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Charlie
And just like that he’s gone. I stared down at my notebook as he left, unsure of what to say, but now that he’s gone without a goodbye I regret being so cowardly. I didn’t want to say the words, and I feel like maybe he didn’t either. Maybe I’m reading into it, but he seemed to drag his feet all the way out the door. Still, I said nothing. How can I tell a rock star who’s making all his dreams come true that I’m in love with him? That he is by far the greatest person for me, the perfect fit. I would thank him and cry in his arms as I told him I understood we couldn’t be together, but I love him anyway. That I accept his scars and want all of him, the ugly he doesn’t share with others but that I so plainly see and the beautiful that I feel when I’m with him.
None of that is something I could bring myself to do, so I watched him leave. I even walked over to look out the window and watched the tour bus drive off, all while tears blurred my vision. I know he’ll be back for a short time, but this feels like goodbye. I knew it was coming and knew I couldn’t handle it when it did, and I was right. So here I am, lying in bed, facedown on my tear-soaked pillow and reliving every moment I had with him.
Sleep won’t come so I find myself drinking leftover beer and champagne until I’m drunk. Black velvet. I strum my guitar and can’t write anything. I turn on loud music and jump on my couch, screaming the lyrics, letting out my anger at all the unfairness but all of it is just a reminder of Hudson and the relationship I knew from the beginning I couldn’t have.
* * *
I don’t want to open my eyes. My mouth is crazy dry and still tastes like vomit. I wake up on the floor of the bathroom. Drinking is not my strong suit and if I never drink another drop of alcohol it will be too soon. Pushing myself up, I use the toilet as leverage to get up. I’m weak and my head is pounding. I make my way to the kitchen where I find Tylenol and start a pot of coffee, then chug several glasses of water. Three Pop-Tarts, two cups of coffee, and two extra-strength painkillers later and I’m sitting on the couch, turning on the television. TMZ is a guilty pleasure and they show pictures and cell phone coverage of a big Hollywood party from last night. Some celebrity was caught sneaking out of another’s bedroom, and I almost turn the channel until they mention Headspace.
“The up-and-coming rock star was caught quite literally with his pants around his ankles as he was leaving the bedroom of socialite Sophia Hamilton. Hudson Smith and Ms. Hamilton were seen at the same party together, and I guess we know where that led.” They laugh and I literally run to the sink to throw up again. Tears fall and my guts feel like they want out of my body. My heart does; it’s on fire and being squeezed by the force of my disappointment. I spend another half hour on the floor, clutching my chest, then finally just go to bed. This day just needs to be over; I don’t want to face anything right now.
When I wake up in the middle of the night, it’s in a cold sweat after an intense dream about Hudson. It had nothing to do with anything that happened but instead about what could have happened between us had I told him how I really felt. As hurt as I am that he’s moved on so fast, I take some blame for practically ignoring him after things started getting so serious between us. I grab my notebook and pour all my feelings, love, hurt, anger, and hope into a song. I write out every word, then after hours I pick up my guitar and strum until rhythm flows and a song forms. I’ve been working on it for so long, then I crawl back into bed and hope for actual rest.
The next afternoon I’m shaken awake. Throwing punches at the intruder, she starts to squeal.
“Violet? What are you doing in my apartment?”
“I’m sorry. Marcus sent me in; he’s worried about you. You didn’t come to our first rehearsal yesterday. I realize now he sent me in here to take the punches for him.”
I groan in agony, still tired from all the swirling emotions.
“I’m sorry, I totally forgot.”
“Is it because of Hudson Smith?”
His name from her lips and the total accuracy from an almost stranger raises my defenses, and I sit up and start grabbing clothes.
“What? Why would you ask me that? I just forgot, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be sticking my nose in your business, but I ask because he had posted a picture of the two of you on the concerts event page. The same one you discovered us at, and I know his band shipped off for their big tour already. It also smells like you might be a little heartbroken. As in you smell terrible and need a shower. Go. I’ll clean up this place and you can pretend I didn’t say anything if you want. Or I’ll be here for you when you get out.”
I take a sniff under my arm and give her a solemn look. My walls crumble and I barely keep the tears at bay. She’s right. I smell terrible and I’m in dire need of that shower and probably someone I can actually talk to about Hudson. She already seems to know so I can skip that awkward, oh yeah by the way I’ve been hooking up with the guy I’m writing music for, that I would have to go into for Lyla. Marcus is just out of the question because he will be pissed at me. I know better than to get hung up on a talent that comes through here.
I mumble my embarrassed thank you and head for the shower. I let it warm up and take a good look at myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, my hair sits in random knots, and my lips are super chapped; it’s safe to say I am a hot mess. A stinky, gross, unattractive heap of pity and for a bit of silver lining, I’m thankful Hudson can’t see me right now.
Turning the water off, the door squeaks open, making me jump, but Violet sets some clothes onto the sink and leaves with her eyes still closed, which makes me laugh. It’s nice to feel a little light again after the dark doom and gloom I put myself in. This is what was always going to happen and even knowing I couldn’t handle it, I jumped right in as soon as he kissed me. Looking back, though, I would still do it. I’ll take the pain if I get to keep all the memories.
Violet’s picking up my living room when I step out.
“Oh, please stop, you don’t have to do any of this. I’m sorry I’m such a mess; I’m usually not,” I say, running over and taking the gross Kleenex scraps from her hands.
“I don’t mind helping.” She shrugs and throws some of my beer bottles away.
“Thank you. I really do appreciate it. You were right about what you said earlier, but no one else knows. We weren’t exactly dating.” It’s my turn to shrug.
“I get it. Hard to date a rock star.” She nods with no judgment in her eyes.
“Right. We just grew close writing music together, and then he had to leave.”
“Not to mention the whole scandal that I’m sure smacked you in the face.”
“So that’s circulating everywhere now?”
“Yeah. Sophia Hamilton is one of the most talked about celebrities in the world at the moment. I’m sorry, Charlie.”
I just nod, not sure what to say anymore. She graciously changes the subject and says she’s been working on a song. Violet pulls out her phone and starts to sing. She needs a beat because the lyrics are great, but she stumbles around trying to sing it. I go grab my guitar and we play around with her song for the next couple of hours.
