Page 137 of Down Beat

This isn’t me leaving you. This is me giving you space to see what’s impossible to while I’m there.

I don’t think there’s an end to us, Rey. Maybe an indefinite pause? I don’t know. But I need you to see what I could, what I couldn’t tell you in my own words—at least not face-to-face.

I love that you say you find your solace in me, and believe me, Rey, I’m fucking honored. But I want to be by your side because I support you, not TO support you. Can you see that difference? See what I mean?

I’m going home with a heavy heart, but I know it’s the right thing to do. Finish the tour, do what they want you to, and give it a chance, okay? Maybe the break you’ll get doing rehab is what you need? Maybe it isn’t. You’ll never know if you don’t try.

All I know is that if I stay, I enable you. I give you an excuse to fall again and again, because why not when there’s somebody there to catch you, right? You said to me at the beginning, what happens when nobody’s there anymore? What happens when you fall?

To be honest, I think you’ll find that once you hit the ground you’ll be able to properly put your feet down and learn how to stand tall. Until then, you’re floating in an endless black sea while we all hold you up, never really brave enough to test your footing.

Hit the ground running, Rey. Show me what you can do.

Do it for me. And do it for yourself.

xx

“I left her a message,” Toby calls from the door.

Now that they’ve killed my soundtrack to life, the silence is painful. It reminds me how alone I am in this. The guys need me to square up and act the good boy for our ringmaster. But I don’t want that. I want to wallow in my anger, and I want somebody to tell me it’s okay to do that.

Fuck. I’ve proved kitty right. I’m searching for an enabler, somebody to justify my shitty relapse.

“Read this.” I thrust the letter at Toby. “Tell me if she’s right.”

He leans a hip against the window frame as his eyes track the lines, legs crossed at the ankle. He’s shut me out, refused to talk to me all week, but I have to hand it to him: he’s always been there for me when I need him most.

Why have I never appreciated that until now?

Kitty. She thinks that nothing changed while she was here, but it did, she just didn’t stick around long enough to see it surface.

I rest my chin on my hands and watch the telltale signs as Toby’s brow pinches, and then smooths as though he sees her point. He folds the sheet in two once he’s done, and then gently sets it on the nightstand.

I flick it to the floor; just the sight of it pisses me off.

“She has valid points, bro. You do need to learn how to do this yourself.”

Jesus—I fucking shake at the thought of tackling it alone. “Doesn’t turn out all that well though, huh?”

“Only because you don’t believe in your worth.” He sighs, running a hand through his fading hair. “This is why the family have always struggled with you,” he explains. “How many times did Mom and Dad tell you how much they love you, how cut up they’d be without you? How many times did I beg to have my brother back who’d play ball with me? How many times did Cassie sit with you when you were in a funk and make you laugh? You know why she did that?”

I meet his critical stare and shrug.

“Because she craved time with her brother. She missed you when you’d hide out in your room.”

“This doesn’t make me feel any better about myself, you know?”

“Only because you look for the negative in everything,” he cries. “I bet you’re lying there right now thinking ‘Oh, great. He’s blaming me for it all again.’”

“Pretty much.” I lift an eyebrow.

“Well don’t.” His hand connects with the back of my head, leaving a sting in its wake. “I’m explaining to you how much you mean to all of us, you douche. I’m trying to show you how much we all love you and fucking want to you stick around and annoy the shit out of us until we’re all old and gray, man.”

Hit me in the feels, why doesn’t he? “Do you get how lost I am trying to work out how to change this when it’s all I’ve known for twenty-plus years?”

He nods.

“It’s a hard habit to break, self-loathing.”

“I know. And you won’t do it in a day. But you also won’t do it if you never try.” He snatches up the letter and shakes it at me. “This should be motivation enough to get up and fucking push for it like you’re fucking Rocky Balboa.”

I chuckle at the visual of myself punching air on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. “What if I can’t do it? What if I’ll never be enough for her?”

He drags a palm over his face. “Did you read a fucking word she wrote?”

Twice.

“You’re already enough for her,” he says on his way to the door. “She wants you to be enough for yourself.”

Fuck. As if this didn’t seem hard enough already.

---