**TRIGGER WARNING** Discussion of self-harm and the depiction of someone who is in the midst of a severe depressive episode. Reader discretion is advised.

Pain coming alive upon opening your eyes

As we all murmur our separate goodbyes

It's alright if you scream

No time to redeem

It's alright if you cry

Not like anyone will die

--From the song Battling The Dog

Lyrics By: Orion Bauwens

I haven't left my room for an entire day now. After the interview I demanded Gloria get a taxi. It wasn't nice, but I didn't want her to be in the limo while I lost my ever loving mind.

Because that's exactly what happened. I told the driver to put up the partition, and as soon as it was up all the way I laid down on the long seat and just cried. I didn't stop crying until we pulled up to where the buses were. Even then I shoved my hands in my pockets, kept my head down, and rushed to my room as quickly and stealthily as I could manage. I barely kept it together.

Everything was feeling like too much. I had to keep my head down as I walked from the limo to the bus because everything was too bright. My bus, the thing that I loved, was suddenly an eyesore. My eyes literally ached as the sun bounced off it. The thing that usually brought me peace of mind was suddenly an object from my worst nightmares.

Gloria must have told the band what happened because at various points Ben and Jake knock on my locked door. I either completely ignore them or tell them pathetically to go away.

"Come on, man," Jake says gently at one point. He's talking softly through the door. He's the only one that has said anything to me the entire time. The concern in his voice is damn near palatable and it only makes me cry harder. "Please let me in. I hate seeing you like this."

I can't let him in though. The truth of the matter is, it's not about shame. I've been friends with him long enough that he's seen me like this before. Hell, he's even held me before a few times mid freak-out.

When I get like this I just don't care. I just want to be left alone to wallow for a while. After that I'm fine. I'm always fine.

"I'm fine," I manage to croak out.

There's a pause, and then, still softly, "No you're not."

But I'm glad when I hear Jake's footsteps recede until there is nothing left but my own pathetic sniffles.

That all was yesterday. I didn't get any sleep. I've just sat for countless hours, crying pathetically, sitting on my bed with my boots still on and holding my pillow to my chest. The only time I emerged was when I was sure no one was around, slipping quietly to the mini bar to grab a beer.

To my slight annoyance there's a knock on my door. I ignore it. It comes again.

I don't recognize it; Gloria, Jake, and Ben all have their own distinctive knocks that I've come to know. The third knock comes with a voice. It's soft, concerned.

"Hey."

I lift my head, surprised. It's Tristan.

"Orion buddy, are you in there?"

I bury my chin back in my pillow and still don't say anything, fresh tears coming out.

"Orion, I'm about to kick down the damn door. People are starting to get worried you killed yourself."

I snort into the pillow but still remain silent.

"I'm serious," he says in warning. "Everyone is really worried about you--"

I open the door. The light is harsh and I blink, looking at Tristan. His jaw literally drops open.

"Holy God almighty."

I rub my right eye and then glare. "Yeah, I've been crying. So?"

"You look miserable."

"Thanks."

"Wanna talk?"

Heaving a heavy sigh, I move aside for him to enter. He walks in and sits in the chair by my guitar. I shut the door and go back to my spot on the bed. Grabbing the pillow, I draw my knees up to my chest.

"What's going on?"

I narrow my eyes. "Be careful of the guitar."

He rolls his eyes, but even so scoots the chair farther away. "So what's going on, Orion?"

"Well, I went to an interview yesterday, and she started asking all these really personal questions but tried to veil them behind comments about my music. So I lost my shit and stormed off." I smirk a little. "I'm happy to say her boss was screaming about her being fired as we left."

Tristan purses his lips into a thin line. "That's not what I meant Orion. How long have you been crying for?"

My smirk drops away. I get defensive and narrow my eyes. "None of your business."

"It became my business as soon as you opened the door and I saw your face."

I look away. I can't look at him. I bite down on my lip, hard, to try and stop more tears welling.

"Look," he says, sounding grumpy as he gets to his feet. "I gotta take a leak. By the time I get back you had better think of something to say."

There's a bathroom on the right as soon as you walk out of my bedroom. As I watch him go I think nothing of it. That is, until I hear Tristan shout.

"Fucking hell," he yells, coming back in my room. He looks panicked. "Are you okay?! Who's blood is that?"

"Mine."

"Yours? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No."

"Are you sure? That's a lot of blood!"

"Sorry," I mumble and look away. "I forgot to clean it up."

"What the hell did you do?"

"I cut myself shaving."

In two long strides Tristan is in front of me. He grabs my face in one hand, turning my face side to side. I'm so shocked at the touch that I merely allow him to manhandle my face. After he's tilted my head every conceivable angle, he releases me with a small shove and scowls.

"Fucking bullshit. You don't have a scratch on you."

"Not my face, ass. I shave my chest."

He narrows his eyes. "Show me."

I laugh. "Excuse me?"

"If you did that to your chest, show me."

"Why?"

"I think we both know why. Fucking show me, Orion."

"I think you coming here was a bad idea."

"And I think you not being honest with me was a bad idea."

Tristan spins on his heel, ready to leave.

"Wait!" I say desperately, reaching out for him. He pauses and turns back to me.

I lower my head, speaking in a whisper. "I really did cut my chest shaving. Honest."

Tristan shuts the door and sits next to me on the bed. I stiffen, drawing my knees up tighter. He looks at me with his soft brown eyes, but I can't bear to look back.

"I'm going to ask you one last time Orion," he says in a whisper. "What's going on?"

"I just," I say, sucking in my breath and closing my eyes, "I just get in these moods, alright? I'm a really emotional guy. Plenty of guys in the industry are. I mean, look at all the famous singers that have drug, alcohol, and anger issues."

"So just because that's the norm you think it's okay?"

"No," I answer honestly. I open my eyes and look at him. "All I'm saying is a lot of people get into this industry because they're damaged goods."

He raises his eyebrows at me, looking surprised. I can't blame him for the expression. Truthfully I'm once again surprised at my honesty. I don't know what it is about Tristan that makes me open up so easily. My eyes fall down again.

"You think you're damaged goods?"

I don't answer the question directly. "I don't know if people start singing because they're screwed up, or having this kind of lifestyle screws them up."

"Probably both. Probably depends on the person."

I shrug. "Yeah."

"What about you, Orion? What category do you fall under?"

I bite my lip so hard unintentionally it makes me jump. "Um, well I always have been, uh, volatile. You can ask Ben and Jake. They've known me since High School. They're my best friends. They've seen it all before."

"Do they try to help you?"

"Of course they do," I say testily, "but it's stupid. There's nothing to help with."

"This," Tristan says, gesturing at me up and down, "is not normal. Locking yourself away in a room for a day is not normal. Pushing people away is not normal, Orion. How can you say there's nothing to help with?"

I roll my eyes, still not looking at him. "What, are you my shrink now?"

"No, but do you have one of those?"

I snap my head at him so quickly I nearly get whiplash. "No, and I don't need one, thankyouverymuch."

Tristan crosses his arms against his light blue shirt.

"It's fine."

Tristan stands again. I look up at him.

"Tristan, it's fine. It's not like I'm coked out of my mind or something."

"Right, you just drink like a fish. That's better."

"I don't need your smart ass comments right now."

"And I don't need--" Tristan says suddenly angry. He leans on my bed with one arm. With his other hand, he swipes his thumb against my bottom lip. It sends a shiver down my spine. He then shows me his thumb that's covered in my blood. "--you pretending that everything is fine."

Disgustedly he wipes the blood on his pants and then goes to my black door.

"Tristan," I say quickly.

He sighs, clearly annoyed. "What?"

"Why--why did you come here?"

He looks over his shoulder at me. "Gloria told me you wouldn't let her in, and you wouldn't let Ben in, or Jake. She thought maybe you'd let me in. I'm happy she was right."

He narrows his eyes. "And don't forget to wash out the sink. That's disgusting."

And with that he quietly shuts the door behind himself.