Thank god for muscle memory, George thought. It was the only thing that was getting him through this show. His fingers automatically played familiar chords effortlessly, leaving his mind to cope with the throbbing of his gut. George was only able to go five hours since that morning before needing to eat. It felt as though he was being destroyed from the inside, hunger pangs becoming a searing hot sensation that burned with every step he took. It was hard, and he most certainly wanted to stop and just be honest with the others. Honestly, he didn’t know why he couldn’t be open to them. An irrational part of his mind told him that if they knew the truth, something terrible would happen. What kind of terrible, he had no idea. On the other hand, things were getting worse, and if his condition didn’t start improving, then there was a chance his life might be in danger.