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No, no, no. This can't be happening, at least not right now it can't. Ezra stares blankly at his phone with that name glaring right back at him. 𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙽. He can't remember when he unblocked her, but he wishes he would've remembered he did it in the first place. Then, he could've avoided this.
It was probably during one of his episodes. The kind where he got fucked up just enough to decide it was a good idea to make contact. Truthfully, blocking her wouldn't change his middle of the night calls to the femme. He knew her number by heart for reasons he's too ashamed of to admit.
Madison had bailed him out of one too many bad situations, but now he can't seem to separate her from the trouble he frequently found himself in. She was either at the forefront or the aftermath of whatever chaos Ezra created. Now, he couldn't seem to detangle the two from each other. Now, when there's trouble, there's usually also Madison.
Still, Ezra can't will himself to answer. He frantically tries to think of what to do to get himself out of this situation, but outrunning his problems isn't exactly a strong suit of his. His phone dings again, and now his stomach is in knots for a whole different reason.
He doesn't know what to say. Ezra is far too distracted with Madison texting him out of the blue. It's throwing off his game, and now he's not all too concerned with where this conversation is going. How could he be after being reminded of his ex and that stupid fucking voicemail?
He moves up from his position on his bed and begins rummaging through the cabinets located at the front of the bus. Bottles clank together as he finally finds a container of amber liquid. He needs to get his head straight if he's going to deal with this tonight.
But he can't deal with it. Not now, not ever. Rehashing things with Madison will only make him worse, and he needs to be better for this tour. Needs to get through this summer so everyone would get off his goddamn back.
