The late afternoon breeze swept through my chopped hair, the natural blonde locks drifting about in the salt-scented air. May, the new band manager’s personal assistant, walked the facility’s private beach with me. She came weekly to check on my progress and to collect any of the songs I wrote while I was healing so that Gael could review them during his preparations for future albums. May's soft smile touched warm, brown eyes as she looked at me.

“You look so much better, Asya,” relief filled her voice, but I couldn’t offer her a real smile in return.

“What’s on the agenda today?” I asked, hesitance touching my lips with each word. That fear again, that Gael hid me in here to keep me out of his way, tightened my chest. It was nice to feel healthy again, but I hated that I failed to get this far without being imprisoned in this glorified cage.

“Gael asked me to take some staged vacation photos of you, today. We don’t want the tabloids to suspect that you’re in rehab.” She pulled a camera from her fancy little bag. I rolled my eyes.

“After all of those smear articles about my drinking problem, would it really be such a surprise I went to rehab?”

“I think they want everyone to focus on your healing heart. It’s probably for the better they think you’re getting over a breakup, anyway. Sounds more pure and relatable.” She was messing with the buttons on the camera and I sighed.

“Won’t it look weird that my hair is so… Different?” I cringed, pinching a lock of my hair with much more effort than I would have had before it was cut. May laughed.

“Different? You’re lovely.”

“I miss it being long and blue… And I’m sure the fans won’t recognize me without it.”

“Don’t fuss. Maybe the change will add to your reinvented image.” She raised the camera and took a quick shot of me, unusable because of the sour expression on my face.

“You’re not taking this seriously, May.” I made an airy laugh when she teased me before I started towards the beach. I leaned on the sand, looking out at the water to make my mood mysterious. Was I supposed to be happy and on vacation, or depressed from the breakup? She snapped a few images before packing the camera away. I walked back to her, my gaze lingering on the sea as our lie echoed in my mind. I’m on vacation.

“You have more fan mail.” She cooed, smiling coyly.

“Probably more people wondering how I fucked up my ‘relationship’ with Absinthe.” I made air quotes to add to the sarcasm of my response before taking the stack of envelopes she’d produced.

May giggled, “You get plenty of support letters, too.”

“Yeah, well… I can’t even read the support letters without feeling bad that I tricked all the people that wrote them. I’m amazed that more people aren’t suspicious that the two gay people in the group dated each other. I mean… Of all the scandalous sex acts caught on camera, not a single one showed me with a woman. Even if Absinthe’s discreet dating didn’t tip anyone off to her sexuality, mine is out there plainly for all to see.”

“Public Relations miracles happen, I guess.” May laughed. I looked at the letters in my hand, unsure if I wanted to read them or not.

“I suppose I ought to write a few angsty breakup songs for them, at least.” I sighed, secretly admitting that I’d probably draw inspiration from my feelings when Gael pushed me away.

“Did you write any more letters for your band mates?” May prodded, grinning mischievously.

I pursed my lips, thinking of the cringe-inducing results of one of my many treatments: the weekly letters full of emotions and feelings I had to write to the band members. It was supposed to help me cope with my feelings, by revealing them to my loved ones. Instead, I spent hours over the pages trying not to imagine Digitalis laughing over the letters while Gael and Absinthe uncomfortably glazed over the words.

I pulled the letters from my pocket, wishing that I‘d never written them. I understood the importance of handling my feelings instead of drinking them into oblivion, but it didn’t lessen the embarrassment I suffered when I imagined how they were received. I’d glossed over the sensitive things, talking mostly about rehab in general. If my Dr. Bell read them, he’d probably encourage me to reveal more about my unrequited love for Gael and the emptiness that filled me.

May took the letters, with a sentimental smile on her face. I looked out at the sea, losing myself in the sight of it as I wondered how it would go over if I actually told them about my secrets in those letters.

Digitalis was the easiest to predict. She’d make fun of me or explode at me for thinking badly of the things she did. Absinthe would be supportive, but her true feelings were harder to imagine. And Gael…

I imagined confessing my love to him. I imagined telling him about how it killed me when he pushed me away. I couldn’t predict the face he might make, or the words he might say if he found out how deeply those feelings were involved with my addictions. Would that disgust him? Would he feel guilty? Would he pity me? Nothing I could imagine would feel good.

I held myself while May fussed with her bag. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do to cope with the fear, the self-loathing, and the unrequited love. Alcohol, drugs, and sex distracted me and pushed the pain further into the future. Sobriety was stark and abrupt. I had to worry and wait and hope that my secrets didn’t come out.

What am I supposed to do about my feelings for Gael if I can’t bury them away? If I tell him, I could mess everything up. If I keep hiding them, they’ll dissolve me into nothing. I could try to forget about my love for him, but to do that would be like erasing my entire being from existence.

“So…” I swallowed hoping to reduce the tightness in my throat. It didn’t work. “How is everyone, anyway?” I kept my eyes to the sea, hoping she didn’t notice the change in my voice.

“Well… Gael and Digitalis are working together again, but only after Digitalis agreed to give him space and gave him a long apology. They… They don’t get along very well. Absinthe is doing well. She misses you a lot and she and Gael both hope that coming here for rehab is helping you recover. Everyone wishes you well, you know. But um… You know… It would be awesome if you recovered in time for the scheduled tour.” May rushed that last bit out of her mouth.

I laughed sardonically.

“Great. So they give my health a deadline!” I shake my head and try to focus on the waves.

“Oh, Asya. What doesn’t have a deadline?” May sighs. We head back to the rehab center and I wonder what will wait for me when I do finally leave this place.

Dr. Bell looked at me with his comfortable, teddy bear eyes, a gentle smile on his face. Months have passed and the air from the ocean is cooler than it was when he was sick. Our appointment was coming to a close, but he took a moment to review his papers. He set his clipboard onto his desk with a click and leaned towards me.

“You’ve made tremendous progress! I think you’re ready to go back into the world.”

I gazed into his eyes and smiled. It’s hard to be proud of myself when I’m afraid of facing the world. How much had changed without me? How will everyone react to my return?

Dr. Bell continued, “I can refer you to a psychiatrist I know. He’s very good and he can make sure that your prescriptions change as you heal. I’m thinking of continuing your prescriptions to treat your depression and I think I’ll give you disulfiram, so you don’t relapse while you get used to normal life.”

He wrote the information down for me while I cringed at the mention of disulfiram, a pill that makes you unbelievably ill when you drink alcohol with it… Even though I didn’t plan on drinking, I was nervous about that pill.

“Do you… Do you really think I’m ready?” I ask, anxious about returning to the band and the parties and the pressure of it all.

“Now, Asya. You’ve let out a lot of baggage these past few months. You’ve worked on coping mechanisms and you don’t crave alcohol anymore. I’m confident in your progress. There’s no need to worry.”

I bit my lip and squeezed my hands together. This is it. I’ll go back out there again.

As he finished my discharge papers and wrote me my prescriptions, I held my breath. What waited for me out there? How would everyone respond when I return?

For the first time since I entered the facility, I walked out through the front door. The new band manager is waiting, his eyes following me, hawk-like, until I reach the car. I hand him the folder full of paperwork and he weighs it in his hands, regarding it with a ‘hm’ and an impressed nod before he turns to open the door for me. He closes my door and I have a moment to buckle in.

“We have to stop to get my prescriptions before we get to my apartment,” I mention as he enters the car from his side. He makes an odd expression.

“About your apartment…” He starts. I perk up, attentive. “While you were away, we moved you out. Gael thought it would benefit you.”

He paused, glanced at me, and returned his eyes to the road. “Everyone else moved into the apartments Gael built onto the studio, too.”

I collapsed into my seat and sighed.

“I suppose it’s because it’s more efficient, right?” I responded flatly, already sure it was a sneaky way for the company to keep an eye on me.

“Well… There are many reasons for it. But either way, Gael wants the band to meet up at the company’s beach house first, either way. We’ll get you your things and head down there. The company thought everyone ought to have a month to unwind and spend quality time together before the tour begins.”

My eyebrows scrunched together, but I wasn’t displeased to hear about the beach house. It might be easier to ease into life with a small vacation. A real vacation.

The manager parks at a pharmacy and leaves me to read the unread messages and the fan page articles on my phone. Not a lot of it is recent, aside from some minor backlash for Digitalis’ latest stunts. I wonder, briefly, if everyone will be strange around me when I arrive at the beach house. Facing this sober, my feelings are unavoidable. The fear of their rejection and the embarrassment for the many, many shameful things I did during my years of alcoholism weighs down on me. I put my face in my hands for the millionth time since I put down my last glass of liquor, drowning myself in the years of shame, fear, and regret I kept postponing with every bottle.

I wondered how damaged all of my friendships were, now. Could I ever repair them? Maybe I should just quit the band and let them thrive without me.

My heart sank and fell within me until the suddenness of the manager’s return startled it back to life. He set the bag of pill bottles next to me and I took my first doses while he pulled out of the parking lot. Worry pricked at my insides as we headed to the beach.

The manager left the car, and my chest fluttered uneasily as he opened my door. Shaking, I pulled myself out of the car. The band stood on the open deck of the beach house, laughing together. Absinthe spotted me. When her eyes met mine, my shame had thrust a sharp spike through my chest. Nervously, I gripped my car door and stiffly waved.

She smiled and ran down to meet me, setting her orange drink on the deck railing. She embraced me tightly, like I’d resurrected from a grave. I couldn‘t stop my trembling.

“I missed you.” She admitted, her voice muffled by my shirt.

I followed her onto the deck.

Digitalis punched my arm, smirking. “Man. I’m glad you’re back. These losers don’t know how to have fun.” Her smile twitched for a second before she remembered why I’d disappeared. “I guess you’re no fun anymore either. Still good to see you.”

I smiled awkwardly and Digitalis retreated into the beach house to refill her drink. Then my eyes fell onto Gael.

He made that unreadable face he often did, building pressure within me. He picked up a glass, full of peach-colored juice, and offered it to me.

“To your sobriety. And welcome back.” He smiled gently and I accepted the offering, my eyes glued to his.

The tension I’d built between us lingered, but he seemed unaffected as he looked out toward the sea.

“Life was incomplete without you.” His voice was wistful. The tension disappeared.

I smiled. He missed me.

“I’m glad to be back,” I admit, sipping the tropical drink he offered me.

My trembling hands became steady.

Absinthe’s laughter took my eyes from him, and she beckoned me to the beach. A warmth radiated around me, reviving my confidence.

I belong here.

For the rest of the evening, we swam and played beach games together. The manager took photos for our social media accounts. When the sun drifted into the sea, Gael and the manager built a bonfire. Absinthe held my hand while we watched them argue about how they should stack the wood. Digitalis shivered in her bikini, insisting they’re both wrong. Despite her expertise, she remained an observer. I excused myself to use the bathroom.

When I finished, I saw my face in the mirror. I could hardly recognize myself. There weren’t circles around my eyes for the makeup crew to hide. There wasn’t any trace of fatigue from hangovers and rough mornings. I touched my hair, golden like it was in my childhood.

I hate it.

I drop the hair back onto my forehead and open the door, freezing when I see Gael waiting outside. His eyes met mine.

“Asya…” Gael started. In this rare moment, he looked unsure and nervous. “I wanted to speak with you alone.”

“Yes?” I sounded timid.

“I’m proud of you. For everything you got through. I… I can’t describe how relieved I am to see you sober again.”

I couldn‘t summon a response.

His eyebrows pinched together. “I missed you when I quit the band, you know. I didn’t admit it, but I missed the band the whole time I was away for that movie. I mean, I’m glad I got the money to start my label, but… I know that I hurt you. I know you were struggling. And Absinthe… Absinthe talked about how much it affected you.”

Gael sighed, and I tensed. Briefly, we looked away from each other.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I… I didn’t know you needed me. I didn’t know how to make you feel better. I… I knew nothing.” His voice was uncharacteristically emotional.

I was tearing up a little. For the first time in my life, Gael wrapped his arms around me. I quivered as he embraced me, a rush of feelings overtook me. First, there was exhilaration with a hint of shock. The man I love is holding me. Then, I was afraid. What does this mean? How do I respond? The forbidden hope he might reciprocate my feelings sparked up within me. I should crush it before it crushes me.

Finally, I quieted my mind, and I succumbed. My shaking hands held him gingerly at first before they tightened around him. I buried my face in his neck as I cried, my body quivering. He was patient and massaged my back while I broke down against him. Briefly, I fell to pieces.

I let him go, trying to control my shaking. I turned my tear-streaked face away, embarrassed.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to do that.” My voice was thick from crying.

“It’s okay. You needed it.” Gael answered.

I didn’t look at his face. If it was expressionless or negative, it would break my heart. If it held even the slightest bit of concern, it would feed that poisonous hope inside me. No matter how he responded, I would use it to hurt myself.

“I’m just going to take a moment to wash my face,” I whispered, returning to the bathroom.

“I’ll see you outside.” He promised, gliding across the wood floors with a graceful tempo.

It took all of my effort to calm down enough to join my friends outside. Throughout the rest of the night, I’m distracted. By the end of the night, I return to my room exhausted.

My brain blatantly ignores me as it obsesses over my interaction with Gael. It fills my mind with a barrage of fantasies, each more harmful than the last. Some are sweet poisons, fantasies of Gael loving me as I love him. Others are blunt weapons, visions of worst-case scenarios loaded with cruel rejection.

I squeeze my eyes shut, frustrated by my sleeplessness. A headache threatens to bloom when I try to force the thoughts from my head.

Then, I‘m distracted by another thought. I wonder when I last spent a sober night outside the facility. I never used to have trouble sleeping. I would stay up late, but by the end of the night I’d always passed out at some point. Now, nothing numbed me, so I became consumed by everything I wanted to ignore.