Sanity // s.m. [IN EDITING]

[2]

Shawn

***

Andrew was waiting for me outside.

He looked like he was curious, but also like he kind of knew, so there was disappointment too.

"How did it go?"

I hate what happened next.

All of a sudden, Elliot and everything that came with her all came flooding in at once, and it was too much. I was thinking about how she walked out of my life, how much pain she caused me-- which is something that has yet to cross my mind in years.

Out of nowhere, I started crying, right in the middle of the street, in front of the fans, in front of cameras. I tried to stop it, but my eyes were stinging and my throat went all hot and tight, my breath caught halfway.

Some paparazzi raced up behind me, shoving their flashing cameras in my face like maniacs. They crouched on the sidewalk by the curb, calling out my name and begging me to look their way. I had never cried in front of a camera before, at least not real tears.

"Damnit," I choke out, "can I not just be alone for two seconds?"

Some of them heard me but acted like they didn't, which made me even more mad and I just wanted to lay down and sleep. It wasn't far past 7am and I have a whole bunch of crap to do today.

"Hey, Shawn, calm down," Andrew rubs my shoulder in attempt to get me to relax a little, but I was still crying, still thinking of her.

"Listen, I'll cancel everything else today," he crosses his heart, leaning over in front of me. "These past few weeks have been brutal, I know. You need some time to rest. So I can get you a hotel to stay at, you can get some sleep for a while, okay? New York is a big city. It can cause all kinds of pain. I just want you to be okay, Shawn."

I nod slowly and wipe my eyes with my sleeve, jumping in the back of the van and shutting the door, shutting the world out.

Andrew drives me back to the hotel I was staying at and checks me in to another room, one in the center so I didn't have to worry about fans hanging around the windows or anything. I felt really relieved about that. He helps me get everything into the room as I collapse onto the bed, and he just kind of laughs a little.

Then he tosses me a small orange bottle that hits my chest and rolls off to my side. I pick it up and stare at it, then up at him.

"It might help," he says quietly.

"With the anxiety?"

"Yes. You can't let things like that take over you. Those girls might seem crazy, but they love you. They love what you're doing. They love what you have already done."

He was right, and I hated that everyone was right today. But I wasn't taking any medication, ever. Things aren't that bad.

"I have another method for therapy," I respond groggily.

He raises one eyebrow. "And what's that?"

I stand up and cross the room, picking up my guitar. I sit on the edge of the hotel bed and pull a pick out of my pocket, strumming one chord after another.

He grins. "You're something else, Mendes."

I laugh and just continue to play, sinking into that feeling of forgetting and remembering at the same time.

*

I did take a nap, for a little while, and when I woke up I was already feeling better. Andrew had already gotten on the plane, and I'm going to be flying out tomorrow. So for today I kind of wanted to see New York. I've been here before, but never actually seen it.