Page 1 of Rock Bottom

“Jesus Christ, it looks like a party threw up in here.” Remi, our lead guitarist, shoved his hands in his blue jean pockets and waded through the sea of discarded bottles and red Solo cups littering the floor. The other four members of After Atom followed close behind. I was probably late for another recording session, but what else was new?

If he thought it looked bad in the living room, I couldn’t wait to hear what he thought of the pool. I was pretty sure at least one person had thrown up in it last night. Or was that the night before? I couldn’t remember. The days were starting to blur together again, which was never a good sign. I just needed another drink to clear my head. I grabbed the nearest bottle that wasn’t empty and sniffed it before taking a swig.

Remi stopped right in front of me in his obnoxious hot pink custom Nikes. “Are you high too, or just drunk this time?”

“Are you gonna be a regular dick or a judgmental dick this time?” I spat back at him and lifted the bottle.

Before I could take another drink, Jake wrenched the bottle out of my grip and passed it to Gabe. “He’s worried about you, Dante. All of us are.”

Gabe sniffed the vodka and grimaced before putting it down, just out of reach.

I tipped my sunglasses down and immediately regretted it when the sun made my head throb. “I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk,” Trevor said, because of course Trevor would say that. Remi could say the sky was green and Trevor would back him up.

Remi snorted. “He’s always drunk.”

“And you’re always a dick.” I got up to retrieve the bottle, but Trevor stood in my way. “Move.”

Trevor folded his arms. “No.”

“Enough, boys.” Our manager, Sam, paced in, surveying the room with a frown. His eyes settled on an old mirror with white powder still scattered over it. “That’d better not be what I think it is.”

“What is this? Another intervention?” I plopped back down on the sofa. “So I threw a party last night. Big deal.”

“It is a big deal when you’re an addict,” Remi said.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re just pissed I didn’t invite you.” I picked up my phone, but Sam snatched it away. “Hey! I was using that.”

“And now you’re going to listen to me,” Sam said, tucking the phone into the pocket of his shirt. “Look at yourself! Do you know the kind of field day the media would have if you went out as fucked up as you are right now? God, tell me nobody was in here taking pictures. You didn’t have hookers here again? At least tell me they were women this time.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck off, Sam. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“You’re made it my business when you hired me.” He tried to haul me up to my feet, but I swatted him away.

“Hey, come on. Back off, Sam. That’s not helping.” Gabe slid between me and Sam to break up the fight that everyone knew was brewing.

Sam was a grade-A biphobic jackass one hundred percent of the time. When I was sober, I could usually just pretend it didn’t bother me, but with the hangover jackhammering against my skull, that was impossible. Last time he’d found me this hungover, he’d practically dragged me to rehab. Not because he cared about me or my health. He’d made that clear. No, all Sam cared about was his meal ticket. If I OD’d, he’d lose his golden goose.

“I just need a shower and some coffee, and I’ll be good as new,” I muttered, looking away from Sam.

“Pretty sure you need more than caffeine and soap, my friend,” Jake offered.

I glared at him. “I’m fine.”

Jake sighed and sat down on the sofa next to me. “You need help, Dante. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. We all talked and we agree.”

Sam folded his arms. “We don’t have time for this. Somebody get me some clean clothes, and run a bath. We’re due at the studio in an hour.”

“Fuck the studio.” Remi got up in Sam’s face. “Acting like nothing’s wrong is how we got here. He needs rehab, not more work.”

“Fuck rehab,” I growled.

Three stints in rehab were enough. Besides, that place was practically a prison. Maybe worse than a prison. Rehab was all pointless group sessions spent in circles trying to get us to set goals and talk about our feelings. I didn’t need goals, not when I already had everything I ever wanted. Sometimes, I wondered if that was exactly the problem.

I’d come up from nothing, literally the poorest kid I knew. I remember Christmases without electricity and stints of living with grandma while Mom worked two jobs and lived in her ancient Acura. Going from broke to billionaire in the space of a few years had really thrown me for a loop. All I needed was a little more time to adjust. I’d get my head on straight, probably faster if everyone would butt the fuck out of my life.

Jake put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m saying this as your friend, Dante. You need to get sober.”

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