“Hey man. We’re worried. Kei’s a mess. Says you won’t talk to him. Concert’s in three days. We need you. Call me back.”
I didn’t.
Kei texted again:
I fucked up. I know. But don’t shut us all out. The band’s falling apart. You’re falling apart.
I stared at the message until my eyes burned.
Then deleted it.
That night Syd came back. Brought more pills. We sat on the floor, backs against the couch, passing a bottle.
“She’s texting Kei now,” Syd said casually. “Trying to warn him you’re spiraling. Like she cares.”
My jaw clenched. “How do you know?”
“Jake saw the messages. She’s playing concerned wife while she’s plotting her exit.”
“She wouldn’t,”
“She already is.” Syd leaned her head on my shoulder. “She told Zariah she’s leaving after the baby’s born. Did she tell you that?”
The room spun.
“No.”
“She did.” Syd’s voice was gentle poison. “She’s just waiting for the kid to come so she can take half your money and run.”
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“You don’t have to alone.” She squeezed my hand. “I’ve got you.”
The pills hit harder this time. Everything blurred, anger, guilt, love, hate, all melting into one throbbing ache.
I missed her.
God, I missed her so much it hurt to breathe.
But every time I thought about going home, I saw Kei’s mouth on hers.
I couldn’t go back.
Not yet.
The concert was in two days.
I told Syd I’d show up.
High.
Erratic.
Ready to break.
Because if I was going down, I wanted her to see it.
I wanted her to feel what I felt.
