Page 106 of The Comedown

The prolonged bender makes more sense. Julian doesn’t share a lot about himself, but I remember him saying his grandmother is the one who raised him. If he lost her right after his new label rejected his idea, then he started off on worse footing than I imagined. You don’t build an empire on an unstable foundation and expect everlasting results. Eventually it will come tumbling down; it’s only a matter of time.

“She must’ve been so proud of you.”

“I got signed to a bullshit label with a bullshit contract. That’s nothing to be proud of.” He takes a swig of his liquor.

“Do you regret it? Signing with your label?”

At first he doesn’t reply, then finally he settles his fingers atop the black and white keys and he begins playing again, this time much softer than he was earlier. I recognize the melody instantly. It’s the song we played together at the children’s hospital, “Cover Me in Sunshine.” His fingers float across the keys like a bird skims the sea’s surface—confident, weightless, utterly fascinating.

“If I hadn’t signed with them, we wouldn’t be on tour right now,” he says after finishing. “And I wouldn’t have met you. So I can’t regret it.”

“But?”

Another brief hesitation, then his fingers are creating another song, this one much darker, more passionate. He punches the keys as if they carry the emotions he’s fighting, and when he finishes, his back is heaving.

He does regret it.

My feet pull me forward, leading me to Julian by what feels like an invisible force, and I reach my hand out, running my fingertips over the inked skin of his shoulder pulled tight with each full breath.

He goes for his drink again, but I get to it first, swiping the glass off the piano. He watches the glass fall to the floor, shattering on impact, while I watch him.

“Stay,” I whisper. Julian’s an atomic bomb of raw talent. It’s all restrained tight inside him, waiting to explode, and I want to feel the blast for myself. I can take it.

I can’t take him running away though. I can’t take him sabotaging what could be a breakthrough moment.

When Julian starts to feel like things are getting away from him—or being taken away from him—instead of fighting, he removes himself from the situation entirely with drugs, alcohol, or both. Because then it’s him who’s giving up control. But like Axel said, Julian lost control over his drug and alcohol use, too, and it’s no longer a tool anymore. It’s a weapon pointed at himself. He’s causing more damage than if he were to just deal with his problems head-on. Whatever’s happening right now, he needs to get it out, and if he’s drunk, he won’t.

I start singing Rihanna’s “Stay,” tracing his jawline before sticking my hand in his hair, gripping the strands until he looks up at me.

Pressing a quick kiss to the hickey on the inside of my wrist, he smirks at the lyric quoting the man, then his fingers are moving again as he faces the piano, playing the melody for me. He takes over on Mikky Ekko’s part and duets me for the outro.

“Stay with me,” he says quietly to the piano before sending me a sideways glance. “Tonight.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

The same question as before. The same answer as before.

“Both.” Just like when he asked me to fall with him, fear’s holding me back. “Don’t you want this time to yourself?” I gesture to the suite.

“No.”

The vulnerability is his stare physically hurts to see but I can’t overlook it for my own comfort. That’s what everyone else in his life does.

“What are you feeling right now?” I ask him because that’s what he asked me when I didn’t know I needed it, and even though it’s only six words, they carry so much weight when strung together. Enough to make or break a person.

His amber-flecked eyes touch every part of my face before he plays a song that borders on several emotions at once. My heart rate picks up like there’s trouble, like there’s danger, at the same time tears fill my eyes, begging for release—anything to stop this pain, this torture. Then the ending mellows and all I want to do is curl into a ball and fall asleep, take a break from this world and enter another, happier one.

Unwilling, or maybe unable, to take my eyes off him, I sit beside him, studying his profile as much as those confident fingers of his as he slips directly into another song. Some notes he smashes the keys roughly, others he barely taps them out. The juxtaposition reminds me of his personality. Copious amounts of zeal at times balanced out by his quiet, methodical side during others. He’s a walking conundrum, one I can’t get enough of.

His left hand falls to my leg and he continues playing one-handed while the other drifts up my thigh like a second set of keys, making every inch of skin on my body tighten in response to his touch.

Lyrics filter through my head and out past my lips before I can think better of it. Lyrics about Julian’s touch and what it does to me. Lyrics about wanting that touch more than I should. Lyrics Julian matches with his own about being equally affected. We sing together, our lyrics coming together in a beautiful fusion of our own unique styles, and through it all, Julian’s hand remains on the inside of my thigh, moving just as skillfully as the one on the actual piano keys.

The song comes to a close, and a heavy dose of melancholy settles on top of me like a weighted blanket as I find myself wishing I could live in this moment forever. With Julian.

Automatically, he begins again, playing a song that’s different from the others. It’s more upbeat; not quite happy but almost. It sounds inspirational. Hopeful. A perfect song to end the night on.