyone that he was fine, that the accident had been a one-time thing. They all pretended to believe him, their smiles forced and their eyes filled with unspoken worry. They also continued to believe that Jack didn't remember, feeding him lies of their own.
Jack's nights grew longer and his days shorter, as he retreated into his own world of pain and despair. The weed was no longer enough to ease the ache in his soul, so he turned to something more permanent, something that left marks that could be hidden beneath the stage lights. He'd lock himself in the bathroom, the only place he could find a semblance of privacy, and let the pain consume him.
During the day, he'd paste on a smile and play the role of the happy-go-lucky band member, his laughter ringing hollow in his own ears. Adam and Ryan watched him closely, their eyes filled with a silent plea for him to open up, but Jack remained steadfast in his deception. He knew they were worried, but the thought of losing the band, their music, their family, was too much to bear. So he pretended, and they played along, the three of them dancing around the elephant in the room.
Their manager, sensing the tension, tried to keep their schedule light, but the pressure to perform was ever-present. The band had a reputation to uphold, and Jack knew he couldn't let them down. So he'd get up on stage, the lights blinding him, the crowd's screams a cacophony of white noise. He'd sing his heart out, the words of their hits echoing in his head like a sad joke. "No Grass Today"? He couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt the sun on his face without the haze of a high.
But when the lights went down, and the cheers faded away, Jack was left with the cold, hard reality of his situation. The band was counting on him, and yet he felt like he was drowning. So he'd lie, and they'd pretend to believe him, because what else could they do? They were brothers, bound by blood and music, and neither side wanted to acknowledge the dark truth that threatened to tear them apart.
Ryan noticed the subtle changes first: the way Jack's eyes had lost their spark, the shadows that lurked under his eyes even after a full night's sleep, the tremor in his hands when he wasn't holding a guitar. He saw the fresh marks on Jack's skin, the bruises that couldn't be explained away by the rigors of touring. His heart broke a little more with each discovery, but he was torn between confronting Jack and letting him deal with his pain in his own way. He didn't want to push him away, not when he needed them most.
But the weed was getting harder to ignore. The smell clung to Jack like a second skin, a pungent reminder of his brother's desperation. Ryan caught him sneaking into the bathroom more often than not, the faint sound of a lighter echoing through the walls. He'd knock gently, but Jack always had an excuse, a laugh ready to dismiss his concerns. "Just needed some fresh air," he'd say, his eyes a little too bright, a little too wide.
And the self-harm. It started with just a few marks here and there, but soon it became a macabre tapestry, a map of pain that told the story of Jack's unraveling. Ryan would find discarded band-aids in the trash, the wadded-up evidence of his brother's suffering. He knew he had to say something, had to do something, but fear kept his mouth shut. What if Jack pushed him away? What if the truth destroyed the fragile bond that held them together?
So he brushed it off, told himself that Jack was just going through a phase, that he'd get over it. He'd find him on the tour bus, lost in a cloud of smoke, his eyes glazed over, and his mind a million miles away. "Just winding down," Jack would say with a forced smile, his voice a little too casual. And Ryan would nod, pretending not to see the despair that lurked beneath the surface.
But the marks grew more frequent, more pronounced. They weren't just on his arms anymore; they snaked up his neck, his chest, and even his face. And the smell of weed was a constant presence, like a shadow that refused to leave. Adam, caught up in the whirlwind of their tour, remained blissfully oblivious, his focus on their music and their image. But Ryan couldn't ignore it any longer.
One night, as they were getting ready for a show, Ryan found Jack in their shared dressing room, his shirt off, his back a canvas of fresh, angry cuts. He couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped his lips, and Jack's eyes shot up to meet his, full of a mix of shame and defiance. "It's nothing," Jack mumbled, reaching for his shirt.
"Jack, what the hell?" Ryan's voice was a mix of horror and disbelief. He stepped closer, his eyes taking in the ragged lines that marred his brother's skin. "What are you doing to yourself?"
Jack's eyes flashed with anger, his hand darting up to cover the evidence. "Mind your own business," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Ryan's shock turned to anger, his hand reaching out to grab Jack's wrist. "You're my brother," he said, his voice shaking. "I can't just ignore this."
But Jack was beyond reasoning. He yanked his arm free, his eyes wild with pain and anger. "Get off me!" He shouted, his fist connecting with Ryan's jaw with surprising force. The sound of the impact echoed in the small room, and for a moment, Ryan saw stars.
Jack didn't wait for a reaction. He bolted out of the dressing room, his bare feet slapping against the cold floor as he sprinted down the hallway. The adrenaline from the fight and the fear of being caught fueled his flight. He could hear Ryan's voice calling after him, a mix of anger and worry, but he didn't look back. He couldn't. The guilt was too much, the reality too stark.
He stumbled into the first open room he found, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum. It was a storage closet, filled with boxes and forgotten equipment. He slammed the door shut, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The darkness swallowed him whole, and he leaned against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up, the façade of happiness, the never-ending cycle of guilt and pain.
Jack's hand hovered over his pocket, feeling the cold steel of the lighter. The thought of ending it all was a siren's call, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Just one more hit, one more escape. But the pain in his head, the throb of his pulse, was a stark reminder of the price he'd already paid for his solace. He didn't know if he could go on like this, living a lie, hiding behind a cloud of smoke.
He thought about the fans, their faces a blur of hope and excitement as they sang along to their songs. The lyrics he'd penned about overcoming the dark days, about finding the strength to keep going. He was their beacon, their inspiration, and yet he was drowning in his own despair. The irony was suffocating, the weight of his failure crushing him like a vice.
Jack pushed himself off the wall, his eyes scanning the room. The shadows danced around him, hiding the sharp edges that promised relief. His hand trembled as he reached for a box cutter, its blade glinting in the dim light. It was the first time he'd allowed the thought to fully form, the first time he'd considered the final escape. His heart pounded in his ears, a war between the desperation and the fear.
He'd never felt so alone, not even in the crowded venues where thousands of faces looked up at him, not even in the band's tight-knit circle where he felt like an imposter. The blade was cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his tears. The voices in his head grew louder, urging him on, whispering sweet nothings about the peace that awaited him.
Jack took a deep breath, his hand steady as he pressed the blade to his throat. The metal was sharp, a promise of oblivion. He closed his eyes, ready to embrace the darkness. But before he could make the final, irrevocable move, a hand clamped down on his wrist, the grip unyielding.
"Jack, no!" The voice was Ryan's, filled with a mix of terror and anger. "What are you doing?"
Jack's eyes snapped open, his hand frozen in place. The blade had barely broken the skin, a thin line of crimson already forming. He looked into his brother's eyes, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him. "Let me go," he snarled, his voice thick with the pain of his shattered world.
But Ryan's grip was unyielding. "Jack, no," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You can't do this."
Jack's eyes remained squeezed shut, his body rigid with the effort of fighting back the tears. "I can't keep pretending," he choked out, his voice thick with despair. "I can't keep letting you guys down."
Ryan's grip tightened, his eyes filled with a fierce determination. "You're not letting us down," he said, his voice firm. "You're sick, Jack. And we're going to get you help."
Jack's eyes flew open, the reality of the situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave. "No," he croaked, his voice barely audible. "You don't understand."
Ryan's grip on the box cutter was unyielding. "Jack, you have to trust us," he said, his voice shaking. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."
Jack's eyes grew wild, his body writhing in a desperate attempt to free himself. "Give it back!" He shouted, his voice raw with pain. "I need it!"
Ryan's eyes searched Jack's, the horror of the situation etched on his face. "Jack, you don't need this," he said, his voice firm despite the tremble. "You need help."
Jack's hand clamped down on Ryan's wrist, his eyes wild with a desperation that was terrifying to behold. "No!" He shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You don't understand!"
Ryan held firm, the box cutter trapped between their palms. His eyes searched Jack's, his heart breaking at the pain he saw there. "I do understand," he said, his voice steady despite the tremble in his chest. "But this isn't the answer."
Jack's breath was hot and ragged, his eyes wild with desperation. "Give it to me," he demanded, his voice a growl.
Ryan's gaze was unwavering, his grip on the box cutter like steel. "Jack, please," he said, his voice trembling with fear and urgency. "You don't want this."
But Jack's desperation had taken over. He could feel the cold blade pressing deeper into his skin, the warmth of his own blood trickling down his neck. "You don't get it," he spat, his eyes glinting with anger. "You don't get to decide for me."
Ryan's grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Jack, please," he begged, his voice cracking. "I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere."
Jack's eyes searched Ryan's, looking for any sign of doubt, any hint that his brother didn't truly mean it. But all he saw was love and fear, a fierce determination to save him from the abyss he was spiraling into. The blade was still pressed against his neck, a cold reminder of his desperation. In that moment, he realized that by rocking forward, he could end it all. The temptation was almost too strong to resist.
Ryan's hand was a vise around the box cutter, his eyes never leaving Jack's. "Jack, stop," he said, his voice a plea. "Please, don't do this."
Jack's body went slack, the fight draining out of him as the reality of his situation hit him like a ton of bricks. The blade was still pressing against his skin, the warmth of his blood spreading like a crimson ribbon. He took a shaky breath, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and defeat. "I'm so tired, Ry," he whispered, his voice cracking.
Ryan's grip on the box cutter didn't ease as he pulled Jack into a tight embrace, his arms trembling with the weight of the moment. "I know," he murmured into Jack's hair. "But you can't give up. We're here for you, we're going to get through this."
Jack's body was rigid, his breath hitching in his chest as he held onto his brother, the only anchor in his tumultuous world. "I'm scared," he admitted, his voice muffled against Ryan's shoulder. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."
Ryan held him tighter, his own heart aching with the pain he heard in Jack's voice. "You don't have to do it alone," he said firmly. "We're going to get you the help you need."
Jack pulled away, his eyes wide with panic. "You don't get it," he said, his voice rising. "They'll all hate me. The fans, the band, everyone. They'll think I'm weak."
Ryan's heart was racing, his mind reeling. "They'll understand," he said, his voice shaking. "They'll support you."
Jack looked at him, his eyes glazed with fear. "You think so?" He whispered, the tremor in his voice a silent cry for reassurance.
Ryan nodded, his own eyes filled with tears. "Yes," he said firmly. "They'll understand. You're not just a band member, you're our brother."
Jack took a deep breath, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. He knew he couldn't go on like this, that he needed help. But the fear of losing everything he'd worked for was almost too much to bear. He nodded slowly, his voice a whisper. "Okay," he said. "I'll get help."
Ryan's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt, but all he saw was a flicker of hope. "Thank you," he breathed, his voice thick with relief. "We're going to get you through this."
But the moment was shattered as Jack bolted upright, the blade clattering to the floor. "No," he whispered, his eyes wide with horror. "They'll all hate me."
Ryan's heart sank as he watched his brother's face crumble, the weight of his own failure crushing him. "Jack, no," he pleaded, reaching out to grab him. But Jack was already on his feet, his eyes wild with panic.
With a strength born of desperation, Jack pushed Ryan aside and sprinted out of the storage closet, his bare feet pounding the cold concrete. The hallway was a blur of shadows and lights, the sounds of the venue muffled by the ringing in his ears. He had to get away, had to escape before they could take him to some clinic, before they could strip him of his music, his life.
Adam, who had been searching frantically for them, rounded the corner just as Jack barreled into him. The impact sent them both reeling, but Adam managed to grab hold of his brother's arm. "Jack, what's happening?" He demanded, his voice thick with fear.
Jack's eyes were wild, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "They're going to hate me," he gasped, his voice trembling. "Everyone's going to know."
Adam stared at him, confusion etched on his face. "What are you talking about?" He tried to hold onto Jack, but his brother's strength was fueled by a desperation that was too powerful to contain.
Jack wrenched his arm free, his eyes darting around the hallway. He saw the emergency exit sign glowing red in the distance and made a beeline for it. If he could just get outside, find some peace in the quiet of the night, maybe he could figure out what to do next.
Adam watched him go, his heart racing. He reached up to touch his own neck, feeling the sticky warmth of Jack's blood on his fingers. He knew he should go after him, but his legs felt like lead. Instead, he sank to the floor, his eyes never leaving the spot where his brother had disappeared. The sound of the door slamming echoed through the hallway, leaving him in a stunned silence.
Ryan's thoughts raced as he stumbled out of the storage closet, his heart hammering in his chest. He had to find Jack, had to make sure he was okay. The sight of Adam on the ground brought him back to reality with a jolt. "What happened?" He demanded, his voice hoarse with fear.
Adam looked up at him, his eyes wide and scared. "Jack," he managed to croak out, his hand coming up to his neck. "He's gone."
Ryan's mind raced, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a sledgehammer. "What do you mean gone?" He asked, his voice shaking.
Adam looked up at him, his eyes red-rimmed with shock. "He pushed me aside and took off," he whispered, his hand shaking as he pointed towards the emergency exit. "I think he's lost it, Ry."
Ryan's heart dropped into his stomach, the reality of the situation setting in like a lead weight. He took off down the hallway, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Jack. The emergency exit door was a few feet away, swinging slightly on its hinges. Without a second thought, he barreled through it, the cold night air hitting him like a slap in the face. The alley outside was empty, the only sound the distant murmur of the city.
Panic began to set in, his mind racing with the worst-case scenarios. He knew Jack's state of mind was fragile, and the thought of his brother out there alone, lost and scared, was unbearable. "Jack!" He shouted into the night, his voice echoing off the walls. "Jack, please come back!"
The alley was a labyrinth of shadows and dumpsters, the smell of garbage a stark contrast to the glamour of the venue. Ryan's feet pounded against the cold pavement as he sprinted through the maze, calling out his brother's name. His heart hammered in his chest, the fear and adrenaline giving him a newfound energy.
He turned a corner, the sound of his own breathing loud in his ears. In the distance, he heard the faint wail of a siren, a sound that usually signaled a successful show, but now it was a grim reminder of Jack's desperation. The night was cold, the wind biting at his skin, but he didn't feel it. All he felt was the cold grip of fear tightening around his heart.
Then, there he was. Jack, leaning against a brick wall, his chest heaving, eyes wild. His shirt was torn, and his skin was pale under the flickering streetlight. The sight of him was like a punch to the gut, and Ryan didn't know if he was more relieved to have found him or terrified of what he might do next.
In Jack's trembling hand was a gun, the barrel cold and unyielding against his temple. Ryan's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. "Jack," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Where did you get that?"
Jack's eyes remained fixed on the ground, his breathing erratic. "Does it matter?" He murmured, the tremor in his voice a stark contrast to the steel in his grip. "They're going to find out, they're going to hate me."
Ryan took a tentative step forward, his heart in his throat. "Jack, please," he begged, his voice shaking. "You don't need that. We're here, we love you."
Jack's eyes remained fixed on the ground, the tremor in his hand becoming more pronounced. "They're going to find out," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "They're going to know that I'm a fraud."
Ryan's legs felt like jelly, but he took another step closer, his voice low and soothing. "Jack, you're not a fraud," he said, his eyes never leaving the gun. "You're just going through a tough time."
Jack's eyes snapped up to meet his, the gun still pressed firmly against his temple. The barrel looked cold and unyielding under the flickering streetlight, a stark contrast to the warmth of the love in Ryan's gaze. "They're going to think I'm weak," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They're going to think I'm a failure."
Ryan's heart was racing, but he kept his voice calm. "Jack, you're not weak," he said, his eyes never leaving the weapon. "You're strong, stronger than you know. And nobody's going to think you're a failure."
Jack's hand was shaking, the gun's metal cold against his skin. "They will," he murmured. "They'll think I'm a joke, that I can't handle the pressure."
Ryan's eyes searched his brother's, looking for a flicker of doubt, something to cling to. "They won't," he said firmly. "They'll understand, Jack. You're not just a musician to them, you're a person. A human being who's going through something tough."
Jack's hand didn't waver, his eyes never leaving the ground. "They'll never look at me the same," he murmured, the tremor in his voice growing. "They'll see the scars, the cuts, and they'll know I'm not okay."
Ryan took another step closer, his heart racing. "Jack," he said, his voice a gentle coax. "They'll see you're hurting and they'll want to help."
The click of the gun's hammer cocking was the only sound in the alley, louder than the sirens in the distance. Time seemed to slow down as Ryan's eyes widened in horror. He lunged forward, his hand shooting out like a bullet to grab the gun. The cold metal was slick with Jack's sweat, but Ryan's grip was firm, his movements fueled by a desperate need to save his brother.
The gun went off, the explosion deafening in the narrow space. For a split second, Ryan felt his heart stop, but then he realized the shot had gone wide, the bullet ricocheting off the brick wall. He threw the gun with all his might, watching it clatter down the alley until it was out of sight.
Jack stood there, the shock of the missed shot and the sudden absence of the weapon leaving him trembling. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, his body wracked with sobs. Ryan was on him in an instant, his arms around Jack's shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. They sank to the cold pavement, their hearts beating in unison, the fear and adrenaline slowly dissipating.
Jack's sobs grew louder, his body convulsing with the force of his pain. "I can't do this," he choked out, his voice muffled against Ryan's chest. "I can't be this person."
Ryan held him tightly, his own eyes brimming with tears. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We're going to get you help."
Jack's body felt like it was made of glass, shattered and barely holding together. But Ryan's arms around him were a warm embrace, a promise that he wasn't alone. With a shaky breath, he nodded. "Okay," he whispered, his voice a mere thread of sound. "I'll try."
The weight of the gun was still a phantom sensation in his hand, but the cold reality of the metal was replaced by the warmth of his brother's embrace. He leaned into it, his sobs slowly subsiding as the tremors in his body began to calm.
Adam, who had followed the chaotic scene, appeared at the alley's entrance, his eyes wide with shock and relief. "Jack," he breathed, his voice a mix of fear and love. He took a tentative step forward, unsure of how to approach his brother.
Jack looked up, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He saw the love and concern etched on Adam's face, and something within him crumbled. The weight of his secret, of his pain, was too much to bear alone anymore. With a trembling hand, he reached out to his brother, his voice barely a whisper. "I need help," he admitted, the words sticking in his throat like shards of glass.
Adam's eyes filled with tears as he took Jack's hand, squeezing it tightly. "We're here," he said, his voice strong despite the tremble. "We're going to get you through this."
They sat there, the three of them, in the cold alley, their hearts beating a tapestry of fear and hope. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Jack felt a glimmer of relief. He wasn't alone in his pain, and the thought of his brothers standing by him was like a beacon in the darkness.