Page 154 of Down Beat

“How the fuck are you?” he asks, fingers working through his hair as they bend and flex, bend and flex.

“How am I?” I’ve got no hope of stopping the tears now. None. “Why are you asking me that, after what I did to you?” I cry.

“Hey,” he coos, leaning back. “No. Don’t, babe. Don’t do that.”

God, those eyes. This is why I’ve avoided all news of him, any pictures, any chance at seeing a video. Because one look in those eyes and I wonder how I ever had the strength to walk away to begin with.

I set the phone down on my bed and retrieve a tissue from the box on top of my dresser as I call out, “Why did you do it?”

“Use your music?”

“Yeah.” I blow my nose, ditch the used tissue in the trash, and then get another before I return.

“It was cathartic,” he says simply with a shrug. “What else could I do when you wouldn’t talk to me?”

“I read about what happened at the end of the tour.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, looking off screen. “Right fuckup, that was.”

“So why aren’t you angry at me?” I whisper. “Nothing I did helped. You aren’t any better.” I state the fact, leaving no room to argue. “I was wrong, so damn wrong.”

“What else could you have done though, right?” I catch a glimpse of the resentment I search for. “If you stayed I would have brought you down.”

“I only left because I thought it would give you reason to fight for yourself, Rey.” God, my chest hurts. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I wanted to.” He drags both hands over his face, the sound of laughter interrupting his feed—a woman’s laughter. “Every time I thought I made progress, I realized that it was all a huge fucking misunderstanding and I hadn’t gone anywhere. I guess I gave up. I figured if I couldn’t even get it right for you, then when could I ever?”

“And now?” I push aside the thoughts of where he is, who he’s with.

Rey sighs, staring at the screen for a moment before he answers. “I still get dark, kitty. I still have those thoughts. But there’s one thing stopping me from going through with it—and it’s not myself.”

“What stops you?”

His smile reaches deep inside me and pulls all the emotions attached to it out kicking and screaming. I can’t go there. I can’t fall for this man again. “You.” I never stopped falling, did I? “Why would I want to die when you’d still be here? As long as there was a chance that I’d get to do this again”—he gestures to the screen—“then I held on.”

God, this hurts.

“Nothing’s changed,” I say.

I wanted him. I wanted this so bad. But he’s proved that there was nothing I could have done. He’s accepted that this is who he is: dark and depressed. And no amount of love or light from me will ever change that.

We’re fighting to reach the same boat from two different shores. We’re struggling against ourselves, and when all is said and done, one of us will likely drown.

“I have changed,” he argues. “Jesus—if I hadn’t, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation sober.”

“But you’re still using me as your excuse, Rey. I want to hear you say that you hold on because there’s so much left of your life to live. Not mine. I want you to hold on because you see what you have to lose.”

“I can see what I’ve got to lose,” he grits out. “And I already lost it. I love you so fucking much, kitty. Give us a chance.”

He trusted me to be the one thing that could help him, and I failed. I couldn’t do it.

What makes him think now is any different?

“I gave us a chance, Rey. I gave us every chance.” The tears return, only this time when they fall it doesn’t hurt so much. It disappoints. “But you still never gave yourself one.”

“Tabby,” he pleads.

I shake my head, pushing the phone aside so I don’t have to look at him. “This isn’t about me. It never was. This has always been, and will always be, about you, Rey. And until you understand that, until you live and breathe for yourself and nobody else, then I it won’t feel right to do this. I’m sorry.”

Sorry that I ever said yes.

Sorry that I answered his call.

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