Best Friends Forever

“Chelsea, will you at least look at me?”

“You don’t wanna see me,” I mutter, burying my head in the pillow. Rosa’s been with me a long time. She’s seen the ups and downs. She’s seen me at my absolute worst and my absolute best. But still, something about this time makes me just want to be left alone.

She sighs and pats the pillow. I’m sure she’s aiming for my head, but there’s no way to know where I am from her perspective.

“I talked to the label and they’re going to go ahead and cancel the last four shows. The record’s still going to be released and all the proceeds are still going to charity, but at this time, they feel like the best course is to just let this partnership fade out of the limelight for now. Let the heat die off and then we’ll start working on another solo album.”

My stomach turns at the thought of being in the studio again without Ian. It just seems wrong. The idea of going out on stage alone seems so lonely.

And I know I should be happy that the tour’s over. I was already dreading having to force myself to go out on stage with him and act like everything’s all right in front of the fans. But I’m still disappointed. There’s a part of me that wants to cry even harder for the loss of our amazing music, for those shows we’ll never get to put on. The memories that will never be made.

“Okay,” is all I say. Maybe with some distance, the solo thing won’t sound so bad. I’m not going to make any rash decisions today.

Rosa sighs and sits there in silence for a long time. I know she’s trying to find the exact right thing to say to make me perky and performance-ready again. That’s what she does. That’s all she’s ever able to focus on. But I can’t blame her obviously. It’s her job to do it.

“There’s something else,” she says hesitantly, and now I fling the blanket over my head and give her a look. Because that tone is one I know well and I know she’s going to tell me something I really don’t want to hear.

“What?”

“Well, we’re flying out tonight, but I couldn’t get us a separate plane.”

The air in my lungs turns to lead and I can’t think, let alone breathe.

“What?” I say again, parroting myself even though I heard her perfectly well. I heard her. I just don’t understand. “Why not book something commercial?” It’s not something I’d typically want to do, but if it means I get to avoid facing Ian again, I can deal with the airport madness.

Rosa shakes her head, looking at me with pity in her eyes. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. Not with all the attention you’re getting right now. Having you out in the open in public is only going to make things worse.”

“Ugh.” I bury my face in my hands and groan. “Fine.” There’s no use in fighting it. She’s right. I just have to suck it up and fly with Ian. I’ll just put my headphones in and stare out the window the whole time. Or maybe Rosa still has those sleeping pills I used on the international tour to combat jet lag. Sleeping through the whole ordeal sounds like a great idea.

Rosa gives me a sad smile and claps me on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right. I’ll be there to run interference if needed.”

“Thanks, Rosa,” I say, leaning into her as she wraps an arm around my shoulder. Rosa’s not just my manager. While I’m on the road, she’s kind of my mom too. And since she’s been with me since I was a kid, I think the feeling’s mutual. Which is why we butt heads so much I guess, but I’m always glad for her support.

We sit like that for a little while longer and then finally she rubs my arm and pulls away. “Why don’t you have a nice long shower before you pack your things. We’ve got plenty of time until we need to be at the airport, so get yourself together and prepare.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say, finally sitting up in bed. I know she’s right. At the very least, when I get on that plane, I don’t want to look as terrible as I feel right now. I don’t want Ian to know how much his betrayal affected me. Mostly because I don’t really want to admit it to myself.

I told myself I shouldn’t get involved with him. And then I told myself it was just fun. And then I told myself I liked him, but it wouldn’t last forever. And then there was nothing left to tell myself because I knew I was falling for him and I couldn’t stop myself. It was too late. And now he did exactly the thing I was so afraid he would do.

I wish I could believe him when he said it wasn’t his, but I remember all too well Eric giving me that same story. Coming out of rehab the model patient, everyone so excited and happy for his new lease on life. And then the next thing I knew, he was dead. And thinking about Ian cold and gray in a coffin is more than I can bear. If Ian wants to kill himself, he can do it without me around. I can’t go through that again.

Rosa heads out and I venture into the shower, standing under the hot stream of water long enough that I lose track of time. It’s an hour later when I’m stepping out and toweling off. It doesn’t take long for me to get dressed or pack the few things I’ve taken out of my bag—I haven’t exactly been spending much time in my room during this tour—and then there’s nothing left for me to do but flip through TV channels, trying to force myself to get interested in a show about garden makeovers to take my mind off of how much I miss Ian right now. It doesn’t really work.

Chapter 18

Ian

In all my years, I’ve had plenty of really shitty nights. I’ve had nights full of drugs and booze and strange places. I’ve had nights that bleed into weeks that all blur in my memory because I was so blasted. But nothing really holds a candle to last night. Because for the first time, I’m faced with a completely devastating loss and I can’t turn to my familiar coping mechanisms.

So the first thing I did when I got up to my room was call Serge. I had to tell him how tempted I was. How much I wanted to just drown in a bottle or take that baggie of bullshit and do something with it. But we both know that I wouldn’t be calling him if I were actually planning on doing anything like that. Calling him is my last line of defense against those demons coming back. And Serge’s is the only voice that can silence the devil in my head whispering “if you’re going to be punished, you might as well do the crime.”

But that was hours ago. Serge told me to hold strong, that things will all work out, all that uplifting crap that should make me feel better but doesn’t at all. And then I was left alone with my thoughts for the next six hours. Watching Atlanta at night out my window, knowing how easy it would be to just walk onto the street and get any damn thing I pleased in this city. But I never leave the room. I glance toward the mini-fridge more than once, but Merrill’s too smart; he always gives the hotel instructions to empty the mini-bar. And I appreciate it. Because five years of sobriety or not, I’m still weak. I’m still struggling, wishing for something to ease the all-consuming pain of losing Chelsea.

I tried to text her, tried to call her, but I’m sure she’s got her phone off. At this point, mine’s off too. Every tabloid and news outlet is running the story of my fall off the wagon and her broken heart. No one seems to give a damn about the truth or my broken heart. But I should have expected that. Junkies never get the benefit of the doubt. Guilty until proven innocent. Not that there’s ever any proof to provide. So, basically, I’m always guilty. Forever. For the rest of my miserable damn life.

So why do I care about being sober again?

There’s a harried knock on the door at about seven. The sun’s just coming up and I still haven’t slept—or even really tried—and I brace myself for the worst. It’s got to be Merrill here with the bad news. The tour’s canceled, the label’s dropping me, he’s dropping me, who knows really? I wouldn’t even be surprised if he tries to shove me back into rehab, but that just makes me angrier.