Page 40 of The Drummer

I get a rancid whiff of my shirt and shudder at the thought of how I must look and smell. “I could use a shower, though. You never really get used to puke.”

Her small laugh makes me feel lighter as well. “Not a bad idea. There’s a nice one in the extra room, but what about all the guests?”

Right. Still have to deal with that. Based on the time, I might have more success than the previous attempt.

“I think it’s late enough that we can wind this down without damaging Luke’s reputation. Be back in a minute.”

Maybe it’sthe puke on my shirt. Maybe it’s the later hour. Or maybe it’s the fact that Lou Clempson reportedly took off in a huff after our altercation. Whatever the reason, my second try at shutting things down is much more successful.

Once I quiet the DJ and close the open bar, the exodus organically begins. When I’m confident things are moving in the right direction (i.e. out), I empty the guest room of partiers and strip down to test out the weird bedroom shower.

I’ve bathed countless times in my life, sometimes in amenitiesmore absurd than this one, but this is by far the cleansing I needed most.

With the door locked and the thunder of water drowning out my thoughts, I close my eyes and let the powerful jets soothe the ache gripping my entire being. Inside and out, I feel the tension swell and melt away.

And with it, the last remaining tether on my turbulent emotions.

My eyes burn from more than shower water as I drop my forehead against the cold glass wall. Memories rush in. Some fresh and raw. Others ancient and crusted into fossilized pain.

Scene after scene mirrors tonight’s horror. Blurred faces, fuzzy timelines.

Many in vivid detail I will never escape.

Each one gets a screen in my head, blaring and crowding in until it feels like I can’t breathe.

The weight in my chest grows with each stifled trauma, until I have no choice but to let it out.

Tears blur my eyes. The sound of my choked sobs echo around me in a surround sound of buried grief.

God, I’m trying so hard. Giving every damn breath I have to survive and keep the people I love alive. And it’s still not enough. It’s never enough. I couldn’t save Elena, and now I’m watching Luke slip away right in front of me.Again!

I’m not enough for the band.

For the Label.

For the fans and the masses who expect me to be Luke, and hate that I’m not.

That’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? Trying to hold the world together while being punished over and over for the choices of someone else.

And still, I love him.Still,I come back.

I scrub a hand over my hair, gripping the wet strands as Idrive my head into the wall with slow, weak hits. A sickening beat forming the steady rhythm of my failures.

Salty drops mix with the streams of water down my cheeks. My quiet frustration mercifully drowned out.

I gasp in air, fighting to pull myself together. I don’t have a choice. I have to get back to Luke. There’s never time to worry about myself. I have to make sure…

Except, this time Callie’s there. She has him for now.

I pull in a lungful of air. Water pelts me from all sides, and I spend the next few minutes focusing on the physical sensation so my brain can relax.

The storm quiets.

The dizzying trauma reels fade.

I’m finally able to straighten from the wall and turn my face into the stream to let it cleanse me back to the man I want to be.

I rememberan entire shower too late that I didn’t bring a clean change of clothes. I came right from my previous hotel, so all I have is the small carryon I packed that was supposed to be for a quick overnight trip.

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