Page 120 of For Wrath and Redemption
I wish it was anger. I’d take that over the disappointment I see.
Claire takes my hand and shoves the pill bottle back into my palm. My fingers close around it on impulse. I don’t know if I want to whip the bottle against the wall or put it back in my pocket. I do neither. I just stand there and stare at her.
“I have a headache. I’m going back to the room. Have a good show.”
I watch her leave, and I say nothing. I don’t try to stop her. When she’s gone, I turn to José.
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
His brow furrows. “I’m sorry.”
I huff and shove past him. A familiar emotion flares in my chest. It’s comfortable. I prefer it, and I feed into it. It grows until everything else is consumed. Sadness. Dejection. Disgust. It’s all gone.
Incinerated by rage.
My body is tense when I step into the suite.
My jaw aches from clenching it through the whole concert.
I go straight to the bedroom and find Claire in bed with her laptop. When she sees me, she snaps it shut. She runs her gaze over my face, no doubt noting my mood. Her brows slant and her eyes narrow. Even before I speak, the air seems to spark between us. Frenetic energy. Unfettered chaos. It’s dangerous, but I don’t bother trying to stop it.
“You have no right to be disappointed in me.” I go for calm, but every word quakes. Simmers. Threatens to boil over. “You take the same meds. I’ve seen you do it.”
“I have a prescription from a psychiatrist. I’m not buying it from a roadie like some back-alley crack addict.”
I grit my teeth. “No. But the way you deal with your shit is so much better, isn’t it?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”
“That two-month stay at a wellness facility was for your eating disorder, wasn’t it?”
She doesn’t answer. She just glares at me with her nostrils flaring. Good. At least our emotions match now. I’m so fucking mad. I’m so angry at myself for letting her down, but she’s no better. She’s just as fucked up as I am. We’re the same. We deserve each other.
She just refuses to see it.
“It was.” I press, even though I know I shouldn’t. I know it will do nothing but harm. I do it anyway. “Just admit it. You went to rehab for an eating disorder, and now you’ve relapsed. You’re not perfect. Admit it, Claire. Admit it.”
She stands abruptly from the bed. Her fists are balled tight. Her chest is heaving. I know immediately I’ve made a mistake.
“Fine,” she shouts, and I flinch. “Fine, yes, you’re right. I spent two months going through treatment, and I’ve fucked it all up. Does that make you feel better, Jonah? Is that what you want to hear? That I’m fucked up, too?”
I shake my head as tears stream down her furious face. I feel worse. I regret everything.
“Stop.” I shake my head. “Stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
She doesn’t. She keeps going. Crying and sneering. Hateful and hurting. I did this.
“Oh no, you wanted this.” She takes two steps closer and glares up at me. “You wanted to rip me open, so you could feel better about your own shit, right? You want to hear about how I let it get so bad, I had ulcers in my throat? You want me to tell you how I permanently ruined my teeth? I had to take out a fucking loan to get them fixed because I’d emptied my entire savings and maxed out my credit card paying for rehab and hospital bills.”
She takes two more steps. Her body is vibrating. I wouldn’t be surprised if she takes a swing at me. I’d fucking deserve it. I brace myself for it, but then her face falls. Pain swallows the anger, and I feel it in my stomach. In my chest.
“See, unlike you, JonahHenderson, I had to do it all alone. I didn’t have my daddy’s money or my rock star royalties to pay for it. I didn’t have a band of people who cared about me to send me to rehab. I didn’t have anyone. No support. No encouragement. I had to pay for it myself. I had to go through it myself. And yeah, now I’ve fucked it all up. Are you happy now? Does that make you feel fucking better?”
“No.” I shake my head, blinking away my own tears. “No, it doesn’t.”
I drop to my knees in front of her, wrap my arms around her, and rest my forehead on her stomach. She stiffens, but she doesn’t push me away.
“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, Claire.” I breathe her in and hold her tighter. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just...I’m so fucking angry all the time. I’m so tired of being angry, but I don’t know how to feel anything else. Ican’t. I can’t be anything but angry.”
