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I curl up into a ball and cry while Liam holds me together, just like I used to do for him. And when my body is a dried up husk, Liam picks up his phone to start making calls. With Malek’s steady gaze on me, I spill every guilty, depressing, selfish thought I’ve had over the last few months.
All the while, I’m convinced I could die from a broken heart.
Twenty-Eight
Z
Imakeitonthe overnight flight to Dublin.
My original goal was to fly into Heathrow and pick up where I left off. I’d grovel to my landlord to get my house back. I know for a fact I wouldn’t be accepted in my childhood home, even though I’ve kept the lights on there for the last five years.
Then I’d meet up with Selma and beg to have a few nights a month performing on her stage. Though I know it’s probably hopeless. Even if she was open to talking to me, I don’t know that I’m in the right state to ever perform again.
But when I walk up to the line to purchase a plane ticket, I overhear someone’s phone blasting some news video.
A fight broke out at the Wyndham Hotel in Oklahoma City yesterday. Members of two separate bands, Visage and the notorious Atonement, clashed with swinging fists, lead vocalist Zander Graves at the centre of it. Spectators recount how the band member identified as Mykhail Koval nearly got himself arrested for assaulting police officers.
With Atonement’s recent outburst and rumors stirring about lead guitarist Liam Beckner’s decision to exit the band at the end of their U.S. tour, is this the downfall for the Texan metal band?
It’s everything I feared. No matter what the truth is, the media and the internet will spin this however they please for more attention.
My fingers tremble and my skin grows clammy, the lack of proper air conditioning in the airport a crime. In my panic, I can’t fathom why I’d want to return to a life I hated in the first place. I’m so tired. Tired of surviving. Exhausted by the idea of a future without Atonement. Without Hail’s warmth and Liam’s encouragement and Malek’s teasing and Griff’s kindness.
I fell in love with more than one heart on tour.
“Sir?” the man at the counter calls out, gaze circuiting over my cut and bruised face with concern.
Brain firing on very few cylinders, I step up to the counter and ask him to book me on the next flight to Europe using my emergency credit card. Doesn’t matter where I end up.
Is there a reason for my existence? Did God decide there were too many pure souls in his world and he needed someone like me to balance them out? Or maybe he just took less time on me.
Because the truth is, I was broken from the beginning. Rewind before Mum’s suicide attempt and her drinking and Lex’s untimely death. Before sperm donor walked out of our lives. Before years of being shuffled behind Lex, hidden like a stain on expensive furniture.
I was born a half, not a whole.
The moment the plane touches down at the Dublin Airport, I charge two bottles of whiskey to the same credit card. Then I book a hotel room downtown with no intention of coming out.
The guest services employee tries and fails to make light conversation with me as my heart hammers away in my chest, glass bottles heavy in my backpack, and I hope she won’t be the one to find me tomorrow.
Partially through bottle number one, I’m laid out on the cold bathroom tile of my room, pissed at myself for taking such a simple way out. Drinking was always easy for me. Would a handful of antidepressants be enough to stop my heart? Would it be more painful?
I’m pissed I didn’t get that painkiller prescription filled after my urgent care visit.
Silent tears track down my cheeks as I stare up at the water-stained ceiling. I don’t cry for myself. I cry for everyone I’ve hurt. I know I’m hurting Hail right now, but it’s better this way. The tour will keep him distracted, and in time, he’ll move on with his life. He’ll find a better partner. Someone suited to match the purity of his soul.
God, I’m so stupid for getting involved, but I foolishly trusted myself not to make strong connections. If I hadn’t gotten on that stage that night, maybe I would still be working with the crew and creating music with Hail and pretending like everything would work itself out in time.
Fuck me for trying, right?
I press fists against my eyelids, hating my brain for being so messed up. There’s really no fixing it. I tuck a hand into my pocket and run fingertips over the edges of the business card Liam gave me.
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I reach for the second bottle of whiskey instead as the bathroom spins like a merry-go-round. I black out after three more long, burning gulps.
To my disappointment, I wake hours later in a puddle of tears and vomit.Damn it. I can’t even properly drink myself to death.
I glimpse my phone hanging off the bathroom counter and reach for it to check the time and date. My blood nearly halts in my veins at the volume of missed calls and texts, some from every member of Atonement, Cora and Sondra, too, who I thought only tolerated me because Hail demanded it and I was a decent guitar tech.
I know it’s wrong to ignore them. I promised I wouldn’t do this again. But the physical act of typing out a response drains me of my last will to live.
