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In the morning,I rip myself off the floor where I had slept and cried throughout the night, and painfully force myself to get my sorry ass up, pack up all my shit, and turn into a human being again. Over the past seventy-two hours, I felt like nothing more than a carcass. Each pang of aching heartbreak and bitter betrayal ate me up like a buzzard ravaging my entrails. Each breath that left my lungs felt like a dull stab. I ran out of tears hours ago, and now my eyes feel dry and agitated. Moving my body to pack up the few belongings I’d used while in the loft was a harrowing task at best, especially with my body sore and stiff from being on the floor.
We are headed to San Diego in less than an hour and have a show tomorrow night. At the rate I’m feeling now, I wonder if I’ll even remember how to bang on my drums or if I’ll be able to hold a beat.
I’m sure the amount of alcohol I consumed while in L.A. doesn’t help my current state. The refrigerator in my loft still has some booze in it, but I’m done with the binge I was on. I have to be. Despite the hole I crawled in, I refuse to stay in it. I owe myself more than that, and I owe my fans and family more than that, too.
There’s a light rap on the door as I finish washing my face. Deep purple shadows are cast underneath my eyes, the whites are a milky pink, almost like when I smoke pot, and my appearance is sickly to say the least. That shit will not fly. I’ll hit the gym and eat something decent in San Diego if I get the chance. I nod at myself in the mirror as if making my reflection a promise, then drag my ass to the door.
As I grip the door handle with a clammy palm, I know it’s him. It’s the kind of thing I have come to sense after being with him for so long and spending countless hours by his side. I could always tell if my phone lit up with a text whether it was him or someone else. Sometimes I’d get out of the shower, and I’d know he’d texted me or tried to call on the rare occasions that he did so. Other times, I could feel his presence outside of my brownstone before he walked up the steps. I knew when he was asleep or faking it. I knew if there was something on his mind that he was withholding from me–because I knew Ash Lancing better than the back of my own hand. I wonder ifshecan feel him the way that I do. I highly fucking doubt it.
With a shake of my head, I open the door and stalk over to the bed where my suitcase is laid out, not bothering to look his way. The door shuts behind him softly, and adrenaline runs through me while deep-rooted anger latches onto my rib cage. Blood whooshes in my ears and I grind my teeth together.
After a long, awkward couple of minutes where he watches me throw my charging cable into my backpack and put on deodorant and a fresh t-shirt—because, yeah, I want him to see what he’s missing out on—I finally look at him.
In all honesty, he looks shittier than I do. That shouldn’t make me happy, but it does. I defensively cross my arms over my chest and sit on the bed.
“What’s up?” I ask. I’m horrified at the sound of my raspy voice, so I clear my throat. I refuse to look him in the eye, so I focus on the door behind him.
Ash leans against the wall by the door. I want nothing more than to go to him like I should be able to, wrap my arms around this man, this person whom I’ve loved for almost a third of my life, but I can’t. So, I remain seated.
He shifts a little against the wall. He’s wearing a ratty old band shirt—one of our first, before we were signed—torn up jeans and Chucks. I can smell his aftershave from where I sit, so I opt to breathe through my mouth because his smell mixed with his aftershave and deodorant is so perfectlyhimthat I might lose whatever ounce of self-control I have left.
Ash lets out a sigh and crosses his arms. “So. I saw that guy from the opening band come out of your room the day after the show.”
“Okay?” I ask, defensively. There is no reason for me to feel guilty, and that’s what I tell myself.
Anger rolls off of Ash in heavy waves. His hands clench and bleach his knuckles. “Do you, like, have a thing for him?”
Before I can stop myself, I snap my eyes up and purposely meet his venomous gaze. “Are you fucking kidding me right now with this shit?” I spit.
Ash looks away, and the next thing I know, I’m on my feet, closing the small distance between us. Ash’s jaw twitches, and he exhales roughly through his nose. He refuses to look at me now, and that’s not acceptable.
In a couple of strides, I make it so I’m right in front of him, and I roughly grab his chin in my hand and force the asshole to look at me. I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look me in the eye while I speak. His eyes grow wide with fury, but I don’t release my grip on him. In fact, I squeeze. His eyes flutter shut and he gasps, then tries to pull away from me.
“No,” I breathe. “No, Asher. You don’t get to come in here and look at me like that. And you don’t get to ask me about who I’m interested in or who I fuck.” I don’t miss the grimace that decorates his face as he takes in my heated words. “And youdefinitelydon’t get to talk to me or scold me like I’m your boyfriend or your partner or your god damn husband. We’ve been over this shit for years. Over and over.” I take a desperate breath and release his chin, but stay where I am.
A deep laugh rumbles out of me that has nothing to do with humor and everything to do with days and months andyearsof disappointment. “You could have avoided this.” I open my arms wide and gesture to the loft as though it holds the key to all our memories; everything we’ve been through, and all the ways he screwed it all up. “Remember how I wanted to come out to the label before we signed with them? When we were meeting with lawyers and signing papers and nondisclosure agreements and all that?” Ash recoils, then nods slowly. “Yeah. But what did you do?Nothing.Because you needed time, and I understood that, but that was eight years ago!”
Ash doesn’t say a word, so I continue, unable to stop. “As our fan base grew, it got harder and harder to come to terms with it all; with coming out. And you know what? You never askedmeifIwas scared, too. Do you realize that? I was petrified! But it’s always been about you. Then, as time went on and you started dating that fucking model—” I refuse to use her name because the thought of her wrapping her body around his makes me want to throw punches. “—I realized when you started datingherthat it was never about your desire to come clean with the world or waiting for the ‘right time.’ You didn’t want to, and you still don’t. You’ve never asked me how tired I am of being your fucking side-dish, when it’smy nameyou scream when I get you off, andmy bedyou seek when you need comfort. It’s always beenme. You could have broken it off thousands of times, but you keep me leashed to you like I’m a fucking pet. You live in a fake world, and I swear to God, you’re content with it all.”
Anger boils my blood, and my breathing picks up its pace as the words spill from my mouth, raw and unfiltered. Remembering the day when Ash started dating Lizette never ceases to raise my hackles. I’d tried so hard back then to leave him alone in his made-up, fantasy world. To allow him to live his lie. I’d held strong for eleven days–up until the point he showed up at my place, said all the right things, and hypnotized me with his touch. You’d think I would have learned my lesson after that–when he didn’t break up with her–but I didn’t.
Nauseating flashes of what could happen in the future speed through my mind, and fury rises inside of me, to the back of my throat, until I’m spewing venom. “Will you be fine in a few years when you have a baby with your wife and you’re still closeted? How about when you cry yourself to sleep at night, wishing I was beside you? Will you be fine when I’m so miserable I have to leave the band? Is that what you want?” I’m trembling now. Tears stream down Ash’s cheeks and neck, dampening the collar of his tee.
“No,” Ash whispers after several moments pass. “I won’t be fine.”
“Good,” I grunt as I step back from him.
I turn my back in time to hide the tears that fall. Nothing has ever hurt this bad. I’ve never been so full of anger and grief in my entire life, but that doesn’t mean I want him to see it.
“You’ve made me wait way too long, Ash,” I say quietly, my back still turned. “You’ve filled me with empty promises, keeping me shackled to you in secret, when I could have been out there finding someone who accepts me, someone who would flaunt me around and be proud to have me as their partner.” The last part is uttered barely above a whisper.
The door opens, and I force a breath into my aching lungs, but the door doesn’t close.
I’m about to turn around to make sure he’s still in the room with me, when I hear him say, “You’re right, Drew. About it all.” His voice cracks, and if I didn’t want to bash his skull in, I’d hug him. “The truth is, Drew, I’ve never been worthy of you.”
When I turn around, Ash is gone.
