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I drop my head into my hands. This is not good. I don’t bother looking at the front yard. Not only because I don’t need to see the photographers to know they’re there, but it’s too damned bright outside.
“Are they allowed to be out there like that?” I ask. “There has to be some kind of law that says they can’t camp on our front lawn.”
Remy glowers. He’s irritated now. Great. “Hang on a sec. Let me go check my law textbooks that I don’t have because I’m not a fucking lawyer.”
His rising voice reverberates in my ears. “For fuck’s sake, man. You could have just said you didn’t fucking know. Jesus.”
“Yeah, well, you could just, oh, I don’t know, stop fucking up in public and embarrassing yourself and the rest of us.”
“Oh, do I embarrass you? Really, Remy? That’s your issue? Since when do you give a fuck what other people think?” This high road he’s jumped on is littered with potholes. He parties just as much as I do.
All expression leaves him, and he steps into the room. His fists are clenched, and I can sense either anger or frustration radiating off him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Remy this upset at me before. He leans down with his face inches from mine, his eyes pierce through me, and it’s hard to hold his gaze.
Through gritted teeth, he says, “Do you honestly think this is about being embarrassed? Or what anyone thinks? Do you think that? Because if you do, you are seriously fucked in the head.”
I’m almost afraid to talk since he’s so tightly wound, but now he’s contradicting himself. “Then what?”
He pokes his index finger into my chest roughly and repeatedly in time with his words. He’s lucky I’m so hungover, or he’d be laid flat. “Because. We. Don’t. Want. To. Lose. Anyone. Else.” He straightens, still staring at me with a determination and emotion I’ve not seen in him. It’s almost desperate, and something inside me cracks at seeing it in him. I hate it. “Do you not get that? You’ve got to get your shit together, man. I mean, sure, we all partied before Andy died, but you’ve gone off the rails since then, dude.”
“Fuck off. I’m not off the rails.” I dismiss that idea right away. “I’m just blowing off steam. Besides, you were there right along with me last night, so you’re not one to talk.”
“Yeah, I was there while it was fun. Before you took off, and get this – I can tell you exactly what I did all night and who I did it with.” He shakes his head and turns to leave. “And, oh yeah, this part will be fucking nuts to you - I don’t have to read a damn gossip tabloid to find out what the fuck I did.” He slams the door shut behind him as he leaves but yells, “Call Mac, fuckhead.”
His words hit me straight in the chest. I did fuck up. I have been fucking up. Maybe he’s right, and I am off the rails. But it’s just partying. We all do it.
Don’t we? Maybe we don’t.
Maybe I’m the last idiot who hasn’t learned their lesson yet. Or, maybe I want to forget about shit once in a while. It’s not every day. Hell, it’s not always once a week, either. It’s just how I am. It’s who I am. I’ve always been this way.
It’s not a problem. I’m just having fun.
But am I really? Or am I trying to numb my self-loathing? I know Remy means well with his tough love, but it cuts deep. Why can’t I seem to allow myself to be happy or successful? Why do I always self-sabotage like this?
What does any of this fucking matter?
The only reason it’s even a topic of conversation is because we’re getting sort of famous. Before now, nobody gave a rat’s ass what I did in my spare time, who I did it with, or how fucked up I was at the time. I was perfectly content with that arrangement. All of a sudden, my personal life is open to public consumption, and everyone has a fucking opinion about it.
It’s total bullshit.
My jumbled thoughts instantly boomerang to Sloane Castle. I just played right into her bad perception of me and proved her right about my image. Fuck.
That triggers something in my brain.
I glance at the time on my phone. It’s just after one o’clock. A heavy sense of dread tumbles over me, and the nausea returns.
Fuck me.
I’m supposed to be at the Rhapsody Foundation in a half hour to go over the advanced guitar program with Sloane.
The Foundation is technically a half hour away, but that’s being optimistic.
I am so screwed. And Mackenzie is going to fucking kill me.
If Sloane doesn’t kill me first.
five
Enemies
