Hello! Here's chapter 3 :). Thank-you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, and thank-you to everyone who gave input as to how they thought this story should go! I really like writing this story, so I'm glad the response to it has been so positive! Please leave a review to let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestion etc feel free to leave them too!
"Dougie!" Jay, the producer, called into the glass recording booth in which Dougie was sat, "Dougie!"
Dougie looked up, releasing the strings of his bass guitar that were pressed between his fingers, taking a break from playing the same four notes over and over, messing up consistently each time as he did. He couldn't focus, his mind was everywhere other than where it needed to be: in the studio with him. He sighed, putting the guitar down and rubbing his eyes. This was defiantly not the good impression he so wanted to make, this was not how he was going to prove himself as a decent musician. It was only his third ever time in a studio, but he'd played this song so many times before, in practices, and just around the house. What was wrong with him today? The bass line wasn't even particularly complex, his fingers were just refusing to do what his brain told them to do, it was like everything had just built up until he'd simply forgotten how to play.
"Sorry," Dougie mumbled, deflated.
"Why don't you take a break? We'll record the drums for now, and you can try again after?" Jay called back, looking exasperated from what Dougie could make out through the glass.
Dougie nodded, pushing himself up from the seat, and making his way out of the glass box, forcing a smile onto his face as he held the door open for Harry. Out of everything that being in a band entailed, studio recording was Dougie's least favourite, bar perhaps television interviews. Playing on his own, with all the focus being on him to not fuck up, was hardly an enjoyable experience when all he seemed to be able to do was fuck up. If it were a live show, it wouldn't be so noticeable if the notes of the bass line were slightly off, but here, it had to be perfect. Why was it so hard to focus? Why did he have to be so distracted when he was trying so hard to pretend everything was normal?
Dejected, Dougie pushed past Tom and Danny, who were sat watching the recordings, guitars in hand, practicing the songs that they knew back to front already, and left the studio room, in search of a coffee machine and a chance to clear his head. In his frustration at his current inability to get anything right, Dougie felt the familiar urges tingle in his arms, gripping him in their clutches. It was like a build up of tension and energy, which could only be released through splitting the skin. Maybe it would go away on its own, maybe he could just wait it out. Not that that usually worked, usually the urges would just get stronger, until it was borderline unbearable, and he could not take them any more. Maybe if he dealt with it, and got rid of the urges now, before they had the chance to get worse, he'd be able to focus.
It wasn't that he wanted to cut. He didn't, he didn't have any bandages with him for one, and it would be horrendously impractical to do so now. It was wrong as well, very rarely did Dougie cut during the day, unless something was particularly bad or the urges were particularly strong, it just wasn't part of his routine, he cut at night, it was how it had always been. The urges weren't even that bad, just nagging at him beneath his skin, but maybe if he could free up the part of his brain taken up by focusing on that, he would be able to get through the song without messing up notes. He walked down the hallway, staring at the floor, no really paying attention to where he was going. Maybe he'd made a mistake in thinking he'd be able to live this life, maybe he should just give up and go home, back to how his life used to be. But it would never be the same, it could never be the same, not after he'd had the chance to see how it could have gone. No, he would never forgive himself if he let this chance pass him by. He would just have to stick it out, to hope that things got better, to deal with it by any means necessary.
Stopping at the sight of the vending machines, Dougie fumbled in his pocket for some change to put into it, thinking perhaps taking the time to drink a cup of coffee might calm his urges a little. He pressed at the buttons until a small beige plastic cup filled with liquid of a similar colour appeared. He took it, the thin plastic of the cup doing little to contain the heat of its contents, scolding his hand slightly. Dougie gripped it tighter, trying to focus on the burning sensation in his hand, trying to channel his urges to cut himself into that so that he wouldn't have to resort to anything he'd regret in order to get rid of them. He lent against the wall of the corridor, and slid down it until he was sat crouched on the floor, trying to hide out until he could wrap his head around what he was going to do.
Come on, Dougie, he thought, this is ridiculous, it's the middle of the day, and Tom has just found out, obviously you can't cut now. Just get through the day, and then you can cut tonight if you have to, just not now, not here. He tried to control his thoughts, to get his emotions into check, so that he could go back into the studio and record what he needed to record. Why was it so hard? He loved playing his bass, it usually calmed whatever stress he might be feeling, but now, in this overly pressurised environment, it was having the opposite effect. But he just needed to play, to forget about where his was or what was riding on him getting it right, he just had to do it, get it done, and focus on everything else afterwards.
But then, on the other hand, what harm could one tiny cut do, other than the obvious, of course? He could control himself, just do something small, just enough to satisfy the craving and be able to focus on anything else. He placed the cup of coffee on the floor beside him, and took out his mobile phone from his pocket. He slid off the back cover, revealing the battery, and a small blade, stashed away for emergencies where no one would think to look. Dougie pinched the blade between his fingers, pulling it away from its concealed hiding place, putting his phone on the floor next to the coffee. He stared at it, mesmerised by the sharp, shiny edge, reflecting the neon of the tungsten strip lights from the ceiling, making the light bounce round the hallway and into his eyes. He knew that he couldn't cut here, of course. He'd go into a bathroom cubicle, somewhere private, if he did, but even just holding the blade, knowing that the option was there if he needed it, was somewhat calming to Dougie.
"Dougie! There you are, dude," Tom called, running down the hallway, just about able to make out the form of Dougie's shorts and Vans trainers sticking out from behind the vending machine
Dougie jerked his head upwards, his eyes wide and startled like a dear caught in the headlights of a speeding car, his heart racing and pounding fast. He tried to hide the blade, but was too afraid to put it in his pocket, ironically, for fear of accidently hurting himself. Instead he closed his fist in around it, and tried to conceal the shock on his face. It was one thing Tom knowing that he cut, it was another entirely having Tom know he was considering doing it now. While cutting himself may have become completely normalised to Dougie, he feared how Tom may react, how it may affect him. He didn't want to make other people have to deal with his issues.
"Dougie? What's wrong?" Tom asked, approaching the crouched figure. He may not have known Dougie that long, but he had known him long enough to know when something was not right, and long enough to be able to see when he was hiding something.
"Err, nothing, nothing's wrong, just taking a break, can't seem to play right today, I dunno, must be the studio or something," Dougie rambled, nervously, hoping that Tom would leave it.
"What are you hiding there?" Tom asked, pointing at Dougie's clenched fist.
"What? Nothing," Dougie said quickly, his cheeks flushing red.
"Look, dude, it's obviously something, show me what it is, okay?" Tom said sternly, not wanting to come across too harsh, beginning to feel apprehension about what he might see.
Dougie sighed, realising that he wasn't going to be able to convince Tom that there really wasn't anything in his hand. He didn't have the energy to fight, or to argue, his simply uncurled his clenched fist, slowly, holding it out for Tom to see, averting his eyes to stare at the floor. He heard Tom gasp. Not a loud, overdramatic gasp, but more just an intake of breath taken slightly too fast. Tom crouched on the floor next to Dougie, not knowing what to do or what to say. He reached his hand over to Dougie's to pick the blade up out of the younger boy's hand.
"What are you doing?" Dougie asked, pulling his hand back and looking into Tom's eyes, seeing concern spread over his face.
"Dougie, I'm not just going to let you carry that around with you, give it to me." Tom said, flatly.
Dougie's eyes opened wider. Tom wanted him to give his emergency blade over? He wanted him to just hand over his safety net, his security blanket? He couldn't do that. He needed it, even if he didn't use it, he needed to keep it with him. How could Tom expect him to just hand it over? How could he explain to Tom that he needed to keep it with him? How could Tom possibly understand? Could he even try to explain to someone to whom this was such an alien concept, in a way that they could grasp?
"Can I… can I just keep it? I won't do anything, I just… I like knowing it's there," Dougie said, quietly, looking back down at the floor.
Tom sighed, sitting down next to Dougie, resting his head in his hands, "Why?" He asked.
"It's just… I don't know. I always have it on me. I don't… I wouldn't use it out, really, I don't know, I just like having it," Dougie attempted, not really knowing how to phrase it and make Tom both understand, and believe him.
"What if I hang on to it?" Tom bargained, softly, "I won't throw it away, I'll just keep it for you. That way you can still know it's there, and I can know that you're going to be safe, okay?"
Maybe that would work, thought Dougie. At the very least, it was the best option he currently had, Tom did not seem likely to back down, and, when Dougie really thought about it, understandably so. This may have been perfectly normal to Dougie, but of course it wasn't to Tom. For Tom to have offered to keep it, surely that must mean that he was at least trying to understand. Dougie knew that Tom wanted to help him, though he couldn't quite work out why. Tom was under no obligation to help him, no one else had done so before. Then again, Tom was the first person to know, maybe there would have been others had Dougie allowed there to be. Dougie wasn't even sure he wanted help, it was all so confusing. He knew that he had to stop cutting eventually, but every part of him screamed at himself to carry on, that there was no problem with it. But there was a problem with it, of course there was. He couldn't carry on like this forever. If he was ever going to stop, to really stop, it would involve taking steps, working. It wasn't just going to happen magically overnight
Nodding slowly, Dougie opened his clenched fist, extending his hand towards Tom, who reached over and took the small piece of sharpened metal before Dougie had a chance to change his mind. Carefully, Tom placed it into the pocket of his button-down shirt, hoping that 'out-of-sight, out-of-mind' could ring true. He looked over at Dougie, whose face was contorted, seemingly deep in thought, feeling his chest pang. Tom couldn't even begin to comprehend why Dougie would want to hurt himself, but he wanted to understand, to understand why Dougie felt he needed to do it, in order to help him stop. It was all very well taking a blade away, but Tom was fairly certain that this was not Dougie's only one. And surely, even if he took away all of Dougie's blades, Dougie could just find another way if he really wanted to. No, the problem was deeper than that, it went beyond physical solutions, as far as Tom could see.
"Thank-you," Dougie whispered, just about audible to Tom. Though Dougie had not wanted to surrender his blade, he knew it was a step in the right direction, and that had Tom not shown up at that moment, he would, almost certainly, have found himself in a bathroom cubical right now, with a blade pressed against his skin and blood dripping out. His urges were subsiding a little now, having been so overshadowed by the panic of his racing heartbeat when Tom had seen him. If he could get through the day without cutting, that would be an achievement, however small, a slight victory over himself. If he could do that, if he could beat the urges today, then maybe that meant he would be able to beat them more often. Maybe he really would be able to stop one day.
"No worries, dude," Tom smiled, glad that Dougie didn't seem to be holding any sort of a grudge, "Come on, let's go nail that bass line, yeah?"
Hope you all liked the chapter! Please remember to leave a quick review letting me know what you think, it means so much to me to get feedback on my stories! Hopefully I should be able to get the next chapter up soon, though I don't want to make any promises because I've been super busy lately. Next chapter should be up within the week though :).