Best Friends Forever

There are lots of pictures of the two of us at different monuments and sights, but the ones I love the most are the candid shots. The pictures I took of her when she didn’t realize it. Her looking serious at a sound check, laughing with a fan backstage, lit up by the sun on the beach in Miami, curled up on my chest asleep in our hotel room. Each picture makes my heart swell more. I love her so much it almost hurts to keep it to myself, and that’s just crazy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone. But then again, I’ve never met anyone quite like Chelsea.

She’s it for me, and I know it.

Now I’ve just gotta find a way to tell her.

It’s a few minutes before the show and I still haven’t seen her. I’m waiting for the call out to the stage, but I want my pre-show good luck kiss first and I’m wondering where the hell she is. Probably held up by Rosa again. I know she’s still scheming against me, trying to turn Chelsea away from me “for her own good,” but Chelsea hasn’t given her an inch and it’s led to some tense moments.

The door bursts open and before I can even look up, I’m greeted with the sweet familiar scent of her and it makes me smile.

“There you ar— What’s wrong?” I jump to my feet, hurrying over to her. It’s obviou

s she’s been crying, her eyes red and puffy, her makeup in streaks. Even her nose is running. My first thoughts are something happened to her parents or her sister’s out of remission or someone said something nasty again about her brother’s death being her fault, but when I get close to her, she holds out a hand to stop me and my blood goes cold.

“Chelsea?”

“Stay away from me,” she cries, her voice cracking as she hurls a plastic baggie at me. I catch it without thinking. Now my whole body’s made of ice. In the baggie, there’s a syringe, a lighter, a spoon, and a length of dirty shoelace—supplies that are all too familiar to me.

“Where’d you get this?” I ask, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else, someone far away from all of this. My hands are shaking just looking at the stuff in that bag and I have to put it down. I can’t just keep holding it while she’s looking at me like I’m a monster.

“In your suitcase, Ian. I went to get a lozenge and found…” She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face again and all I want to do is wrap her in my arms, hold her tight, and tell her it’s all going to be okay. But I can’t do that. Because I’m frozen in place and she’s still hugging herself, shielding herself from me.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“Oh, cut the crap. I know how this goes. You deny it and then just go behind my back again anyway. I’m not doing it, Ian. I can’t.”

I don’t know what she’s saying. I’m so confused about what’s happening.

Well, that’s not true. I know what’s happening. My past is coming up to bite me in the ass again and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I try to come up with something to say, some kind of argument to make her see reason, but I know there’s nothing. Nothing I say will sound like truth to her. Not now.

“I’ve already watched someone I love die from that shit and I won’t do it again,” she says, her voice trembling like a leaf in an earthquake. God, I want to make her feel better. I just want to hold her and tell her it’s not true. But she’s already built that wall up around her again and there’s no way I’m getting past it now.

“Chelsea, I didn’t… It’s not what you think,” I try, but she just shakes her head.

“Save it. We’re through. I hope it’s worth it.” And before I can get another word out, she’s storming from the dressing room, leaving my whole world shattered and upside down.

Not twenty seconds go by before I spot Kandy outside the room smirking and she swoops in, looking sympathetic.

“Ian, when did you start using again?” she says in that hushed tone that people normally reserve for funerals and hospital rooms. That quiet concern that always sounds patronizing.

“I didn’t,” I growl, my head still reeling. “I’ve been clean five years and I wouldn’t throw that away now.”

Kandy tsks and shakes her head. “Addiction is hard. My readers aren’t strangers to the struggle. You can be honest with me,” she coos.

“Great. I. Didn’t. Do. It.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile that somehow feels even more patronizing than before and shakes her head sadly.

“It’s a shame about your relationship with Chelsea. I really thought you two had what it takes to go the distance. I certainly hope you don’t end up alone now. I know how dangerous that can be for someone in your… situation.” She pats me on the shoulder, that pitying look still on her face, but as she turns around, I see it morphing and she looks… satisfied?

But I don’t have time to think about it, because I see Merrill running toward me.

“What are you doing? We need you on stage!” he says, yanking me after him.

I don’t even have a chance to process everything that’s just happened. My head’s spinning, my thoughts racing, shock sinking into every pore. Then I’m being shoved on stage and the crowd is cheering and I’m waiting for Chelsea, hoping this was all some bad dream or something, but she doesn’t show up.

Instead, Rosa comes out and announces that, unfortunately, Chelsea’s fallen ill and won’t be able to perform tonight. It’s a blow to the gut for me. She really meant it. She’s avoiding me now, throwing her professionalism to the wind and leaving me out here hanging.