I tried not to dwell on Rhone or what his attention meant, but with the conflicting emotions raging through me it was hard not to. Lack of self-worth was kicking the depression I had battled over the years to levels I could not control. When you get called a faggot by your homophobic asshole father and public-school peers so many times you lost count, you tend to lose a key piece of yourself that’s needed to circumvent wayward emotions in these situations. The part that should be there, the one that should come naturally that allows you to believe in yourself. The part that has you believing you’re worth so much more, that you can overcome any obstacle that stands in your way. But when that part was missing, the void was instead filled with a self-loathing as your rational thoughts were replaced with irrational ones. Why was I born like this? In what fresh hell did my creator come from? I’ve worked hard to gain the upper hand over these emotions but when something such as this, whatever this was with Rhone, comes along it tends to open that grave you’d sealed and buried all doubt in and you return to questioning everything.
“Your sleeves on fire.” I heard someone say, my eyes madly dashing around to find whoever it was that needed my help. “Hey man,” he said, louder this time. I glanced over at him and found he was staring and pointing his fork at me.
Sure enough, my sleeve had grazed the burner under the chaffing dish. “Oh crap!” I said, dipping it in a tub of ice I had some containers of vegetables sitting in.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Um yeah, just searching for my dignity is all.” He nodded and continued moving down the line. I had no clue who he was and couldn’t have been more thankful for that. Had it been one of my co-workers Jordan would’ve caught wind. I needed to get my head back in the game before I was permanently disfigured. Somehow, I managed to refill the remaining dishes without causing any further harm to myself, or those around me but internally I was spiraling out of control. Breathing techniques weren’t working and neither was keeping myself busy. Breathe in, one, two, three, four. Breathe out, one, two, three, four. Repeat. It was not working. Nothing was working. The walls were closing in. My breathing was shallow. I needed to get out. The anxiety was taking over and I knew what that meant. I’d pass out in no time. As calmly as I could muster, and without calling attention to myself, I got out of the tent. Once free of the constricting confines, I bolted to the end of the row, doubled over out of sight and damn near puked, desperately trying to remember how to breathe.
“Ely, are you okay?” I heard the one voice I didn’t want to see me this way. The same one I was trying to erase from my head. Yet when he knelt beside me and wrapped his arms around me, my world righted itself.
“Sorry. Anxiety.” I managed between pants. My body sunk into Rhone’s, absorbing the safety it felt in his presence.
“What happened?” Rhone asked, kissing the top of my head.
“Just me being me.” I needed to see a therapist. I knew that, but my bank account continually fought me on the expense. Not working full time equaled no insurance.
Rhone pulled me onto his lap, and I went willingly. Resting my head on his shoulder, committing his scent to memory. When this ended, as it surely would, anytime I smelled cinnamon and his natural musk I would forever be reminded of Rhone. My Rhone. If only for a short while.
“You ready to tell me what really happened, Ely?” Rhone asked again.
I took a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled. “I wasn’t paying attention. Daydreaming and I umm, set my sleeve on fire.”
“You did what?” He panicked, grabbing my arms until he located the sleeve in question. “Jesus Ely, you could’ve been hurt. What had you so distracted?”
“You.”
“Fuck. Ely, you don’t have to set yourself on fire to get my attention. In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve already got it,” he spoke into the side of my head, holding me tight. Every syllable that crossed his lips had his warm breath heating my scalp, prickling my skin. I basked in it, having his arms around me. Holding me. Every bit of this was a dream, a dream I thought I’d never have. But did I truly have it now?
“Is everything okay?” Sikes asked as he closed in on us.
“Is it Ely?” Rhone asked me.
I felt so stupid. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
When we stood, Rhone brushed the dirt from my pants. Making sure everything was situated as it should be. This caring side of him left me breathless once again, but at least the panic wasn’t present. It was replaced with something precious. Was he always this attentive or was it just me?
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He tilted my chin up. “Ely, call or text me if this happens again. If I can be there to help you through it I will,” Rhone said, pressing his lips to mine. Less than forty-eight hours I’ve known this man and I was already well on my way to being…stupid. I nodded, “Where do you need to be now? I’ll take you there.”
“I’m– I’m okay. I– I can do this,” I stuttered.
“Your response says otherwise. Please, let me take you back or can you take a break for a while and sit with me. Inside somewhere air conditioned?” Rhone asked.
“I, um. Sure. Okay. Lead the way.” I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I wanted to spend more time with Rhone. His presence calmed me, and the anxiety was still simmering just beneath the surface. I needed more time to get a grip on it.
“Where to?” Sikes asked Rhone.
“Would you like to go back to our bus? I promise no funny business, but it’s air conditioned and there’s bottled water on it,” Rhone said. I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, but it was an option and I was interested to see what the inside of one of those mansions on wheels looked like. Curiosity won out in the end, as I agreed to go with them.
“Hey man,” one of the guys from his band said, running up to us. Remembering names wasn’t my forte. I had already forgotten what the other three guys’ names were that he’d introduced me to. “Is everything okay?” he asked, eyeing Rhone and me.
Rhone squeezed my hand. “I think Ely got a little overheated. He’s gonna hang out on our bus for a while and cool down.”
“Alright, sweet. If you guys need anything just text one of us. We’ll be backstage listening to the bands.” He nodded before heading backtracking toward the main stage.
The uncertainty of not knowing what Rhone would be expecting once we were alone was bugging me. He said he expected nothing, and I believed him. But I still had that niggling in the back of my brain telling me otherwise.
Once we were inside, he gave me a quick run of the layout. This thing was nicer than my apartment. Rhone opened the fridge, grabbed two bottles of water, handing me one.
“You should text your boss. What did you say his name was? Jordan? And let him know what happened and where you are. Just in case he’s looking for you.” Rhone took the seat at the opposite end of the couch from me. I both hated and appreciated the gesture.
I gave Jordan a call, telling him what had happened. He of course went into protector mode and insisted on coming to get me. I told him I was fine and that I would be back as soon as I cooled down and regained my bearings. Jordan knew I struggled with stress-related anxiety. He’d even offered more than once to pay for me to see a doctor, but I declined. I refused to be indebted to anyone and it was important to me to be able to stand on my own.