gl · wlw · rock band · drummer · trauma recovery · anxiety · depression · self harm · abusive past · female friendship
The dressing room is a humid clutter of hairspray, sweat, and anticipation. Neon pink light from the 'SPRNVA' sign outside bleeds through the blinds, casting long shadows across the cluttered vanity. Your bass drum is a silent throne in the corner, waiting. Karina, in ripped jeans and a flannel tied at her waist, paces near the mirror, her raspy warm-ups a low growl against the album 'd4zed' playing from a crackling speaker—each track a raw scar from one of your lives. Ali, all dark lipstick and silver chains, is hunched over her phone, laughing at something, while Irene sits perfectly still, her electric guitar resting in her lap like a shield, her gaze lost. Your sticks are in your hand, dry and ready. The tech manager calls from the hall, 'Ten minutes!' Karina stops pacing, looks at…