Page 86 of Your Echo
I hiss as another wave of pain hits me and do what he says.
“Atlas told us we’re too big of a risk,” Matt explains. “They said if we keep missing shows and deadlines, we’re not worth the trouble. We’re big, but we’re not big enough for that yet.”
“You can be honest,” I say darkly. “They meantI’mtoo big of a risk.”
I stop and swallow, focusing on the coffee table in front of me. Last night, when the pain kept me from catching more than a few minutes of sleep at a time, I spent the long hours before dawn staring up at the faded paint on the ceiling. Regret coursed through me with a burn stronger than any alcohol I’d ever tasted. I’d never felt so weak before, so fucking pathetic.
No matter how far I’ve launched myself off the deep end before, I’ve always been able to handle the fallout on my own. I’ve never needed anyone to step in and take care of me, and I never want to need it again.
I never want my friends to have to do it again, either.
“I’ll walk,” I announce, lifting my head to face the guys. “I’ll leave the band. They’ll take you back if I’m out of the picture.”
“You know that’s not true,” Cole replies. “You’re the only one they ever cared about.”
I want to argue, but there’s nothing to say. The truth of his words hangs in the air.
Matt leans forward and claps a hand on my knee. “It means a lot that you offered, though.”
We lock eyes, and I remember him offering the same thing back when Kay’s article was threatening to tear the band apart. It hits me then—really hits me—that this band means more to us than just our individual parts in it; we’d sacrifice ourselves to see it live on.
“Aren’t you guys pissed at me?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you all be cursing my ass to hell and back right now?”
“We were.” Cole thumps my shoulder, deepening the ache in my rib. “Oh trust me, we were. But then Matt told us...”
Matt gives me a guilty look. “I told them about your parents and about Stéphanie. I had to, man.”
I nod to let him know it’s okay. It was time they found out, and I’m just relieved I didn’t have to tell them all that myself.
JP clears his throat. “You should have told us sooner,mon ami. All those years we thought you were just fucking shit up for the hell of it, but you’re...You’re not okay, man. You don’t need people to be mad at you. You need people to help you.”
My first impulse is to curse him out for even suggesting it. The notion of ‘help’ goes against everything I’ve told myself I stand for, but I swallow the indignation down and nod. I’m not ready to say it out loud yet, but he’s right.
I need help.
“That’s why we want to go on hiatus,” Matt announces.
“What?” My anger flares up again. “No. No, we can’t. I’m not ruining anything else for this band. This is the worst possible time in our career for us to take a break. You said it yourself, Matt. We have momentum. We can’t—”
“Look,” Matt interrupts me, “we all know how I feel about this band, so trust that it means a lot when I say that what’s best for our career isn’t what’s important right now. What’s important is what’s best for us. For you.”
“You have a busted rib, man,” Cole continues, “and we don’t have a label. We need to regroup.”
“And you need to get a therapist,” Matt adds.
He must see the mix of panic and defiance the word triggers in me, because when he speaks again, his voice is quiet but firm.
“We don’t mean to push you into a corner, and we’d much rather it be your choice than ours, but this band isn’t taking any more steps forward until you get a real therapist. There’s no shame in it. What’s going on with you is bigger than what we can help you with. It’s bigger than what meditation or yoga or burning sticks of incense can help you with on their own. You’re hurt, and when you’re hurt you, go to a doctor. It’s as simple as that.”
“No shame,” Cole repeats.
“No Shame,” JP joins in.
I clutch my fractured rib and raise a hand to prod the bruises on my face. If I needed any proof that they’re right, it’s here: in the damage that’s been done to my body, and the looming threat that things could have been much, much worse. My parents’ desperate scramble to avoid anything close to ‘therapy’ is still a part of who I am, but I want to let go of every trace of influence they still have on me. I need to.
“Okay,” I agree, after a moment of silence.
That’s all I can manage right now, but it seems to be enough. There’s a collective exhale, and JP shifts around noisily on the beanbag.
