Page 93 of The Killer Card

I wasn’t lying though. His music is awesome. As I walk out into the crowded city street, I make a mental note to download his music to my iPod later. Oh, and to buy an iPod. Okay, probably steal an iPod. Although, for now I should probably start with where I’m going to rest my head for the remainder of the night.

I wonder how soft the pillows in Elias’s hotel must be. I wonder if he was serious about actually getting me a room. He probably was. He seemed genuinely worried about me which, you know, makes me feel like shit.

Eventually I’m just going to have to come to terms with the fact that this is the most I’ll ever get out of my life and be thankful. I made it out of my Grandfather’s house alive. It’s more than I ever thought I’d get, and I’m actually really fucking grateful.

Closing my eyes I lean against the wall of an alley, pulling a joint from my pocket. At least for one night I had a few friends and that was…

That was pretty cool.

✽✽✽

That’s not the last time I run into Elias and Rowan. In fact, I seem to have a mythical habit of running into them. Almost every club I crash they pop up. Which is helpful when I inevitably get caught by security and get to say, “I know Elias Santos! He’s a friend! Ask him yourself!”

And weirdly, Elias always bails me out.

Including when I call him from jail after a rather humiliating charge of public intoxication, urination, and sexual harassment- the last being wholly untrue. I did punch that officer though, completely guilty, he deserved it. Elias bails me out without a second thought. By now he has more money than he really wants or needs and despite Rowan’s protests as he puts me in the back of his car later, Elias insists that I’m one of them.

“We hardly know him!” Rowan protests.

“We know enough,” Elias insists. “He’s our friend and he needs help.”

I tell them everything after that. I tell him about my grandfather, my mother, my father. I tell them everything I was made me do, everything that was done to me. I tell them how I killed him. I tell them how and I tell them why and that I’m fucking glad I did it. Neither of them fault me for it once they know the truth. Even Rowan looks a little proud that I fought my way out, no matter how bloody.

From then on we’re inseparable. I tour with Elias, I live in his spare rooms, he basically funds my entire life as a groupie and I…

I take full advantage.

Of the drugs, the women, the men. My most unhealthy habits show their true colors. I’m not entirely in control, I’m not sure I ever was. The fact that I have more access now than I ever did before has to be a factor, but I don’t care to stop long enough to consider that the rules of my grandfather’s house might have been for my own good. I never stop long enough to think about that place. It’s always more cocaine to keep me awake, another joint to get me to eat, a pill or two to help me sleep.

Elias tries to help. He’s not much for the drugs or the parties, always thinking about his kid in Florida whose waiting to see him every few months. He drinks, but never irresponsibly. Never the way you expect a rockstar would. It’s me that brings all that trouble and he still wants to help me.

I’ve been sober a week, following a bender in Buenos Aires that ended with me being found half naked in the hotel lobby three days later. Rowan, when he meets up with us between tours of duty, insists I get clean and Elias- my fucking savior- supports him. So, I try.

It doesn’t work. I can’t do it. I don’t want to.

I end up in jail again. Making another call to Elias. Getting bailed out on his goodwill, again.

I may or may not have broken into my dealer’s apartment in a state of absolute distress. He called the cops on me, claimed a break in, that I stole money from him. He’s one of those guys who keeps his house clean as a fucking whistle so there’s no obvious sign why I was really there when they pick me up a few hours later. For all they know, I was legitimately trying to rob an upstanding citizen. But I didn’t steal anything, I swear on my life to Rowan that I didn’t.

He, of course, never believes me. He follows me to my dealer’s apartment after I’m out for barely a day and he’s the one who pulls me off the motherfucker before I can beat him to death. Then he throws enough cash the asshole’s way to keep his mouth shut now and in the future.

“This ends here, amigo,” he murmurs, sitting across from me at a late-night diner after.

He buys me two am breakfast, coffee, a chocolate milk because I’m a child and he knows it will make me feel better. He hasn’t been around much over the years, fighting overseas, but he was recently discharged and has been forced into my company more often than I know he likes. I think this might be the first real conversation we have where I can tell he does care about me. In his own way.

“You need to stop this before you get yourself killed.”

“Maybe that’s what I want…” I mutter into my pancakes.

Rowan frowns, his grip around his coffee mug tightening. “You don’t mean that.”

When I don’t say anything, Rowan leans forward, his arms crossed atop the table.

“Graham, look at me. Look. At. Me.”

I don’t know what about his voice makes me follow his orders. He exhales deeply. “I know you’ve been through hell and back, believe me, I get that. But you are not allowed to just give up. I won’t let you and if that means I have to be your bodyguard too then, fuck, so be it.”

I raise a brow. “So, you’re what? Going to follow me around in a bullet proof vest to keep me from offing myself?”