《Asya》


 Act 1: Purple Hyacinth, Chapter 1

    I glued my eyes to the peaceful tan of the curtains that framed the windows. My unfocused vision blurred the bright sand with the vivid blue sea. The sound of the ocean waves crashing outside the cracked window filled my ears with zen. On the window¡¯s surface, I saw my reflection. With my short hair and healthy skin, I hardly looked like the same man I used to be. For the past few months, I¡¯ve seen the view outside this window every afternoon. While I savored the sight of the ocean, a vision that made sobriety just slightly softer, I didn¡¯t enjoy looking at how I¡¯d changed. I¡¯d become much like this rehab facility, dull and colorless and sanitized.


    The door opened and an unfamiliar woman entered, her blonde hair in a twist. I held back a cringe when I saw the peonies on her floral blouse. She took a seat at my therapist¡¯s desk, and I waited for an explanation while she studied a folder full of Dr. Bell¡¯s notes. She turned the chair so she¡®d face me completely, taking in the sight of me.


    ¡°I¡¯m Dr. Paege. Dr. Bell won¡¯t be able to see you today. He¡¯s not feeling well.¡± Her tone was stiff, and I could tell that she was nervous. I leaned back against the couch, a position I found myself most at home.


    ¡°You must be Asya, right? It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡± She smiled politely, her tone only somewhat easier after I¡¯d loosened my posture, an action I¡¯d used to hide my nervous tension. I often forgot how uncomfortable people could be around me when they knew who I was. When I relaxed, others often relaxed with me.


    ¡°I am. It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡± I gave her one of my signature easy smiles, a face I¡¯d practiced for years and one that came in handy with my line of work.


    ¡°Now, I haven¡¯t been seeing you for the past few months the way Dr. Bell has. I¡®ll start from the beginning, and he can pick up where you left off with him when he¡®s well. Is that alright?¡± She turned away and sighed gently, her eyebrows pushing together as she looked at the file before she placed it back on the desk. The visible confusion on her face only added to my uneasiness. She looked at me again when she prompted me, ¡°Now, I¡¯ve dealt with a few musicians before with¡­ Other issues¡­¡±


    Another uncomfortable smile twitched onto my face.


    She continued. ¡°Do you think the pressure of your work might have¡­¡± She appeared to struggle for words. ¡°Brought you to rely on substances to, I suppose, unwind yourself?¡± She looked back at me, the light of the summer sun in the window glinted in her silver eyes. They pried into me in a way that my usual therapist¡¯s eyes couldn¡¯t do with their warm, brown color. I made a tense smile at her. Dr. Bell was never so blunt.


    ¡°Oh, not at all.¡± I laughed gently, but my hand was creeping into my hair before I could stop it, consoling a feeling I¡¯d wanted to hide. ¡°The fame is actually one of the best parts of my job. I mean, yeah, there¡¯s stress with handling reputation and all of that stuff, but it¡¯s worse for my bandmates than it ever was for me.¡± The subject reminded me of the doors fame had opened for me, the parties and the men and all the attention. That little glow that had sparked within me faded just as quickly as it started when I thought of the one door it would never open for me. I shook the thought from my head. ¡°Now, if I were Absinthe, I¡¯d probably blame the fame.¡± I redirected, thinking about my friend instead. It was odd she¡¯d lasted so long in our band. I always feared that she¡¯d bail at the first hint of attention.


    Dr. Paege frowned, scribbling something into her own notebook.


    ¡°Now, we¡¯re not here to talk about your friend, Asya. Let¡¯s stay focused.¡± She reminded me, clicking her pen in a way that seemed habitual. I frowned. Dr. Bell usually welcomed my digressions.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I gave her an apologetic smile as false as the last she¡¯d gotten from me.


    ¡°Although¡­¡± She pursed her lips, plotting, ¡°Tell me, what are your relationships with Absinthe and your other bandmates? Is there a lot of strain or pressure?¡± Her penetrating eyes crept under my skin again, making me feel exposed.


    ¡°Well, Absinthe and I were close,¡± I spoke absently as my gaze drifted out toward the ocean again, trying to ignore her persistent scribbling. ¡°Digitalis just joined the band to get famous.¡± I scowled, ¡°She puts a lot of stress on everyone, but she¡¯s a good musician. And Gael...¡± I stopped. Gael. The thought of him awoke something deep down, a myriad of different feelings. Briefly, I wondered if he was happier that I was in here, separated from him. A cold and slimy feeling slithered about my heart. It riddled me with regret and self-loathing and the long-lasting fear that he¡¯d disappear from my life because of the things I¡¯ve put him through.


    ¡°You¡¯ve paused. Is there something about Gael that caught your mind?¡± She leaned forward a little, an inquisitive look on her face.


    My eyes snapped off of the window to meet hers, the silver of them piercing into me like a bullet, shaking me back into the present.


    ¡°Gael¡­¡± I looked back to the sea, to escape the uncomfortable way she looked at me. ¡°I love him.¡± When the words left my mouth, I nearly shuddered. After all these years I¡¯d kept it inside, speaking of it aloud felt like a bolt of electricity ran through my chest. Her pen scratched at the paper, maddeningly. I could see her small smile from the corner of my eye. Why she was so pleased, I could only guess.


    ¡°Were the two of you involved?¡± she asked, her voice as flat as it was with every other question. I felt like I was talking to an insensitive robot.


    ¡°No! He¡¯d never¡­¡± I sighed. I wanted to say he¡¯d never love me back, but putting it into words was more than I could handle at the moment. ¡°I... I kissed him once, but I don¡¯t think he knows that I love him. I mean... I doubt he thought of it that way.¡± Her legs uncrossed and she wrote faster, reminiscent of an invasive reporter.


    ¡°Tell me about this kiss. Why do you think he didn¡¯t get the hint when you kissed him?¡±


    I closed my eyes and let my mind sink into the mind of a twenty-year-old me to recount my story to her. 2 years ago...


    ***


    Gael had just announced that he was leaving the band. There was a shudder of soft gasps from the three of us as he looked down at us all from where he stood at the end of the table, framed by the doorway behind him. Gael¡¯s cold, blue gaze revealed nothing, no matter how I tried to claw my way past its guard to read his thoughts. Absinthe sat frozen beside me, silent and listening. Digitalis shot up from her chair across from mine, her red hair flying up with her, her eyes burning with rage. If I hadn¡¯t expected it, her movement might have made me jump.


    ¡°How dare you!? Without any warning? You¡¯re just going to leave!?¡± Her voice only became increasingly frantic, her face adopting a touch of rose as blood rushed into it to feed her anger. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re trying to ruin my chance at fame! You fucking bastard! I can¡¯t believe you¡¯d be so selfish, to bring me- All of us down with this decision! What are you even going to do without us!?¡±


    Gael turned to her, raising his hand in her direction, calm. Absinthe and I sat quietly in the tension that Digitalis exuded, and I watched her with refreshed resentment.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry so much. You have the talent to carry this band. Besides, if I¡¯m not around, you won¡¯t have anyone to share the spotlight with. I thought that you of all people would think my leaving was the best choice possible for the band right now.¡±


    His words flowed like honey. I could never call him manipulative, but with Digitalis he had to be. Her eyes went wide and the rose of her anger left her face. A smile twitched at the corner of her scarlet mouth before she slowly sat back down.


    ¡°Yeah...¡± She muttered. ¡°You¡¯re right... This is great!¡± She was smiling with an unhinged kind of happiness, now, squirming a little in her chair. If we didn¡¯t already know her well, the speed of her mood change might have seemed sudden. Gael¡¯s eyes rolled before he looked to Absinthe and I. My heart was still falling with that wrenching pulling feeling inside my chest from when he first made the announcement. I couldn¡¯t think of a life without Gael, and I couldn¡¯t imagine the band without him either. He almost ran it alone, with some help from the label and the songs I wrote with him.


    ¡°Why are you going to quit, Gael?¡± I asked, trying not to sound like I would cry. I wondered fleetingly if he could tell. At least my voice didn¡¯t crack... much. I only asked, though, to know what his official explanation would be. I glared at Digitalis, still celebrating in her chair. I knew what the real reason was.


    ***


    It was another party, another night. There was a drink in my hand and I was dizzier than a kid fresh off of a roller coaster with a sugar rush. I stumbled among strangers, laughter on my face with my eyes rolling aimlessly about, drifting from one sight to the next with no focus left. It was one of a billion wild parties in my life, a personal happy place that felt comfortable as long as there were drinks. I held a light plastic cup, empty. In my other hand, I held a large bottle, only partly empty. I took a long, needy drink from the bottle. I was so drunk by now, it hardly mattered what it was in it. It slid down my throat as easily as a cold drink of water after a desert hike. The taste of alcohol lost more of its sharpness with each swallow.


    I collapsed into the bathroom, a man laughing in my ear as he tumbled behind me. We climbed up each other until we were both leaning up on the counter. I watched with a feeling of general euphoria, giggling at nothing, while he struggled to arrange a few lines of white powder on the marble.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ***


    The therapist interrupted, bringing me back to the room full of beachy sunlight. ¡°Is this the first time you did cocaine?¡±


    I nodded as she took a note.


    ¡°But not the first time you got drunk, right?¡± She muttered, still facing her notebook, and I turned the sigh in my mouth into a manufactured laugh.


    ¡°About the millionth time for that.¡± I wanted to laugh at my lame joke, but the frown on her face killed the growing smirk on my lips before I could finish making it.


    ***


    The grating feeling of the blow flying up my nose was strange when I was drunk compared to how it had felt when I tried it sober later on. I¡¯d leaned back against the counter, holding my nose, dizzy as I waited for the hit. The way it felt when it finally did was unforgettable, the rush of pure euphoria leaving me feeling as though I could do anything. The rest of that night disappeared into a blur, and it surprised me I remembered that much. I blamed the stories I¡¯d heard later on for the clarity of my memory. Absinthe knew the most about it all, sharing the tales of that night with a disappointment that would always fill me with shame.


    I stumbled into the hotel later that night, crashing into Absinthe¡¯s room where I¡¯d spotted her talking to Gael. My first taste of cocaine had encouraged me to drink even more, and I felt invincible. I¡¯d slurred words and thoughts at Gael, but not a single one of us had any idea what I was saying. He and Absinthe had looked up at me, both expressing in their own ways shock that faded into disappointment. I called him beautiful as well as my mouth could utter it before I collapsed against him, my lips mashing against his in the sloppiest kiss he¡¯d ever have. Gael pushed me off, and I didn¡¯t feel the impact when I hit the ground. He stood over me, his black curls a mess around his face as his eyes pierced into me, angry and a little daunted. His hands shook at his sides until they turned into fists and he sucked in a breath to regain his composure.


    ¡°Absinthe...¡± His voice shook slightly. ¡°When Asya wakes up and you¡¯re sure he¡¯s sober enough to remember it, tell him to fucking grow up.¡±


    Then he walked out of the room, visibly shaken, while I laughed at Absinthe¡¯s name as though I¡¯d heard it for the first time.


    There¡¯s a gap between that and when I was in the bathroom, Absinthe¡¯s hands in my hair as I vomited half a bottle of tequila into the toilet. She didn¡¯t leave my side all night.


    I woke the next morning, my head splitting in half with pain, my stomach still lurching. My cheek was red from being pressed against porcelain and it relieved me to learn that someone lay me to rest in the bathtub when I saw all the vomit on me. My whole body was sore from the hard tub and I tried to sit up. Absinthe roused from where she was curled up with her head in her arms on the toilet lid. Her tired eyes regarded me and then she slowly stood, looking about as sore as I felt as she stretched.


    ¡°Oh, Asya... You¡¯re a mess...¡± She looked down at me with such a face that I could only imagine how pathetic I must have looked. She reached for the shower head and then suddenly I was freezing all over, the cold water making me jerk until I bashed my arm against the tub. She hosed off the vomit and whatever else dirtied me as the water slowly warmed, my arms failing to shield me with their frustratingly sluggish movements. Some alcohol must have remained inside me.


    ¡°You probably got alcohol poisoning, you idiot,¡± she lectured. ¡°You could have died, you know.¡± I didn¡¯t care. It was only when she¡¯d told me about what I¡¯d done that I cared at all what went on the night before. I held my head in my hands, the water rushing through my hair, navy back then, as she rinsed out the filth that had remained. Even if I barely remembered the night before, I regretted it all.


    ***


    The sound of crashing waves pulled me back, replacing the dirty hotel bathroom with the radiance of tropical sunshine.


    When my mind returned to the therapy session, it vexed me to see that Dr. Paege was looking at her phone. She noticed my glance and set it on the desk, prompting me to speak with only a look.


    ¡°I had to take responsibility for the band when Gael left. I mean, I helped him run it before he quit, but suddenly I had to take the brunt of the work on my own. We were working with a label at the time, so thankfully I had a manager to help me, but it was still rough. I had to write the songs all on my own. Absinthe wasn¡¯t the creative type and Digitalis¡­ Well¡­¡± I cringed when I thought of the songs she wrote. ¡°At first, she wanted nothing to do with any of that. Parties and scandals were all she was interested in.¡± I stared at the ceiling, now, willfully ignoring the therapist at this point.


    ¡°And how did this affect your drinking? And the cocaine problem I assume followed your eventful night at that party?¡±


    I glared harder at the ceiling. I wondered if she knew anything about the subject, thinking the cocaine addiction started in a single night¡­


    ¡°Well, I stopped day-drinking so much. I had to take responsibility. It was hard to ignore the urge to drink all day. I tried to save all of my partying for the evenings and all of that, but¡­ It didn¡¯t work. I drank less, but I honestly couldn¡¯t get through a day focused without carrying around some spiked coffee or tea. And god¡­ Spiked tea¡­¡± I sighed at the thought, how wonderful it tasted.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not be tempted, now. You¡¯ve been clean for months, Asya.¡± She lectured, tapping her notebook with her pen in that neurotic way.


    I kept my eyes away from her. I didn¡¯t need to see that look she was probably making.


    ¡°Your addiction at this time had already taken significant control, hadn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It had.¡± I agreed. It was obvious, now, even if I¡¯d denied it in the beginning.


    ¡°What about your cocaine addiction? How did that progress? You had it at the party, but then¡­¡± She left her sentence open-ended, making it difficult not to finish it for her. I wanted to resist the urge as revenge for her tactless questions. I thought of what Dr. Bell would want me to do instead, and I finished her sentence.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t take it a lot at first. I went to a couple more parties, had it a couple more times, and then I wanted it more. It made me into more than just a lifeless shell. There were a few times¡­¡± I stopped, ashamed.


    ¡°Go on, Asya.¡±


    ¡°There were a few times I did it while I wrote songs. Or before I went to the studio. And¡­ at a few concerts, too. But, I mean, I was already used to going to concerts buzzed, so that wasn¡¯t a huge step down for me.¡± The echoes of the old darkness that had lived inside of me were a distraction from the shame that I felt now. She squirmed in her chair before scribbling notes down. I wondered if it frustrated her that I wasn¡¯t making eye contact with her.


    ¡°I¡¯m appalled you made it as far as you did without intervention.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ Absinthe helped me through a lot during that part of my life. She tried so hard to keep my addictions from controlling me. She took some of my spiked drinks away during work hours, coaxed me away from a few parties, and made me spend a few sober nights with her. I mean, it didn¡¯t stop me from continuing my shit, but it slowed me down a little. If I messed it up sooner than I did, I¡¯d probably be nothing more than a washed up memory to my fans.¡± I closed my eyes, releasing tension with a sigh. ¡°But she slowed me down¡­ So here I am: ¡®on vacation.¡¯¡±


    I remembered the endorsement deal that Absinthe took with me during that time without Gael, how it had stolen spare time I¡¯d have just filled with drugs and alcohol.


    ¡°Do you really believe she slowed it down that much?¡±


    My lip twitched at the judgment in her tone, but I considered her words. ¡°I suppose it didn¡¯t help a lot, but¡­¡± I stopped. I didn¡¯t want to be argumentative. I started over, ¡°Maybe not as much as I thought, but she helped me¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± She scribbled more into her notebook. I resented the tone of her voice a little.


    ¡°The year after that was even worse.¡±


    ¡°What made you fall so hard that year?¡± She asked lazily.


    ¡°Well, I mean¡­¡± I thought for a moment. I still suffered from the emptiness and loneliness that manifested back then. Those emotions threatened to consume me and I couldn¡¯t feel anything much at all without my unhealthy habits.


    I continued, ¡°After Gael left, I¡­ There was a loneliness I¡¯d never known. I rarely felt it when I was drunk or high, so I¡­ Kept burying it away.¡±


    ¡°Why was Gael so important that you couldn¡¯t let him go?¡±


    I thought for a moment, folding my hands together as though I could cage the answer within them.


    ¡°Gael is more than just someone I love.¡± I began, imagining him with a faint smile of nostalgia. ¡°He¡¯s the entire reason I am who I am. I wouldn¡¯t have become a musician without him. He¡¯s just¡­ He¡¯s been my entire world. Since the beginning.¡±


    ¡°Since the beginning? How long have you known each other?¡± I could hear her weight shifting forward in her chair, the sound of her shoes flattening against the ground. She was leaning forward, engaged. I ignored my irritation. She only seemed interested in stories that could make good gossip.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been neighbors since birth. He¡¯s been my world for my entire life. Well¡­ Maybe not my whole life, but¡­ At least since I was ten.¡±


    The sound of a screaming violin echoed in my mind, and it wasn¡¯t long before the evening he dazzled me was as real as the present.


    ***


    There was the sensation of a tightened tie around my throat, as well as the restraint of an ill-fitted suit. I squirmed beside my father, displeased, crossing my arms and glowering so he would know how unhappy I was. In my ears played just another awful song, performed by some kid I didn¡¯t know, making frantic sounds I ignored with every willful fiber of my being. I exhaled loudly and pushed my back into my chair harder, covering my ears. My dad pulled my hand from my ear, glaring at me with a silent threat that put a jolt through me. I huffed and sat straight, obedient despite my displeasure.


    Then, Gael got on stage.


    He was in a suit, too, but he didn¡¯t seem to feel as uncomfortable as I did in mine. His hair swept around the paleness of his face in contrasting dark curls, catching my eye. He looked so different up there than he did when we played together in the streets of our suburb. I remembered the relief of seeing a familiar face, pointing at him to show my mother he¡¯d come on. She shushed me and lowered my hand with a gentle touch, but she couldn¡¯t kill the giddy fluttering that burst within me.


    Gael raised his violin to his chin, his expression cast as a mask of calm. I¡¯d never seen him with a violin before. His father never allowed him to have friends in the house during the hours that he¡¯d practice each night. I wiggled in my seat, my heart filling up with anticipation. I hoped that he wouldn¡¯t screech and hurt my ears as the previous contenders had.


    The notes rang through the hall: smooth and perfect and flowing like silk in a gently moving stream. The excitement that had invaded me before was relaxing into frozen awe. The song was over before I was ready for it to end. He bowed and walked offstage, every movement perfectly rehearsed, but natural in appearance.


    I wanted to do that. I wanted to play music just like him, to sound so beautiful and to make others feel the way he made me feel. I thought Gael was amazing, like a hero. I sat between my parents, neither of which could look up from their phones, and I looked to the stage where he¡¯d disappeared. Gael became the first person that I¡¯d ever truly admire.


    ***


    I sighed, and the sea outside the window answered me with a crash.

 Chapter 2

    ¡°We used to hang out and play together a lot before that but¡­ After I saw him play, I just¡­ I couldn¡¯t get enough time with him. My mom convinced Gael¡¯s parents to let me go to his practices from time to time. She thought it was so cool that I was interested in music like that.¡± I pursed my lips when I remembered the way my mother reacted. ¡°I mean, she probably just wanted another thing to show off with, but it felt nice to hear something encouraging. We finally convinced dad to get me drum lessons by the time I turned eleven. It took months to get him to think it might be worth it.¡±


    ¡°So your feelings for Gael started out as admiration, not love?¡± She observed, her voice flat and routine now that I¡¯d deviated to talking about my parents. I bit the inside of my lip, frustrated by her fickle interest.


    ¡°Yes.¡± I couldn¡¯t imagine my affections starting any other way.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised that you started with drums¡­ Don¡¯t you play a bass in your band?¡± She started clicking her pen again, the incessant noise collecting in my ears like unwanted rainwater in a bucket.


    ¡°Yeah. I learned bass later on.¡±


    ¡°What inspired you to change to the bass?¡±


    I smiled at the memories that woke. ¡°I was thirteen and I had a crush on this bassist, right¡­¡±


    ***


    My bedroom is full of posters of Cyrus Blake, one of my first crushes, holding his bass. He wore a vest and his black hair tumbled down his shoulders, creating an image that managed to be both provocative and cool at the same time. A dreamy sigh escaped my lips. He¡¯s so sexy.


    I sat against my bedroom wall on my bed, my cheek pressed against the image of him while I held my new bass in my hands. I plucked at the strings, but the instrument didn¡¯t make pretty sounds. There was a smile on my face, dreaming about how cool it would be when I finally mastered the instrument as Cyrus did. I remembered the concert video I¡¯d watched the other night when my parents went to sleep, how the sweat rolled down his bare chest, his hands perfectly plucking and sliding across the strings. While it was shocking at first, I quickly grew comfortable with the arousal that I felt just by looking at him. I remember biting my lips as he tossed his sweat-dampened hair. I was starting to grow mine out, to be just like him. I had to stop thinking about it, now. I didn¡¯t want to be aroused in front of Gael. He walked into the room and I lifted my head. He had that curious look he got sometimes, his thin eyebrows furrowing a bit when he looked at my new bass. I jumped from the bed with a giddy smile and thrust it towards him.


    ¡°Look what my dad got me! I can¡¯t wait to learn how to play it! I want to be just as good as Cyrus¡­¡±


    I looked back up at my posters, giving myself just one more moment to sigh at Cyrus¡¯ beauty. Gael gave me an amused smile, gently taking the instrument by the neck. I let it go and he sat down with it on my bed, encouraging me to sit beside him without so much as a glance. I initially felt nervous that he¡¯d break it, but there was relief when I noticed how confidently he tested the instrument.


    ¡°When did you learn the bass?¡± I asked. He knew so many instruments now, it was hard to keep track.


    ¡°Last year. I wanted to get back at my dad. He found sheet music for a rock song in my room and had a meltdown, so I asked my tutor to show me between my violin and piano lessons.¡± Gael laughed gently. ¡°Dad was livid when he found out.¡±


    I joined in his laughter, imagining his father¡¯s face when he discovered Gael¡¯s skill. My parents could be strange about my hobbies, but Gael¡¯s father would rather die than see his son play ¡®unrefined¡¯ music. He wanted his son to play classical music but compromised when his son was offered a seat on the Kampton Symphony, a rock orchestra, as their youngest member. He thought it would open doors to a ¡®real symphony¡¯ in the future.


    I remembered the muffled sound of his parent¡¯s argument when Gael¡¯s contract with the symphony expired last month. His mother didn¡¯t want to force him to renew it, but his father wanted to push him as hard as he could to be the musician he wanted his son to be. Gael never got to have a say, so we usually hid in his room when his parents were at it.


    Finally, I noticed the music that he made, dragging me back into the moment.


    ¡°You¡¯re pretty good,¡± I observed. Gael smiled again, a subtle and refined kind of smile. His eyes, though, were always as cold as a winter storm.


    When I realized that I¡¯d been staring at him, I tore my eyes away. Gael looked up from the bass and my face, unexpectedly, felt hot.


    ¡°I could teach you to play, you know. You already know how to read music, so it shouldn¡¯t be too hard.¡± He handed it back to me, already placing my fingers on certain strings. There was an odd tingling where he touched my hands. ¡°You¡¯ll hold it like this, to start. I¡¯ve got your fingers positioned for a pretty common chord.¡± I tilted my hand to look at my fingers and he let me, even though I could tell it frustrated him that I couldn¡¯t just feel the note the way he could. I took a deep breath, draining the heat from my face, and I opened my mind to learn.


    A few hours a week, Gael returned to my room to teach me bass. My mind kept returning to those moments. I recalled Gael¡¯s hands on mine while he taught me my first set of notes. His calm voice soothed me when he instructed me on how to move my hands. I took note of the way his curls slid across his forehead when he nodded in approval, and the clearness of his eyes as he focused on my finger placements. The way he looked at me stirred something within me. I saw things about him I didn¡¯t see before. I made the excuse to look over some sheet music with him, resting the bass over my lap to hide the evidence of a dirty thought. I experienced a strange feeling, then: Shock mixed with disgust. How could I become aroused by my best friend? It seemed immoral to even imagine blurring the lines we¡®d drawn over the years.


    While his parents kept him in his room for lessons, I often practiced alone. I¡¯d learn new notes for the songs I¡¯d write, many full of feelings I didn¡¯t yet understand. They became secret vulnerabilities that I hid beneath my mattress. When I wasn¡¯t poring myself out in the rows of black dots, I was leaning on the wall beneath my window, listening to Gael¡¯s practices.


    His father was always giving him new challenges to conquer. It seemed that every day, he was studying a new musical instrument or genre, so long as it appealed to his father¡¯s tastes. Once in a while, he¡¯d pick up a skill on his own. Gael learned the mandolin at some point, as his father thought it would divert his interest in rock music to inspire interest in classical Asian music. For a few weeks, I could hear opera soaring out of Gael¡¯s room. I couldn¡¯t be sure if Gael was listening to placate his father or out of genuine interest. It was always hard to tell. He loved such a variety of music.


    Those days, it was like Gael had become my world. When he was with me, he had my full attention. When he was away, my mind had gone with him. I spread the sheet music I¡¯d written in front of me. I pulled my legs to my chest, staring at the crescent of white papers. Every word, every note, was written in tribute to Gael. I pushed the music beneath my bed. I wouldn¡¯t believe that I felt anything more than mere admiration for him. I bit my lip and buried my forehead into my knees. The opera music invaded my ears. I wouldn¡¯t believe that I loved him.


    ***


    ¡°So you felt that your feelings for Gael were wrong.¡± Dr. Paege noted aloud.


    ¡°I mean, back then he was nothing more than a friend. Suddenly, I had fantasies about him. It was hard to admit that I had a crush on him. I denied it for years.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ***


    Opera music floated into my bedroom, my window wide open so I could catch the notes that came on the summer breeze with the scent of my mother¡¯s garden. Absinthe and I were playing a fighting game on my small TV, and she always destroyed me with combo moves I could never perform myself. She made it look easy, but when I picked up the controller, the buttons didn¡¯t obey. Today was even worse.


    I woke up that morning to a bed wet from the aftermath of a dirty dream. The dream wasn¡®t my first, but this one disturbed me. I dreamed that Gael was on top of me, kissing me and whispering things into my ear. When his hand slid down from my hip, I woke with a jolt, staring forward into the darkness with eyes full of horror and shock. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Ashamed, I¡¯d held my head in my hands. At school, I learned that confusing dreams were just one of many products of puberty. Was that one of them?


    The sight of my character, bloodied at Absinthe¡¯s hand, brought me back.


    ¡°You really blow at this today.¡± Absinthe commented.


    Her fingers effortlessly pushed the buttons of her controller, kicking my virtual ass.


    ¡°I know. I¡­ I have a lot on my mind. But I don¡¯t know¡­¡± I pressed three buttons at once, a desperate attempt to copy the combo she used on me. The button presses looked the same as when she did it, but my character just flailed stupidly on the screen. Her character lifted mine overhead, snapping his spine over her knee. I stared blankly at the screen, too used to losing to feel raw about it.


    Absinthe set her controller down and took mine from my hands. I met her eyes, strikingly green against the brown of her hair and skin.


    ¡°Tell me what¡¯s on your mind. I¡¯ll listen,¡± She said, facing me completely to give me her full attention. I looked down at my lap, ashamed.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know how to explain it¡­¡± I couldn¡¯t meet her eyes. What would she think if I told her I¡¯d had a dream about Gael? Wouldn¡¯t she think I was weird?


    ¡°Try your best. I have all night,¡± Absinthe said, relaxing back on the palms of her hands and prodding me with her feet. The more comfortable she looked, the wilder the butterflies in my stomach became.


    ¡°I, uh¡­ I had a dream last night. Gael was in it.¡±


    ¡°You and Gael are in my dreams all the time, Asya. What¡¯s wrong with that?¡± She cocked her head to the side slightly.


    ¡°No, no¡­ It was¡­ It was like a¡­¡± I floundered for the words, my face growing impossibly hotter as the truth formed on my tongue. ¡°A dirty dream.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± She was quiet for a moment and I could feel the judgment coming. Shame flooded my body like a chemical. ¡°Well, you already knew you were into guys. What¡¯s wrong with having a dream about Gael? He¡¯s attractive.¡±


    My eyes snapped up to meet hers, astonished. ¡°But he¡¯s my best friend! That¡¯s so weird¡­¡± I held myself, avoiding her gaze again. Absinthe touched my shoulder, and I became more aware of my tension.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean that you can¡¯t become attracted to him. Maybe you¡¯re having feelings for him.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s so¡­¡± I shuddered. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Absinthe.¡±


    ¡°Well, if it was just one dream, it might be a fluke.¡± She shrugged.


    ¡°Well¡­ That¡¯s true, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But what?¡±


    ¡°Well. He uh¡­ When I¡­ You know¡­¡±


    Her eyes narrowed at my scrambling. ¡°When you what?¡±


    My legs squeezed together, and I buried my face in my knees.


    ¡°When I uh¡­ Touch myself.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Her tone is strangely comfortable, as if I¡¯d revealed the answer to a math problem instead of a personal secret.


    I continue, ¡°He pops into my head and¡­ It shocks me, but strangely it works to fantasize about him. Then it feels wrong again when I finish¡­¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be odd if you like him.¡±


    My chest pounded like it was preparing to explode


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe he looks like Cyrus, a little...¡± The excuse fell flat the moment it hit the air. Absinthe huffed in frustration as she disappeared from my sight, sitting behind my leg barrier again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t agree, Asya. You haven¡¯t gushed over him lately. I think your crush on Cyrus died weeks ago.¡±


    Again, I imagined Gael¡¯s hands on the bass. The look Gael made when he concentrated had power. Cyrus¡¯ sexy bedroom eyes, however, had grown dull.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°No¡­ I can¡¯t like Gael. I can¡¯t.¡± I muttered into my jeans.


    Absinthe sighed. ¡°There¡¯s no reason to be embarrassed. It¡¯s okay.¡± She placed a hand on my knee.


    ¡°Please, Absinthe¡­¡± I started, ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone¡­¡± I pleaded softly from within the cage I¡¯d made out of my body. Her hand slid away from me, the comforting warmth of it disappeared.


    ¡°I promise. This secret will stay between us.¡±


    ***


    ¡°So you were in denial, then.¡± Dr. Paege parroted.


    ¡°I kept trying to bury it down. I focused on my bass playing and I taught Absinthe how to play the drums. She was an excuse to spend less time with Gael when the feelings got too overwhelming. For two years, I failed to accept my feelings.¡± I laughed in hindsight, at how pointless the struggle seemed.


    ¡°You never once told Gael about this?¡± She prodded.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°So instead of facing these problems as they manifested, you buried them underneath distractions?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°You never resolved these issues?¡± Judgment loaded her gaze.


    ¡°No.¡± I flicked my gaze away, hiding the shame with a pathetic curve of my lips.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± She wrote something down, leaving me to wither in a moment of sober silence.


    ¡°So,¡± Her voice changed, suddenly fresh, ¡°Did you ever think to use music as a coping mechanism?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes. I spent a lot of time practicing by myself, but I enjoyed it the most when I played with Gael and Absinthe.¡±


    ¡°Was it easier to deny your feelings, when you spent time with him this way?¡±


    ¡°I mean, obviously that shoved them into my face. Whenever I saw him, my heart would flutter and fantasies filled my head. It became impossible to push them aside.¡±


    ¡°Do you remember when you finally admitted your feelings for Gael to yourself?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I was fifteen, just before we started the band¡­¡±


    ***


    Absinthe, Gael, and I were at Gael¡¯s house, in the music room that his parents made. Chunks of acoustic foam, instruments and pieces of equipment dotted the walls. A line of instructional posters rimmed the ceiling. More equipment was on a large storage shelf to one side, beneath a photo of Gael with the Kampton Symphony as a child. We came here more often in the past year when his parents divorced. Gael¡¯s father wasn¡¯t around to stop his mom from having us over.


    She loved to be around during practice, bringing snacks and gushing over our music whenever she ¡®accidentally¡¯ happened by. A month earlier, she learned about our aspirations to make it in the music industry. The news thrilled her. She¡®d insisted that we play in the music room. Seeing her excitement stirred jealousy within me. The pure joy she radiated was more than my selfish, ambitious mother ever could.


    Gael was a little off after the divorce, but he confessed that it wasn¡¯t all bad. His father couldn¡¯t stand in the way of his dreams anymore. Before every practice, he smiled so sweetly that I always felt warmth in his presence. Now that he was free, Gael was alight.


    For months, we enjoyed a blissful summer, experimenting with our music.


    One day, everything changed. Gael strummed his guitar while we set up our equipment, looking up at us from time to time. He wanted to say something, but curiously, he waited. After we set up and got into position to play, he walked to the microphone, taking it gently into his hand.


    ¡°I think we should start a real band together.¡± He spoke casually, stealing our attention away from our instruments.


    There was a brief silence.


    ¡°YEAH!¡± I shouted, pumping my fist into the air. Old fantasies of bright stage lights came back to life inside of me. Absinthe stared hesitantly at her drumsticks, stunting the excitement.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± She muttered.


    ¡°Please, Absinthe! It¡¯ll be so cool!¡± I begged.


    ¡°You¡¯re good with the drums, Abby. Imagine all the girls that¡¯ll like you.¡±


    She blushed.


    ¡°But it¡¯ll be so embarrassing¡­¡± She insisted, but a small smile betrayed the hesitance in her demeanor.


    ¡°You¡¯re skilled and attractive,¡± Gael started.


    ¡°And you make this cool, brooding face when you play. I can imagine the fans whispering about how cool you are.¡± I added.


    ¡°Imagine showing off that drumstick trick you do, all the girls squealing about how amazing you are,¡± Gael spoke with intensity. He knew where to strike.


    She covered her face with her drumsticks, shaking her head, but that strange grin remained on her face.


    ¡°Okay, okay¡­ But if the band gets too big, I¡¯ll quit,¡± she said.


    Gael and I both grinned, sharing a victorious glance with each other.


    ¡°You¡¯re the best!¡± I ran around her drum set to hug her.


    Gael¡¯s serious face was back when the hug ended. He picked up sheet music from the letter-box by the door.


    ¡°Let¡¯s play a song I wrote the other day.¡±


    My hands quivered as we got into our positions. For the first time, we played as a real band.


    ***


    For a few weeks, Gael went on about how the group needed a fourth member, mumbling about musical variety and dynamics. Resourceful as he was, it took no time to fill the space.


    Digitalis entered the music room, her red hair flowing down her shoulder on one side, the other shaved in a way that shouldn¡¯t have looked so elegant. When we picked up our instruments, my palms sweated. We¡¯d never played in front of anyone, except for Gael¡®s mom. To make matters worse, Gael was the only one familiar with Digitalis. He¡¯d known her from talent shows they attended in their childhood. Her singing voice got her national recognition as a child star. Knowing only those things, her presence daunted me. Unlike me, she¡¯d proven her talent.


    We played Gael¡¯s song, which we¡¯d practiced for the past few weeks. The song used to sound off, but when Digitalis played the rhythm guitar and sang with Gael, the holes filled in. The song had become so amazing. My insecurities faded and I couldn¡¯t wait to get up on stage.


    Halfway through the song, Gael¡¯s vocal solo started. With the second guitar, the solo had transformed.


    It hit me all at once: the sound of his voice and the way his hair swayed as he danced by the microphone. Gael played perfectly, even while he sang. The experience transformed me, and the crush I¡¯d denied until now exploded within me. The shapes his lips made when he formed each word captivated me. I couldn¡¯t help but imagine them against mine. Worse still, exploring further...


    I struggled to focus, to keep my eyes off of him. It was impossible. Still, there was more than raw lust. At that moment, I fell in love with him.


    When the song ended, the room buzzed with excitement. The song was amazing, but I couldn¡®t celebrate it.


    During the buzz, I slipped away to the bathroom. I needed solitude. I was sure I¡¯d fallen for Gael.


    ***

 Chapter 3

    ¡°Did it still feel wrong to you, that you were in love with your friend?¡± Dr. Paege asked.


    ¡°Honestly¡­ Once that moment hit, loving Gael was as natural as it was to breathe and play my bass. I knew I loved him.¡± I breathed, reliving the intensity of the memory.


    ¡°So when you avoided facing these feelings, it didn¡¯t help to keep you from facing them did it?¡± She tapped her notebook, the pen hopping in front of that garish shirt.


    ¡°No. Not at all.¡±


    ¡°How did it feel to finally face your affection for Gael?¡±


    ¡°Like a weight, lifted from my shoulders. It was liberating, for a while.¡±


    ¡°For a while?¡± She raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°After I accepted my feelings for him, I realized that he might not reciprocate them. I told Absinthe about it, and she was completely unsurprised.¡± A smirk flashed across my face, remembering Absinthe¡¯s aggravating insightfulness. The expression faded. The cold of loneliness reminded me of the old fear that still haunted me.


    ¡°I was still too afraid to bring it up with Gael,¡± I admitted. ¡°I thought it might ruin everything if I tried. Not just my chances of having a romantic relationship, but the band and our friendship, too.¡± The old fear crept under my skin. If Gael knew, wouldn¡®t he abandon me?


    ¡°So, after you had this realization, how did it affect your relationship with Gael?¡±


    ¡°I suppose there was so much going on¡­ When I accepted my feelings for him, we were starting out as a new band. You know, playing wherever and whenever we could to get attention. I was awkward with him for a while, but I put my feelings away when the band got attention. Within the next year, we got a contract because of Gael and Digitalis¡¯ childhood stardom. There wasn¡¯t much to life outside the band. Every waking moment, we worked on our music and our image. My relationship with the band, and Gael, was changing. I didn¡®t have time to confront my complicated feelings. The world just melted into the background.¡±


    ¡°So your crush didn¡®t distract you at all?¡± Dr. Paege raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°I mean, I still had trouble concentrating when he was around. It¡¯s just that band work was a good way to vent those feelings without handling them.¡±


    ¡°I don¡®t agree that the band was enough of a distraction for you.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Even just a little research about you reveals that you¡¯ve been an avid partygoer since you were sixteen.¡± She had a smug look to her as though she¡¯d cornered me. ¡°Do you think those bottled up feelings for Gael encouraged this behavior?¡±


    I narrowed my eyes at her, ¡°I¡¯d always thought parties were a staple of a rockstar lifestyle. When I drank, I was trying to live up to the image of a rockstar that I envisioned.¡±


    ¡°I want to talk about this ¡®rockstar¡® image.¡± Dr. Paege summoned a photo on her computer. ¡°One of your most famous photos is from a high school party. Tell me a little about that.¡± She crossed her legs again, and I looked at the image on her screen.


    I remembered that photo and cringed, laughing awkwardly. On the front of all the tabloids back then was a picture of me, my azure blue hair right in the center of the image. In the photo, I laughed with a bottle of beer in one hand, my other holding me up as I knelt in front of a guy as he opened his belt buckle. The press released the photo to end my career, but somehow the band only gained popularity. Not every mistake, though, would turn out so well¡­ That photo got me bad press even to this day.


    ¡°That photo¡­¡± I pursed my lips. ¡°It was a rough day in recording, so Digitalis and I got hammered, and I offered a stranger a blowjob.¡±


    ¡°Would you agree that this is where your bad habits began?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. That much is obvious.¡±


    ¡°You thought the parties were only harmless fun?¡± She prodded at it with her questions and I couldn¡¯t help but be annoyed that I hadn¡®t satisfied her with the answer I¡®d given.


    ¡°Yeah. I wanted to be a true rock star, so I wanted the alcohol and sex and parties.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t do it at all to avoid facing Gael with your feelings?¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ I don¡¯t think I did. I think I dealt with that with all the hookups and meaningless sex. I used to imagine that they were Gael, and it gave me a little relief for a while.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± She scribbled more notes. ¡°Pretending your hookups were Gael¡­ How did that help you?¡±


    ¡°It didn¡®t help me,¡± I admitted. ¡°It usually backfired.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°There were so many ways¡­ The worst was when I hooked up with a fan. I was 21, and the fan met me at a bar after a concert¡­¡±


    ***


    My head was light from liquor, the taste of it still clinging to the back of my throat. I laughed as we made out, sloppy tongues mashing together, on the way to my hotel room. His hands on me were urgent now, but they were shy only a few minutes ago. I struggled to stand up when we got to my room and he took the key card from me, his hands fluid thanks to his sobriety. He opened the door, and I stumbled inside after him. I got onto my knees in front of him, catching his attention when I undid his pants. His hands were gentle in my hair when I took him into my mouth. I was too drunk to employ much skill, but he seemed satisfied anyway.


    His fingers tightened in my hair. I closed my eyes, imagining it was Gael whose hands were in my hair, whose cock was in my mouth. Then, the fan pushed me off and his hands were on my chest as he kissed me. I took off my pants for him and he started to get me ready. I kept my mind filled with images of Gael: his face, his hands, his chest. He entered me and I let out a sound, biting my lip to suppress it. It always hurt a little at first. I endured it happily, thinking of Gael.


    The fan grunted behind me, pulling my hips into him over and over. I moaned into the carpet, my hands clawing at the bed-skirts, desperate to hold on to anything.


    ¡°Ahhh, Gael!¡± I moaned. Loudly. The movements stopped for a moment. I turned my head, seeing the red-faced stranger behind me. I was too drunk to be embarrassed.


    His hands pushed down against my back, my face and chest pressing against the carpet, and he pretended that he¡®d heard nothing as he fucked me again.


    At some point, I blacked out.


    When I woke, the guy sat cross-legged on the bed in yesterday¡¯s clothes, watching the TV. I groaned and sat up. He snapped to attention and grabbed a water bottle from the nightstand.


    ¡°You were pretty drunk last night. I think you should drink this.¡± His voice was shy and gentle like he feared I¡¯d snap at him.


    Sex with fans often ended up this way. They walked on eggshells to avoid displeasing their idol, like the intimate moments we had together had been nothing but fantasies. It made me feel a little less human.


    I offered him a grateful smile, exhausted and holding my head when a hangover crept up onto me. Leaning back into the pillows, I chugged the entire bottle. I noticed how straight he sat up, like he¡¯d shoved a stick up his own ass while I was asleep.


    ¡°Thanks for the water.¡±


    His shoulders tensed. I could tell he wasn¡®t sure what to say.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to be nervous. We had sex, didn¡¯t we?¡± I laughed easily for him, a practiced action. He relaxed little, but there was a long way to go before he was completely at ease.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Well¡­ It seemed like I wasn¡¯t on your mind last night. I worried you¡¯d be disappointed when you woke up¡­¡± His face flushed red and I smiled.


    ¡°You¡¯re brave to admit something like that. I like it.¡± I opened the nightstand drawer in search of the water I¡¯d stashed when I checked in. I chugged another one. ¡°Why would that disappoint me?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ You called for Gael last night when we were having sex.¡± He was rubbing his palm with his thumb, a nervous tick.


    I put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but he tensed beneath my fingers. I slid my hand back off. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Did I really do that¡­?¡± I asked him gently. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m really sorry. That¡¯s pretty embarrassing for me¡­¡± He shot up, his hands flying up as though he would catch something in them.


    ¡°No! Not at all! I mean, Gael¡¯s gorgeous, so¡­ It¡¯s only natural!¡±


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t worry so much. It was nothing, really. It was just some stupid drunken thing, you know? Gael¡¯s just my friend.¡± I lied.


    He looked up at me from under his eyelashes, still nervous. I leaned towards him, offering a devilish smile.


    ¡°You were amazing, by the way.¡± I purred, making him blush.


    I caressed his cheek, pulling him into a kiss. We had some quick morning sex, but I wasn¡¯t much in the mood for it. We went to breakfast afterward; I gave him an autograph, and he promised not to tell anyone.


    ***


    ¡°After that incident, did you regret how your drinking affected you?¡± The therapist sat calmly, her face blank, now.


    ¡°I mean¡­ After that specific event, I wished that I was sober. I didn¡¯t want him to think I¡¯d only slept with him because I was drunk. It was even worse I¡¯d called him Gael on top of it all¡­ I felt bad about the whole thing.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡®t it true, though, that you only slept with him because you were drunk?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true, but I didn¡¯t want him to know that.


    ¡°Did you try to stop drinking after that happened?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Sort of¡­ I considered it for a few hours and then I attended another party that evening. Kind of didn¡¯t work out, honestly.¡±


    ¡°I can see that.¡± She pursed her lips, ¡°Now, you mentioned before that you didn¡¯t drink to bury your emotions, but obviously, it eventually ended up that way. Do you remember when it transitioned from just ¡®harmless¡¯ fun to a real dependence?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ Let¡¯s see¡­¡± I leaned back and pondered the question. ¡°I think it was when we met Tanya. She loved Gael and got her rich dad to sponsor our band, all so she could meet him. She got the label to promise her an introduction to our band. To meet Gael.¡° I chewed my lip, ¡°Eventually, they let her meet him as promised. Gael didn¡¯t really seem to have any interest in her, but I still felt threatened. They¡®d spent a lot of time together. The label wanted them to act like friends, for the press and all that. He was just doing his job.¡°


    I rested my face in my hands while the therapist waited patiently for me to continue.


    I made a frustrated sigh before I continued, ¡°Still, knowing she was after him worried me. They kept in contact after she got her band going, which she only did to have an excuse to stick to Gael like glue. I doubted my chances with Gael since they were hanging out all the time. I partied more to deal with the loneliness and the doubt. Before Tanya, I didn¡¯t get trashed at every party I attended. I always drank, but I usually cut myself off after a while. After Tanya, I got smashed at every party. Outside of parties, I never used to drink. After Tanya, I kept a few bottles in my trailer and my apartment and I¡¯d drink every time I had something on my mind. I took men home more often. I¡¯d spend my days off drinking. It quickly became a problem.¡±


    ¡°I can tell. And how did it feel, to drink your problems away compared to drinking for fun?¡±


    ¡°It was definitely different for me. It wasn¡¯t some fun experiment, and it wasn¡¯t something I looked forward to. I craved alcohol. It was like fast food. It was something I consumed because I didn¡¯t want to work to fill the emptiness inside me. I needed it.¡±


    ¡°What if you didn¡¯t drink soon enough?¡±


    ¡°I felt like¡­ Like the loneliness would consume me. I was heavy like I was just dragging myself along, leaving more of me behind as I went until there would be nothing left. I needed that euphoria I got when I was buzzed. Everything was so bleak and meaningless. Sometimes¡­ Sometimes it didn¡¯t even help to get drunk. The world got darker and darker, so I kept drinking to chase the darkness away until I eventually passed out.¡±


    ¡°These feelings stemmed from Tanya¡¯s involvement in Gael¡¯s life?¡± She inquired, a look of concern in her eyes that didn¡¯t belong in a rehab facility therapist¡¯s office.


    ¡°No. They started when Gael left the band.¡±


    ***


    I was twenty-two, working with Digitalis after my first year running the band without Gael. My apartment was messy with paperwork, and my kitchen was scarce excluding the bottles I filled it with. At first, Digitalis was satisfied with sitting back and soaking up attention. Out of nowhere, she pestered me to let her write songs. Exhausted and depressed, I relented.


    Digitalis and I used to drink together, so I overlooked most of her antics. I was charmed by her fun side.


    Now, I walked in Gael¡®s shoes. Digitalis¡¯ antics never relented. Our already tense relationship grew more strained as each day passed. I wanted to read the songs she put on my desk, but I let my whiskey tempt me. I approved them without reading a single line. Surely, I thought, the label would judge them for me.


    When the press heard her songs, they went insane. It should have been obvious to see how she bashed Gael in the lyrics. The press attacked us brutally. Everything fell onto my shoulders. The label arranged press conferences and planned cover-ups, but they weren¡®t enough.


    Absinthe proposed to leak a lie to the press that she and I were dating. It was like magic, how quickly the tabloids stopped printing about our ¡®hatred¡¯ for former band member Gael. The media gushed about how cute a couple we were. We held hands in public, shared a few kisses in a cafe, and stayed at each other¡¯s apartments. The kisses were unpleasant for both of us. Neither of us much liked the opposite gender and our friendship added to the weirdness. Somehow, though, it was an odd comfort to hold hands. I thought of it as a platonic gesture.


    ***


    ¡°Did this publicity stunt help?¡± Dr. Paege tilted her head curiously at me.


    I nodded, ¡°Yeah. Especially Absinthe¡¯s plan to use our fake relationship to show our support for Gael. We told the world he¡¯d inspired our love for each other and that we¡¯d always be grateful to him. After that, Digitalis got the brunt of the backlash for her songs. I still felt like a failure, but at least the band was alive.¡±


    ¡°So you mentioned that Digitalis was a thorn in your side and that she caused a lot of drama for the group. Tell me more about your relationship with her.¡±


    ¡°She and I were never close. We went to the same parties and worked together, but I never went out of my way to spend time together. We goofed around together sometimes and generally got along before Gael left the band. Otherwise, I saw little of her.¡±


    ¡°So she didn¡®t affect you at all?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ wouldn¡®t say that. I resented her for a long time.¡± I narrowed my eyes, ¡°Gael and Digitalis had a¡­ turbulent relationship.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think this was?¡±


    ¡°At first, it was just their dynamic. He¡¯s serious about music, and she just uses music to get attention. But something happened between them¡­¡± I flinched. I considered the event a failure of mine, even now.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    I sank into the memory, Absinthe¡¯s laughter echoing over the sounds of the sea.


    ***


    I was eighteen, and it was another day sifting through fan mail at the studio. Gael tuned his guitar while Absinthe and I sorted letters, opening a few here and there. We saved the heartfelt letters and beautiful tribute art that we liked for later, but we didn¡¯t hesitate to pore over the items that caught our interest for other reasons. I snickered at a sketch of Absinthe in a Magical Girl style costume.


    ¡°How does anyone get the idea to draw me in that?¡± She asked, raising a brow as she took the picture into her hands.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it¡¯s kind of funny, right? Imagine if you had to run away and have complicated transformations whenever trouble came.¡± I leaned back in my chair, looking forward as though I could see the mental image of her twirling with spirals of glitter all around until her clothes reformed into the costume the artist had designed. I covered my mouth again when laughter threatened to burst from it.


    ¡°If that¡¯s so funny¡­¡± She trailed off, flipping through papers as I sat back up. She swiped a paper from one of the ¡®save¡¯ piles she¡¯d arranged, a smug pull at the corner of her lip. ¡°How about this?¡±


    She revealed an imaginative watercolor painting of me, naked in a bed of peonies. I hissed, shielding my eyes.


    ¡°Why does it look so realistic? Why does it have to be peonies?¡± I peeked at it again, and it still embarrassed me.


    ¡°They must not know that you hate them, I guess. Still, it¡¯s amazing. I want to keep it for myself.¡±


    ¡°No one can see that!¡± I bolted up to make a grab for it when she tried to shove it in her bag.


    ¡°Don¡¯t ruin it. I want to see when I¡¯m finished.¡± Gael piped in from over the sound of his guitar. I relaxed in my seat, admitting defeat with a sigh. Absinthe slid it into her bag, careful to keep it in pristine condition, practically humming from her victory.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky he spoke up, or I¡¯d have it.¡± I whispered, chewing my lip.


    ¡°You really do let Gael have his way, don¡¯t you.¡± She teased, so softly that even I could barely hear.


    Again, we sorted through the loose pieces, placing a few that we seriously enjoyed into our ¡®save¡¯ piles until a humorous comic caught my gaze. We laughed together when I showed Absinthe, her hand clutching my shoulder when she started to laugh a little too hysterically. Digitalis walked by, a different piece catching her eye. She grabbed a crude drawing of Gael standing over her. It was drawn like an anime scene where the bad boy rests his fist on the wall beside the heroine as she blushes at him in awe. Digitalis snorted, a scarlet grin twitching into existence.


    ¡°How absurd! Like you¡¯d ever take the domineering role.¡± She bent over from the exaggerated laughter and Gael glared at her from his seat.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t be the dominant one, either, since we¡¯ll never be together.¡± He plucked a string in a way that exuded his annoyance, the guitar tuned and ready to go. He played a few chords experimentally.


    Digitalis pretended not to hear him and sifted through the mail with us. Absinthe picked up a drawing of me making out with her. We cringed.


    ¡°They must have forgotten about my love for the female form¡­¡± Absinthe mumbled.


    Digitalis snatched another one up and shoved it in her face. She¡¯s depicted grabbing Absinthe¡¯s breasts.


    ¡°This person didn¡¯t forget.¡± Digitalis laughed wickedly when she noticed how her own bosom had been sketched: oversized and plump.


    Absinthe mimed vomiting and stood up to go to her desk, mumbling something about studying our schedules. Gael worked on a new set of chords for a song, the sounds filling the background with pleasant noise. Digitalis hopped into Absinthe¡¯s seat. We both snickered at the pictures and shared a cigarette, cringing at the handful of psychotic notes with body hair clippings included. We joked and roared with laughter when we spotted a series of absurd images. Digitalis snapped up a photo, hers and Gael¡¯s heads photoshopped onto the bodies of porn stars in the middle of a saucy scene. She jolted up and shoved it right into his face.


    ¡°Maybe the fans are onto something, Gael. This looks pretty hot.¡± She purred at him and I laughed. Digitalis had always cracked jokes like that and Gael had always ignored them.


    Not this time.


    Gael let the guitar fall into his lap, snatching the photo and crumpling it tightly in his fist, which quivered noticeably. He tossed the guitar onto the couch beside him, snapping out of his chair to throw the photo into the trash.


    ¡°Just fuck off, Digitalis!¡± He shouted, raising his voice for the first time outside a concert hall. Everyone¡¯s eyes were on them, now. Digitalis got red in the face, scowling angrily. She shouted curses after him, accusing him of overreacting while Gael stomped out of the room with his guitar.


    ***

 Chapter 4

    Later that night, I visited Gael. He seemed only a little surprised to see me and nodded his greeting.


    Nervous, I sat beside him on his bed. He continued to read one of the many magazines he had stacked in his room as if I hadn¡®t entered. I folded my hands together in my lap, gathering my courage.


    ¡°Hey, Gael? I uh¡­ I noticed earlier that you reacted a little more¡­ strongly¡­ than you usually would with Digitalis. Is something up with you guys?¡± I noticed the way his eyes narrowed at the page, an annoyed look. I expected him to reply by saying he¡¯d just reached his limit with her. She was pretty irritating to all of us recently with her impulsive mood swings.


    ¡°Can we not talk about that?¡± He muttered, ¡°I¡¯m busy.¡±


    I stared at him, surprised.


    ¡°Are you okay¡­?¡± I reached my hand towards him like I would touch his shoulder to comfort him. Instead, I found that I couldn¡¯t find the courage to lay my hand on him. He exuded coldness.


    ¡°I want to be alone, Asya.¡± He flipped the page with a snap and I got up from his bed, my hands falling at my sides in numb defeat.


    I left the room, dejected and icy. Gael used to tell me everything, and he¡¯d never been too busy to spend time with me before. Now, I felt like I meant nothing to Gael; We weren¡¯t close anymore.


    I retreated to my room, looking a little down on the outside, while I crumbled and broke inside. I curled onto my bed and cried for hours before I finally got the energy to stand up again. Once I did, I drove to the nearest club with my fake ID. I drank until I forgot about the way he pushed me away and once I was good and drunk, I joined a few men in the bathroom.


    ***


    I held my face in my hands, exhaling heavily.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I used to be so focused on myself.¡± My fingers slid into my hair, curling in it. ¡°If I¡¯d only tried to think about how he felt¡­¡± I cringed. ¡°I was so scared of losing Gael that I never stopped to think about why he might have pushed me away. I mean, it still hurts that he couldn¡¯t talk about it with me, but¡­ I was selfish. I couldn¡®t see that something was wrong.¡±


    ¡°What was wrong?¡±


    I bit my lip, ¡°Digitalis assaulted him, made him kiss her.¡±


    ¡°Was this memory from after the assault?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but before I learned about it.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Her pen scratched the silence away. "How did this affect you?¡±


    ¡°This happened after I got worked up over Tanya. I was becoming dependent on the alcohol, but it wasn¡®t a problem for the band until the assault started drama. After Gael pushed me away, I couldn¡®t separate my drinking from my everyday life. I was drunk at meetings and skipped band events for parties. I got bad press when there were some leaked photos from my parties. They interviewed a few old hookups.¡±


    ¡°How did this affect your relationship with your band?¡± She inquired.


    I sighed.


    ¡°Gael confronted me when I was sober and demanded that I schedule my life better. I did my best, and I didn¡¯t miss events anymore. I didn¡¯t come to meetings drunk as often. I called in sick sometimes to drink, but it didn¡¯t interfere so badly. But none of it really mattered.¡±


    ¡°Why do you say that?¡±


    ¡°The press was still on me and I couldn¡¯t stop getting into trouble with the drinking and random sex.¡± I focused on the tan curtains again. The calming effect they normally had did little to relieve my tension.


    I continued, ¡°I drank at work all the time, too. I just watered it down a little more so it wouldn¡¯t be as obvious. I could tell that I disappointed Gael. He didn¡¯t want to hang out with me, so I became lonelier. I drank more and frequently slept around. And Absinthe¡­¡± I squeezed my eyes shut.


    ¡°Go on.¡± Dr. Paege prompted.


    ¡°Absinthe was more disappointed than anyone. She avoided me for a while until she decided that I needed her.¡± My eyes glazed over with a wistful stare. ¡°She would drink with Digitalis and I when the band first started. Those days ended when my life spiraled out of control. I think I reminded her of her mother¡­¡±


    I shook my head with disappointment. ¡°She was a woman that truly loved her liquor.¡±


    ¡°How did this all affect your career?¡±


    ¡°The press was on me, so the managers and the label¡­ weren¡¯t pleased. By the time I was nineteen, the issues reached their climax.¡±


    ***


    I was at yet another meeting in the bland room that the label provided for our regular gatherings. I held my head in my hands, sipping the vodka-spiked water in my bottle to ward off the hangover I¡¯d earned last night. We were waiting on Digitalis. Suzie, the manager, glared at me in a way that made me nervous as she paced. An awkward air poisoned the room. Gael thumbed through a stack of papers and Absinthe absentmindedly tapped the table with her fingers in a rhythm, making noise that showcased the verbal silence.


    Digitalis came bursting in, letting go of an intern¡¯s sleeve with a flirtatious wink. She turned to face the room. We all looked up at her, impatient. Suzie halted and silently pointed to Digitalis¡® chair. Digitalis rolled her eyes and groaned, taking her seat before folding her arms tightly over her chest. Suzie clicked a few buttons on the projector¡¯s remote, pulling up a series of tabloid articles.


    When I lifted my eyes to the screen, everything inside me dropped.


    Most of the photos featured me, half-drunk or worse. In a few, I pressed up against one of my many former hookups.


    ¡°Asya, do you want to tell me what today¡¯s meeting is about?¡± Suzie¡¯s tongue clicked the words out like a strict teacher.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Sarcastically, I replied, ¡°Is it because Digitalis is always late?¡±


    Suzie sighed and flipped to the next slide. It revealed a few more photos with an article clipping. It read, ¡°Teen Idol Sex Scandal!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s about your drinking, Asya. And your sleeping around.¡± She pointed to the article. ¡°We let it slide before, but you¡¯ve gotten worse. There are pictures now, and stories everywhere.¡± She clicked to another slide with more photos. ¡°Remember that interview you had a month ago? The one where you showed up drunk? People are still talking about that.¡±


    The more she spoke, the further my stomach sank into me.


    ¡°The press is finding all these men that you fooled around with. Their interviews are everywhere! Have you read what they¡¯ve said about you? It doesn¡¯t look good, Asya. It doesn¡¯t look good at all.¡±


    She snapped to another slide, and I let my head fall forward against the table. She was burying me alive and I didn¡¯t want to see the dirt that fell over me.


    ¡°Look at this one! They interviewed a guy that saw you at the club last week! He says he saw you with three different men in the bathroom! This is worse than just irresponsible partying, Asya!¡± She was shrieking frantically. I didn¡¯t need to see the photo. I believed I could do that. ¡°And here¡¯s an anonymously sent photo of your ass!? You let someone take this photo? And don¡¯t try to tell me it¡¯s not yours. I can see two of your tattoos in this!¡±


    I sighed against the table, the sour scent of the alcohol on my breath rushing back towards my face, making me crinkle my nose.


    I lifted my head, ¡°So you want me to slow down or what?¡±


    The beginning of a buzz kept me from feeling too embarrassed by the situation, but it wouldn¡¯t kill the irritation in my voice.


    ¡°I want you to stop! Play the perfect bassist until the press calms down! And Asya¡­ It¡¯s not good for you to be living this way¡­ It¡¯s dangerous.¡± Her frantic tone changed into worry partway through. Her eyes pleaded with me.


    I felt nothing. I ducked my head down, drinking more of my spiked water. Suzie perked up.


    ¡°Asya? What¡¯s in the bottle?¡± she asked, strutting over.


    She snatched it away and sniffed it as I sluggishly reached for it.


    ¡°Goddamnit! Even here?¡± She took the bottle to her desk as I groaned in protest.


    ¡°It¡¯s just for my hangover, Suzie,¡± I whined.


    ¡°Asya, I don¡¯t want to have to fire you, but I will if this gets worse! I have a lot of heat on me from the label because of these scandals. One more incident and they¡¯ll be demanding it.¡±


    ¡°Who else could play bass for us?¡± Absinthe asked, concerned. ¡°I don¡¯t see how anyone can write songs with Gael, either.¡±


    Suzie shook her head, ¡°We¡¯ll figure that out if he¡¯s fired.¡±


    ¡°But the band will fall apart! Why should we all be punished just because this prick can¡¯t control himself around guys when he¡¯s all liquored up?¡± Digitalis sneered.


    ¡°We should find another way to deal with Asya. This is the first time you¡¯ve confronted him about it, so isn¡¯t it rash to threaten him with this all at once?¡± Gael asked calmly, though his eyes focused intensely on the papers in front of him.


    ¡°The agency and I are considering alternative punishments, but the threat still stands. We¡¯ll update you if the situation changes.¡± Suzie turned the projector off, and the room darkened.


    ¡°I think you guys have bigger things to deal with¡­¡± Gael muttered.


    ¡°What was that, Gael?¡± she asked, leaning on the table in his direction.


    ¡°If I don¡¯t get less time with Digitalis, I¡¯m quitting. She¡¯s been relentless since she made a pass at me. She won¡®t take ¡®no¡¯ for an answer. I¡¯m getting fed up with it.¡± Gael blurted, stone-faced aside from a twitch in his eyebrow.


    The room was quiet.


    Digitalis¡¯ eyes widened with a mix of frozen rage and pure astonishment.


    ¡°Gael¡­ We should talk about this privately¡­¡± Suzie said, walking towards him.


    He snapped up from his chair when she placed a hand on his shoulder. His expression thawed into something more vulnerable, and he turned his back to us, shaking her hand away. Suzie froze.


    ¡°No. I want less time with her. Or I¡¯m quitting.¡±


    He stormed out before anyone could respond to the ultimatum. When the door swung shut behind him, the haze in my head cleared.


    Suzie was chasing him out. Digitalis turned to Absinthe and muttered excuses to her while Absinthe curled her lip and tried not to listen.


    My eyes remained frozen on the door. The horror sank into my skin, like a blanket of poison. I glared at Digitalis as she sat there, red-faced, her mouth spilling bullshit words to anyone that bothered to listen.


    No one listened.


    I left the meeting room, snatching my water bottle from Suzie¡¯s desk before I escaped. My grip tightened on the bottle, trying to become a fist. My fingers groped the insides of my pockets for my lighter and a cigarette.


    Only after the cigarette burned between my lips would my anger fade. I lowered my hand to my side, my hand shaking as it slid back into my pocket.


    Gael never told me. He didn¡¯t trust me and he never even came for consolation before he spilled the secret to everyone at once.


    Even if he had, I was drunk so often, I probably would have made him feel worse.


    With that thought, my fingers tightened around my lighter in my pocket. I took the cigarette from my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut, chewing my lip.


    Over the years, Gael needed me less and less. It was like he didn¡®t care about me as much. He didn¡¯t need me anymore. I couldn¡¯t help him through his hurt if I tried.


    My teeth pulled at my lip until the metallic taste of blood touched my tongue.


    I¡¯m worthless.


    I watched my fingers quiver, shaking the ash away from the end of my cigarette. I raised it back to my lips and inhaled deeply. Tears formed and fell from my eyes, stinging from smoke.


    He might have relied on me if I wasn¡®t an alcoholic. I wondered if I could have prevented the assault if I wasn¡®t out partying instead.


    Any love I had for myself died and rotted away within me. I became empty.


    ***


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault, you know.¡± Dr. Paege¡¯s voice rang out of the silence. ¡°Even if you were around the day Digitalis had assaulted Gael, she probably would have waited for another opportunity. You couldn¡®t constantly be with him.¡± I looked up at her, my wet eyes drying as the impact of the memory faded.


    ¡°Maybe you¡®re right,¡± I muttered, still unsure if I agreed. I wiped away the tear I¡¯d shed but bit my lip when I felt another one coming. I put my face in my hands. ¡°It¡®s just that I¡­ I feel responsible, somehow. While he went through that trauma, I was drunk or sleeping around. When I learned about it, I only pitied myself and neglected Gael even more¡­¡±


    ¡°Asya. You can¡¯t change the past, but now you¡¯re here.¡± Her voice was suddenly soothing. ¡°You¡¯re solving your problem with addiction so you can be a friend to him again. You¡¯ve made mistakes, but you¡¯ll do better next time.¡±


    I cried into my hands while she waited patiently, comforted but still emotional. Conscious of her eyes on me, I finally took a deep breath and faced her, my eyelashes heavy from crying.


    ¡°I think we had a good session today, Asya. You got a lot off your chest. Just stay focused, work on your meditation and yoga, and let yourself heal. You can make it through this. You¡¯ve already been sober for so long.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± I laughed sardonically. ¡°After this I have group therapy. I hate group therapy.¡± I wiped my eyes a little harder. I didn¡¯t need the group¡¯s hypocritical judgment. ¡°It makes me want to drink.¡±


    ¡°Now, we needn¡®t joke about that. Let¡¯s do our best to participate. If you¡¯re frustrated, you can write a song about it during your art therapy sessions.¡±


    I shrug. Art therapy would be great if it wasn¡¯t so short and closely watched. I wanted to create more than ¡®happy¡¯ things, but they always warned me not to indulge my darker thoughts in my art. I took a deep breath in preparation to leave.


    ¡°Dr. Bell ought to be back tomorrow and hopefully he¡¯ll have read my notes. You¡¯re doing well, Asya. Remember that.¡± She got up to walk me to the office door, a feat of fewer than two steps for us both. I could smell her perfume as I went past, my stomach turning at the peony scent. I walked back out into the facility. The unforgivingly ¡®happy¡¯ and ¡®peaceful¡¯ facility blinded me with a barrage of sterile whiteness. While I was healthier here, there was still a part of me that wanted to pick up a bottle and go wild.

 Act 2, Morning Glories: Chapter 5

    The late afternoon breeze swept through my chopped hair, the natural blonde locks drifting about in the salt-scented air. May, the new band manager¡¯s personal assistant, walked the facility¡¯s private beach with me. She came weekly to check on my progress and to collect any of the songs I wrote while I was healing so that Gael could review them during his preparations for future albums. May''s soft smile touched warm, brown eyes as she looked at me.


    ¡°You look so much better, Asya,¡± relief filled her voice, but I couldn¡¯t offer her a real smile in return.


    ¡°What¡¯s on the agenda today?¡± I asked, hesitance touching my lips with each word. That fear again, that Gael hid me in here to keep me out of his way, tightened my chest. It was nice to feel healthy again, but I hated that I failed to get this far without being imprisoned in this glorified cage.


    ¡°Gael asked me to take some staged vacation photos of you, today. We don¡¯t want the tabloids to suspect that you¡¯re in rehab.¡± She pulled a camera from her fancy little bag. I rolled my eyes.


    ¡°After all of those smear articles about my drinking problem, would it really be such a surprise I went to rehab?¡±


    ¡°I think they want everyone to focus on your healing heart. It¡¯s probably for the better they think you¡¯re getting over a breakup, anyway. Sounds more pure and relatable.¡± She was messing with the buttons on the camera and I sighed.


    ¡°Won¡¯t it look weird that my hair is so¡­ Different?¡± I cringed, pinching a lock of my hair with much more effort than I would have had before it was cut. May laughed.


    ¡°Different? You¡¯re lovely.¡±


    ¡°I miss it being long and blue¡­ And I¡¯m sure the fans won¡¯t recognize me without it.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t fuss. Maybe the change will add to your reinvented image.¡± She raised the camera and took a quick shot of me, unusable because of the sour expression on my face.


    ¡°You¡¯re not taking this seriously, May.¡± I made an airy laugh when she teased me before I started towards the beach. I leaned on the sand, looking out at the water to make my mood mysterious. Was I supposed to be happy and on vacation, or depressed from the breakup? She snapped a few images before packing the camera away. I walked back to her, my gaze lingering on the sea as our lie echoed in my mind. I¡¯m on vacation.


    ¡°You have more fan mail.¡± She cooed, smiling coyly.


    ¡°Probably more people wondering how I fucked up my ¡®relationship¡¯ with Absinthe.¡± I made air quotes to add to the sarcasm of my response before taking the stack of envelopes she¡¯d produced.


    May giggled, ¡°You get plenty of support letters, too.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well¡­ I can¡¯t even read the support letters without feeling bad that I tricked all the people that wrote them. I¡¯m amazed that more people aren¡¯t suspicious that the two gay people in the group dated each other. I mean¡­ Of all the scandalous sex acts caught on camera, not a single one showed me with a woman. Even if Absinthe¡¯s discreet dating didn¡¯t tip anyone off to her sexuality, mine is out there plainly for all to see.¡±


    ¡°Public Relations miracles happen, I guess.¡± May laughed. I looked at the letters in my hand, unsure if I wanted to read them or not.


    ¡°I suppose I ought to write a few angsty breakup songs for them, at least.¡± I sighed, secretly admitting that I¡¯d probably draw inspiration from my feelings when Gael pushed me away.


    ¡°Did you write any more letters for your band mates?¡± May prodded, grinning mischievously.


    I pursed my lips, thinking of the cringe-inducing results of one of my many treatments: the weekly letters full of emotions and feelings I had to write to the band members. It was supposed to help me cope with my feelings, by revealing them to my loved ones. Instead, I spent hours over the pages trying not to imagine Digitalis laughing over the letters while Gael and Absinthe uncomfortably glazed over the words.


    I pulled the letters from my pocket, wishing that I¡®d never written them. I understood the importance of handling my feelings instead of drinking them into oblivion, but it didn¡¯t lessen the embarrassment I suffered when I imagined how they were received. I¡¯d glossed over the sensitive things, talking mostly about rehab in general. If my Dr. Bell read them, he¡¯d probably encourage me to reveal more about my unrequited love for Gael and the emptiness that filled me.


    May took the letters, with a sentimental smile on her face. I looked out at the sea, losing myself in the sight of it as I wondered how it would go over if I actually told them about my secrets in those letters.


    Digitalis was the easiest to predict. She¡¯d make fun of me or explode at me for thinking badly of the things she did. Absinthe would be supportive, but her true feelings were harder to imagine. And Gael¡­


    I imagined confessing my love to him. I imagined telling him about how it killed me when he pushed me away. I couldn¡¯t predict the face he might make, or the words he might say if he found out how deeply those feelings were involved with my addictions. Would that disgust him? Would he feel guilty? Would he pity me? Nothing I could imagine would feel good.


    I held myself while May fussed with her bag. I didn¡¯t know what I was supposed to do to cope with the fear, the self-loathing, and the unrequited love. Alcohol, drugs, and sex distracted me and pushed the pain further into the future. Sobriety was stark and abrupt. I had to worry and wait and hope that my secrets didn¡¯t come out.


    What am I supposed to do about my feelings for Gael if I can¡¯t bury them away? If I tell him, I could mess everything up. If I keep hiding them, they¡¯ll dissolve me into nothing. I could try to forget about my love for him, but to do that would be like erasing my entire being from existence.


    ¡°So¡­¡± I swallowed hoping to reduce the tightness in my throat. It didn¡¯t work. ¡°How is everyone, anyway?¡± I kept my eyes to the sea, hoping she didn¡¯t notice the change in my voice.


    ¡°Well¡­ Gael and Digitalis are working together again, but only after Digitalis agreed to give him space and gave him a long apology. They¡­ They don¡¯t get along very well. Absinthe is doing well. She misses you a lot and she and Gael both hope that coming here for rehab is helping you recover. Everyone wishes you well, you know. But um¡­ You know¡­ It would be awesome if you recovered in time for the scheduled tour.¡± May rushed that last bit out of her mouth.


    I laughed sardonically.


    ¡°Great. So they give my health a deadline!¡± I shake my head and try to focus on the waves.


    ¡°Oh, Asya. What doesn¡¯t have a deadline?¡± May sighs. We head back to the rehab center and I wonder what will wait for me when I do finally leave this place.


    Dr. Bell looked at me with his comfortable, teddy bear eyes, a gentle smile on his face. Months have passed and the air from the ocean is cooler than it was when he was sick. Our appointment was coming to a close, but he took a moment to review his papers. He set his clipboard onto his desk with a click and leaned towards me.


    ¡°You¡¯ve made tremendous progress! I think you¡¯re ready to go back into the world.¡±


    I gazed into his eyes and smiled. It¡¯s hard to be proud of myself when I¡¯m afraid of facing the world. How much had changed without me? How will everyone react to my return? This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Dr. Bell continued, ¡°I can refer you to a psychiatrist I know. He¡¯s very good and he can make sure that your prescriptions change as you heal. I¡¯m thinking of continuing your prescriptions to treat your depression and I think I¡¯ll give you disulfiram, so you don¡¯t relapse while you get used to normal life.¡±


    He wrote the information down for me while I cringed at the mention of disulfiram, a pill that makes you unbelievably ill when you drink alcohol with it¡­ Even though I didn¡¯t plan on drinking, I was nervous about that pill.


    ¡°Do you¡­ Do you really think I¡¯m ready?¡± I ask, anxious about returning to the band and the parties and the pressure of it all.


    ¡°Now, Asya. You¡¯ve let out a lot of baggage these past few months. You¡¯ve worked on coping mechanisms and you don¡¯t crave alcohol anymore. I¡¯m confident in your progress. There¡¯s no need to worry.¡±


    I bit my lip and squeezed my hands together. This is it. I¡¯ll go back out there again.


    As he finished my discharge papers and wrote me my prescriptions, I held my breath. What waited for me out there? How would everyone respond when I return?


    For the first time since I entered the facility, I walked out through the front door. The new band manager is waiting, his eyes following me, hawk-like, until I reach the car. I hand him the folder full of paperwork and he weighs it in his hands, regarding it with a ¡®hm¡¯ and an impressed nod before he turns to open the door for me. He closes my door and I have a moment to buckle in.


    ¡°We have to stop to get my prescriptions before we get to my apartment,¡± I mention as he enters the car from his side. He makes an odd expression.


    ¡°About your apartment¡­¡± He starts. I perk up, attentive. ¡°While you were away, we moved you out. Gael thought it would benefit you.¡±


    He paused, glanced at me, and returned his eyes to the road. ¡°Everyone else moved into the apartments Gael built onto the studio, too.¡±


    I collapsed into my seat and sighed.


    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s because it¡¯s more efficient, right?¡± I responded flatly, already sure it was a sneaky way for the company to keep an eye on me.


    ¡°Well¡­ There are many reasons for it. But either way, Gael wants the band to meet up at the company¡¯s beach house first, either way. We¡¯ll get you your things and head down there. The company thought everyone ought to have a month to unwind and spend quality time together before the tour begins.¡±


    My eyebrows scrunched together, but I wasn¡¯t displeased to hear about the beach house. It might be easier to ease into life with a small vacation. A real vacation.


    The manager parks at a pharmacy and leaves me to read the unread messages and the fan page articles on my phone. Not a lot of it is recent, aside from some minor backlash for Digitalis¡¯ latest stunts. I wonder, briefly, if everyone will be strange around me when I arrive at the beach house. Facing this sober, my feelings are unavoidable. The fear of their rejection and the embarrassment for the many, many shameful things I did during my years of alcoholism weighs down on me. I put my face in my hands for the millionth time since I put down my last glass of liquor, drowning myself in the years of shame, fear, and regret I kept postponing with every bottle.


    I wondered how damaged all of my friendships were, now. Could I ever repair them? Maybe I should just quit the band and let them thrive without me.


    My heart sank and fell within me until the suddenness of the manager¡¯s return startled it back to life. He set the bag of pill bottles next to me and I took my first doses while he pulled out of the parking lot. Worry pricked at my insides as we headed to the beach.


    The manager left the car, and my chest fluttered uneasily as he opened my door. Shaking, I pulled myself out of the car. The band stood on the open deck of the beach house, laughing together. Absinthe spotted me. When her eyes met mine, my shame had thrust a sharp spike through my chest. Nervously, I gripped my car door and stiffly waved.


    She smiled and ran down to meet me, setting her orange drink on the deck railing. She embraced me tightly, like I¡¯d resurrected from a grave. I couldn¡®t stop my trembling.


    ¡°I missed you.¡± She admitted, her voice muffled by my shirt.


    I followed her onto the deck.


    Digitalis punched my arm, smirking. ¡°Man. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re back. These losers don¡¯t know how to have fun.¡± Her smile twitched for a second before she remembered why I¡¯d disappeared. ¡°I guess you¡¯re no fun anymore either. Still good to see you.¡±


    I smiled awkwardly and Digitalis retreated into the beach house to refill her drink. Then my eyes fell onto Gael.


    He made that unreadable face he often did, building pressure within me. He picked up a glass, full of peach-colored juice, and offered it to me.


    ¡°To your sobriety. And welcome back.¡± He smiled gently and I accepted the offering, my eyes glued to his.


    The tension I¡¯d built between us lingered, but he seemed unaffected as he looked out toward the sea.


    ¡°Life was incomplete without you.¡± His voice was wistful. The tension disappeared.


    I smiled. He missed me.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to be back,¡± I admit, sipping the tropical drink he offered me.


    My trembling hands became steady.


    Absinthe¡¯s laughter took my eyes from him, and she beckoned me to the beach. A warmth radiated around me, reviving my confidence.


    I belong here.


    For the rest of the evening, we swam and played beach games together. The manager took photos for our social media accounts. When the sun drifted into the sea, Gael and the manager built a bonfire. Absinthe held my hand while we watched them argue about how they should stack the wood. Digitalis shivered in her bikini, insisting they¡¯re both wrong. Despite her expertise, she remained an observer. I excused myself to use the bathroom.


    When I finished, I saw my face in the mirror. I could hardly recognize myself. There weren¡¯t circles around my eyes for the makeup crew to hide. There wasn¡¯t any trace of fatigue from hangovers and rough mornings. I touched my hair, golden like it was in my childhood.


    I hate it.


    I drop the hair back onto my forehead and open the door, freezing when I see Gael waiting outside. His eyes met mine.


    ¡°Asya¡­¡± Gael started. In this rare moment, he looked unsure and nervous. ¡°I wanted to speak with you alone.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± I sounded timid.


    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you. For everything you got through. I¡­ I can¡¯t describe how relieved I am to see you sober again.¡±


    I couldn¡®t summon a response.


    His eyebrows pinched together. ¡°I missed you when I quit the band, you know. I didn¡¯t admit it, but I missed the band the whole time I was away for that movie. I mean, I¡¯m glad I got the money to start my label, but¡­ I know that I hurt you. I know you were struggling. And Absinthe¡­ Absinthe talked about how much it affected you.¡±


    Gael sighed, and I tensed. Briefly, we looked away from each other.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I hurt you. I¡­ I didn¡¯t know you needed me. I didn¡¯t know how to make you feel better. I¡­ I knew nothing.¡± His voice was uncharacteristically emotional.


    I was tearing up a little. For the first time in my life, Gael wrapped his arms around me. I quivered as he embraced me, a rush of feelings overtook me. First, there was exhilaration with a hint of shock. The man I love is holding me. Then, I was afraid. What does this mean? How do I respond? The forbidden hope he might reciprocate my feelings sparked up within me. I should crush it before it crushes me.


    Finally, I quieted my mind, and I succumbed. My shaking hands held him gingerly at first before they tightened around him. I buried my face in his neck as I cried, my body quivering. He was patient and massaged my back while I broke down against him. Briefly, I fell to pieces.


    I let him go, trying to control my shaking. I turned my tear-streaked face away, embarrassed.


    ¡°Sorry¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to do that.¡± My voice was thick from crying.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. You needed it.¡± Gael answered.


    I didn¡¯t look at his face. If it was expressionless or negative, it would break my heart. If it held even the slightest bit of concern, it would feed that poisonous hope inside me. No matter how he responded, I would use it to hurt myself.


    ¡°I¡¯m just going to take a moment to wash my face,¡± I whispered, returning to the bathroom.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you outside.¡± He promised, gliding across the wood floors with a graceful tempo.


    It took all of my effort to calm down enough to join my friends outside. Throughout the rest of the night, I¡¯m distracted. By the end of the night, I return to my room exhausted.


    My brain blatantly ignores me as it obsesses over my interaction with Gael. It fills my mind with a barrage of fantasies, each more harmful than the last. Some are sweet poisons, fantasies of Gael loving me as I love him. Others are blunt weapons, visions of worst-case scenarios loaded with cruel rejection.


    I squeeze my eyes shut, frustrated by my sleeplessness. A headache threatens to bloom when I try to force the thoughts from my head.


    Then, I¡®m distracted by another thought. I wonder when I last spent a sober night outside the facility. I never used to have trouble sleeping. I would stay up late, but by the end of the night I¡¯d always passed out at some point. Now, nothing numbed me, so I became consumed by everything I wanted to ignore.

 Chapter 6

    I felt like a kid again, when the tour started. Playing the bass with everyone, sober and aware and able to bask in the excited screams of the fans felt just like when I was sixteen. I feel at home, with the blinding lights of the stage shining down on me while, once again, I play my bass like I¡¯m making love to it. When we got off stage, I felt like I¡¯d found perfection again. Everyone joked and relaxed in the backstage areas, getting along for the first time in ages. When fans were let in to meet us, I wasn¡¯t too tipsy to listen to them as I would have been during my time of struggle. They fawned over me, asking about my new hairstyle and how Absinthe and I get along after the breakup. It feels nice, to lean back onto the couch, throw my arm around her with the same comfortable confidence I used to have, and insist that we¡¯re good friends after the time we spent apart.


    After the fans left, I went early to the tour bus, with the echo of the smile I wore backstage still clinging to my lips. The others wouldn¡¯t take long to join me. I leaned back into the soft seat that I claimed, but a thirst came over me. I searched my seat for my water bottle, but it seemed that I forgot it backstage. Digitalis¡¯ bottle glinted red in the sunlight that seeped through the wide windows and I knew that she wouldn¡¯t mind if I borrowed a sip of water.


    I made no effort to taste it before it was rushing down my throat, but I stopped when I recognized the spike of vodka underneath the pure flavor of the water. I cringed as I twisted the cap back on and studied the bottle, wondering when she started to drink at work. It was only after a few moments that the disulfiram took effect. I ran outside of the bus before it came, the vomit that rushed up my throat. I miss the trash can by the door and I feel like my insides are trying to get out through my mouth while the drink, and everything else I had inside of me, splattered onto the concrete. I felt pathetic, then, gasping for air as I hyperventilated over the product of my nausea. Hands slid up my back and Absinthe was there.


    ¡°What happened?¡± She asked me, but I can¡¯t catch my breath. She took Digitalis¡¯ bottle from my hands, and I realized that I still held it. I heard her open the bottle and she and Gael, who appeared at some point, smell the bottle.


    ¡°This is Digitalis¡¯ bottle, right?¡± Gael¡¯s voice was flat, with the promise of anger underneath.


    ¡°Yeah. I saw her sipping from it on the bus.¡± Absinthe offered, her voice low as she massaged my back with a hand. My breath was coming easier, then, and Absinthe and I went to the bus to dig for leftover fast food napkins that I can clean my face off with. From the corner of my eye, Digitalis walked out of the concert hall¡¯s back door, giggling at one of the crew. Gael¡¯s gait was direct, like a shooting arrow, as he approached her.


    ¡°When did you start bringing liquor along? Didn¡¯t we already have this conversation when we put Asya through rehab?¡± Gael thrust the bottle at her and she took it with the spark of rage lighting in her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a raging alcoholic, Gael. It¡¯s just to take the edge off. What are you doing sniffing bottles, anyway?¡± She was already beginning to elevate into the banshee-like shrieking she often used when fighting with someone.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sniffing bottles. We found out when Asya needed a drink and started throwing up because you¡¯ve loaded that thing with booze.¡± The manager was peeking out from behind the concert hall door, now, wondering if he should intervene.


    ¡°It¡¯s his own damn fault for guzzling down everyone else¡¯s shit, Gael! I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m the one being scolded for his latest attempt to get drunk!¡±


    There it was: The Shriek. Gael¡¯s hands quivered with rage while Digitalis¡¯ grip on her bottle got tight enough for her knuckles to go white. I pretended that I didn¡¯t hear their words, ignoring the flush of shame that crept up my neck.


    ¡°Alright, people. Let¡¯s calm down.¡± The manager slithered out from behind the door when it looked like they might start throwing things. ¡°We can find better ways to handle the situation than yelling at each other.¡± The manager took the bottle, delicate to avoid aggravating Digitalis, and then he looked up at me where I stood with Absinthe on the bus stairs, napkins still crumpled in my hands as I waited to find a way to the concert hall¡¯s trash can. ¡°Asya, how are you feeling?¡± He asked, realizing that I¡¯d been sickened by the drink.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad that my meds are working.¡± I gave them a forced smile and a thumbs up. ¡°Definitely don¡¯t want another one of her cocktails.¡± Digitalis laughed at the way I joked, almost immediately diffusing.


    ¡°Be nice, Asya. We can¡¯t all be pros.¡± She made a crack at me before sliding past me to get onto the bus and away from the scene of her fight with Gael. The manager shrugs and turns back to order the crew around. Gael¡¯s shoulders remain tense, however, and I notice the quiet rage left over in his eyes when I go back out to throw away my trash.


    When we¡¯re all on the bus, I notice that the tenseness in his shoulders doesn¡¯t go away. I decide that it might be best to hide the remaining side effects of my reaction to her vodka. I don¡¯t want him to become angrier about the incident if there¡¯s nothing it will do to help anyone. I close my eyes and rest when my vision goes odd, doing my best to ignore the headache that took seed in my head. Absinthe offers to play a time passing game with me, but I find that my arms feel a little noodle-like and I tell her that I want to take a moment to relax from exerting myself at the concert so that she doesn¡¯t question my unwillingness to play. When I don¡¯t get off the bus at one of the rest stops, the manager comes over to sit beside me.


    ¡°Are you alright? You haven¡¯t looked very good since you got back onto the bus.¡± He inquired and I opened my eyes to give him a reassuring smile.


    ¡°Just side effects of my meds. They make me sick when I have alcohol. Just don¡¯t make a big deal out of it. I don¡¯t want everyone to get too tense. It was my mistake for drinking her stuff, anyway.¡± I sighed and closed my eyes again when my headache started to worsen because of the way they failed to perceive the world the way they were supposed to.


    ¡°Do you think you¡¯ll make it to the after-party tonight?¡±


    ¡°No. I think I¡¯ll just go to sleep in my hotel room. I¡¯m so tired.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± The manager rose from where he sat beside me and went to the rest station with the others. I lay back in my seat and hope that we¡¯ll arrive at our rooms soon.


    On stage, everything was going well. I was glad to feel the full force of the adoration that the crowds bathed me in when I stood in the light. It was only when the concerts ended and the nights went on after them that I found myself feeling empty. After every concert, we threw a party to treat ourselves and the fans that we let in. During every party, I found myself alone on the couch feeling awkward and unsure of what to do. Without the drink, parties didn¡¯t have nearly the same appeal. I felt like I didn¡¯t belong there anymore. I¡¯d give the fans that came to the party some time with me, and it felt like a lot of effort to keep smiling and laughing and talking all night. I began to wonder if I could handle limiting myself to just a drink or two, but I shook the temptation away each time, remembering that my meds wouldn¡¯t let me drink anyway.


    I wasn¡¯t sure when it started, but each party I noticed that Gael smiled and laughed with the same female fan each night. The first few, I thought that maybe she was merely persistent. After a while, though, I came to realize that he was genuinely enjoying her company and they seemed to be getting closer by the day. I couldn¡¯t take the pangs of jealousy that I felt, the only feeling I had within the empty longing I suffered when I went to the after parties. I found myself leaving early each night, going to my hotel room to bathe and stare into the darkness of the unfamiliar hotel rooms. I was haunted by that girl. What did she mean to Gael? How long have they known each other this way?


    It¡¯s another night, and another party, when I feel myself wishing for some kind of distraction again. I¡¯m on another couch, trying not to see Gael and the girl leaning towards each other in engaged conversation. They¡¯re across the room from me, rather small in my vision with the plethora of other people and events around them. Still, I find that the vision of them takes over everything. I¡¯m unable to avert my gaze. I find myself wishing that I held one of the red cups everyone else drank out of, wishing for the artificial joy it may have offered me. It¡¯s when I see Gael and the girl leave together, hand in hand, that everything implodes.


    I¡¯m going back to my own room, feeling like I¡¯m falling in on myself. My legs feel limp and unwilling as I force each step towards my room. I hear the click of high heels behind me, but I ignore it for now. It¡¯s only when they follow me into my hotel room that I look up to see who has decided to join me. Digitalis stands behind me, looking curious and conflicted.


    ¡°Why do you look so upset?¡± Her voice is unusually soft and sympathetic. Even so, I turn away from her. I don¡¯t need whatever she¡¯s going to throw at me right now.


    ¡°Go away, Digitalis,¡± I mutter, sitting onto the bed with my face in my hands.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be so bitter.¡± She stands over me. ¡°You keep glaring at Gael and that girl. It¡¯s like you¡¯re in love with him or something.¡± Her voice is teasing beneath the carefree laugh she makes, but I can almost feel the change in her when she sees how I deflate at her words. She stops laughing and there¡¯s an ominous quiet. ¡°You¡­ You do love him, don¡¯t you?¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°It¡¯s torture to see him with her.¡± I breathe. ¡°What does she mean to him?¡± My voice is thick with emotion and Digitalis seems gentler when she sits beside me. Her hands are unpracticed and awkward when she lays them on my shoulders to offer a strange side-to-side hug.


    ¡°Do you want to have a couple drinks and forget about him for tonight?¡± She offers. It¡¯s almost as though she can feel the longing inside of me. I almost accept before I remember the sickness that my meds offer if I drink. I shake my head.


    ¡°My pills punish me whenever I drink. I can¡¯t.¡± My shoulders tense, then, when she suddenly gets up and starts digging through my luggage.


    ¡°You mean these?¡± She asks, prompting me to look up. She¡¯s holding the bottle in her hands and my whole body tightens, nervous. I start to get up, but she pushes me back down onto the bed, holding the bottle high out of reach. ¡°You don¡¯t have to take these, you know. You¡¯re an adult, Asya. You can drink without living at the bottom of the bottle again. I know you can.¡± I relax to hear her words.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± I ask, timidly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll help you. We can learn how to drink in moderation together. I understand what you¡¯re going through, Asya. Gael and Absinthe never will. They¡¯ve never been addicted to anything. But you and I have. We¡¯re the same and we can help each other.¡± A moment passes before I respond.


    ¡°What do you want to do?¡± I ask, and a smile spreads across her face.


    ¡°We flush these pills. And then we work on learning how to limit your drinking so that you can enjoy it without getting drunk like you always used to.¡± I take in her words. Part of me says that I should reject her offer, that I can¡¯t handle the risk of drinking again. Part of me warns that I¡¯m in too much of a shaky position to risk it. But then, the temptation overpowers it all. I want to shed this clinical and clean mask they put on me and to feel like me again. I tell myself, it¡¯ll only be a little bit and that can¡¯t hurt me. I tell myself that I can control it this time. I don¡¯t have to be the perfect person they all expect in order to do my job and be their friend.


    ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s do it.¡± I agree, and Digitalis¡¯ excitement radiates out of her.


    ¡°Alright! Let¡¯s flush this garbage. How long until it wears off?¡± She asks, pulling me from the bed to take me to the bathroom.


    ¡°Two weeks, apparently.¡± I cringe and she turns, mirroring my face.


    ¡°Ew¡­ Well, we¡¯ll learn to be patient.¡± She pops the cap off and I watch the white pearls tumble into the water of the toilet bowl. No turning back now. She gestures to the flush lever and I do the honors, watching them all swirl in the water before they disappear forever. ¡°Soon, we can start training you, Asya. And then you¡¯ll be better than someone that has to rely on pills to be responsible.¡± Her face is alight with excitement, but I can only offer her an unsure smile. Can I really handle trying to drink again?


    We start going to my hotel room after parties and I find some comfort when I discover how she understands me. We sit on the couch in my latest hotel room, drinking virgin cocktails.


    ¡°Digitalis,¡± I begin, ¡°You mentioned before that you were an addict, too. What happened with that?¡± I sip at the drink, bubbly with undertones of cranberry. She smirks.


    ¡°I mean, there were years that I abused painkillers.¡± She sits up a bit straighter and laughs a bit. ¡°Like, I¡¯m surprised no one noticed. I used to constantly be popping those things. Nowadays, I only take them once in a while. I taught myself to control my urges, so I¡¯m not high all the time.¡±


    ¡°Wow. That must have taken a lot of self-control.¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah.¡± She has a bit of pride in her face before it melts to show a feeling I¡¯d never seen her express before. She had an old kind of loneliness in her eyes. ¡°But¡­ it was hard when we started out. You guys, I mean, the three of you were always friends from the beginning. By the time I came, I didn¡¯t feel like I fit in. I felt alone. I suppose I started popping pills because I felt like an outsider in my own band. That was rough.¡± She took a long, focused drink before she broke the mood with sudden laughter. ¡°Man, I used to have so much fun with you, though. The best times I ever had were when we were partying together. You were so fun and wild.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t give you more of a chance when I was sober,¡± I whisper, feeling guilty. I barely remembered the time I spent with her when I was drunk. And I never knew about the loneliness she suffered.


    ¡°That¡¯s okay. Now we can get to know each other for real.¡± She picked up the TV¡¯s remote and turned on a movie. Neither of us bothered to watch it.


    ¡°I¡­ I know how you felt. I always used to feel lonely, too. I mean, I had Gael and Absinthe around, but it always felt like my relationships with them slipped further by the day. I had to keep barriers up with Gael, so he wouldn¡¯t find out about my feelings for him. And he¡¯s always been aloof. He never talks about anything with me. Absinthe, too. She¡¯s supportive and kind, but she won¡¯t lean on anyone so it always felt like our friendship was a little one-sided.¡± I sigh and remember that everything I said still applies today. Gael hasn¡¯t mentioned anything about the girl to me, the same way he hasn¡¯t discussed anything about his life. Absinthe still shows her care and support, but I don¡¯t feel like I know anything about what¡¯s going on with her either.


    ¡°Maybe if we lean on each other, we won¡¯t have to feel lonely.¡± Digitalis offers. There is a moment of quiet agreement before I feel her hands in my hair. ¡°You know, Asya. You just aren¡¯t you without blue in your hair.¡± I laugh at the suddenness of her comment.


    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s pretty weird. I¡¯ve felt off about it since they made me go natural for rehab.¡± She dropped the bits of hair she had in her fingertips.


    ¡°They do that in rehab?¡± She raised an eyebrow, shocked.


    ¡°I think it was just the facility I went to. They were all about starting over and going natural. They told me that it would help me ¡®redefine¡¯ myself.¡±


    Digitalis snickers.


    ¡°Maybe we should redefine you again. Let¡¯s put some of that color back where it belongs.¡± She stands up from the couch. ¡°Come on. The gas stations around here had some dye kits.¡±


    I smile, her impulsive nature rubbing off on me. So we go together and get some blue dye. We spend the rest of the night learning how to add streaks of it into my hair.


    The tour was coming to an end. The makeup crew threw a tantrum at me for my home dye-job and we spent hours before the final show fixing it up to make it look perfect for the spotlights. Despite their criticism, the job Digitalis and I did wasn¡¯t all that bad. We finally made it back to the studio after the last concert. Gael commended the band and crew and we celebrated with sparkling juice. It was torment again, seeing that Gael brought that girl to the studio to celebrate with us. It would have been stupid of me to think that she was merely a fling at this point. The way they held hands and smiled together, and the fact that he¡¯d brought her here, made it obvious to me that they were together.


    I go to my apartment for the first time, barely able to enjoy the experience because of how torn up the sight of Gael and his girlfriend made me feel. Digitalis entered, the rustle of plastic following her. She set bulging bags full of bottles onto my coffee table and popped a party popper, the clean dark tile littered with cheap colorful squares of paper.


    ¡°Happy two weeks!¡± She shouted, reminding me that my pills wore off by today. I could only offer the smallest of grins and she nudged my arm as though to urge me to cheer up. ¡°Look! I got all of the best stuff. Your favorite whiskey¡¯s in here, and I found a ton of things for cocktails that you might like.¡± I watched nervously as she spread the bottles out on the table. When she runs out of space, she moves them all to the kitchen counter and my apartment starts to feel like a brand new bar. The fear sinks in.


    ¡°What if I fall back into this again?¡± I ask, anxiously.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll teach you self-control, remember? Besides, I saw the way you looked when Gael was strutting around with that chick. Come on. Just have one drink and then see how you feel about it.¡± I eye the bottle of whiskey, hoping that my pills really are worn off.


    That sickening feeling that I got the first time I drank after rehab came to my memory and I waited for it, nervous. I waited for my breaths to go beyond my control, for my stomach to lurch, and for my head to swim in a confused mess while my limbs grew weaker and weaker. It didn¡¯t come. Instead, all that I felt was that familiar feeling of alcohol evaporating in my mouth, a light burning in my throat followed by an almost sweet taste clinging to the back of my throat like syrup. My stomach had a warmth inside of it, now, and a thrill of lightness shot up my neck to make my head feel like it was beginning to float. I loved this feeling. I didn¡¯t realize how much I missed it.


    Digitalis cheers while I down a little more, the rush in my head making me feel dizzy in the most wonderfully familiar way. I put the bottle down, then, and Digitalis claps.


    ¡°See? I told you that you could do it!¡± She danced over to the couch and we opened up a pint of ice cream. I sat beside her and we spent the night as we did before the pills wore off. She sighs, happy. ¡°If we start slow like this, you¡¯ll be a responsible drinker in no time.¡±


    Still, I glanced back at the counter covered in bottles. How long would it take for me to drink them all if I lost myself again? How easy would it be to relapse if I already filled my home with temptation?


    ¡°You know, Asya. I really want to meet a guy.¡± Digitalis blurted with a mouthful of ice cream, ¡°That tour left me full of pent-up needs. Maybe it¡¯ll make you feel better, too. Maybe you¡¯ll forget about Gael for a bit. We can go to the bar tomorrow and pick up some guys together, won¡¯t that be nice?¡±


    I looked away from the kitchen counter and the memory of Gael¡¯s girlfriend¡¯s hand entangled with his pushed itself to the foreground. At that moment, I thought that maybe as long as I was able to rein in my urges a little, I could afford to sleep around a bit. We watch movies and laugh until the ice cream is gone and we¡¯d fallen asleep together on the couch.


    It¡¯s my first time in a bar for over a year, now. Digitalis wastes no time in engaging a rather attractive guy at the end of the bar. I order a drink to manufacture the confidence to find a guy for myself. My head is lighter when I notice someone that catches my eye. We exchange a few interested looks before I make my way to him. It starts with the drink he buys me, then with a brush of his hand on my knee, which continues higher until he¡¯s feeling me through the front of my pants. I turn to kiss him, then, and we have another drink together. Digitalis comes over with the guy she met and we all laugh and drink until, somehow, we¡¯re back at her private apartment with the guys we met and two guys I don¡¯t remember meeting.


    We¡¯re all in her bedroom, not a single garment among the six of us, and I am overwhelmed by the mouths and hands that I feel on my body. The guy I met is on top of me, and I focus on his intense gaze. I feel fingernails grating on my wrist, a hand jerking back and forth rhythmically. It¡¯s all a blur after that, and I wake in a pile of naked bodies. Two are missing, but I can hear someone in the kitchen frying something on the stove. I grasp my forehead when the hangover starts to get to me. Digitalis and one of the men we brought home are making out together and I put on my underwear before I greet the guy cooking breakfast. As I pour myself a glass of water, I hope with all of my heart that I¡¯m not relapsing.

 Chapter 7

    After we get all the men out of her apartment, Digitalis and I head to the studio. She smokes a cigarette, chatting about the night before fondly. I cradle my head against the passenger door and listen. She drank less than I did, and I¡¯m surprised to hear what I¡¯d missed in my intoxication.


    She recounted that I did a beer bong with one guy. After that, we were pretty trashed. Things headed in a sexual direction. Most of our clothes came off there, but Digitalis moved everyone to the bedroom to keep her couch clean.


    When I learned I¡¯d been drunk enough to join them all in bed, my heart raced. After the bar, I was too far gone to refuse anything the group wanted to do. I looked at my scratched up wrist, the stinging sensation mild enough to ignore, and recalled the way she held my arm for most of the act. I was ashamed of myself for getting smashed and losing control again. Seeing how happy Digitalis was, I wouldn¡¯t admit to feeling that way.


    When we arrive, Absinthe and the manager are alone in the conference room.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Gael?¡± Digitalis asks, her tone toeing the line between annoyance and genuine curiosity.


    ¡°He won¡¯t be coming today. He went on a date.¡± The manager grinned at the word ¡®date¡¯, but my face was making the opposite expression. Digitalis snapped.


    ¡°What, so he¡¯s allowed to skip on meetings, but if I do it, it¡¯s a problem?¡± Her brown eyes flashed with anger and everyone tensed.


    ¡°Digitalis, let¡¯s just focus on the matters at hand. He was overdue for a day off, anyway¡­¡± The manager held up his hands, desperately trying to calm her. She continued to glare as she threw herself back into her chair.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe this.¡± She muttered through her teeth. I sit between her and Absinthe, my glazed eyes falling to the table. Sparks of jealousy came to life inside me, but I couldn¡¯t show it. The manager set his papers down and organized whatever notes he had for the meeting.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Absinthe asked, her eyes fixed on my scratched wrist. I lift my eyes to her, offering a weak smile.


    ¡°Yeah. Just have a headache, that¡¯s all.¡± I try to sound a bit unwell, but Absinthe wasn¡¯t na?ve enough to fall for it. She gives me a concerned glance but doesn¡¯t pursue the topic. The manager passes out paperwork. There were copies of the Gael¡¯s sheet music and some label policy updates that he wanted us to go through. We start our meeting.


    I can barely focus on the information in front of me. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the hangover or the heartbreak. When the meeting ends, the manager moves on to take a phone call. Absinthe heads to the practice room alone to work on her parts of Gael¡¯s new song ideas.


    ¡°Why does everyone forgive Gael so easily? I get the third degree if I¡¯m late!¡± Digitalis asked me. Her face deformed with quieted rage, overshadowed by insecurity.


    ¡°Who knows?¡± I admit.


    ¡°I¡¯ll probably never be a genuine star like him. Not as long as I¡¯m living under his shadow like this.¡± She sighs. ¡°No matter how famous we get, he¡¯s always loved more than me. We both sing. We both play guitar. What makes everyone love him so much more?¡±


    ¡°I think we all live under his shadow. The fans always flock to him first.¡± I state it as a fact, one that I¡¯d never been bitter about. My tone remains saddened from thoughts of Gael, but Digitalis takes it as though I share her feelings.


    ¡°We should start our own band together, Asya. Together, we can finally get the fame we deserve. And I¡¯ve heard you sing before. You¡¯d be a great compliment to my voice.¡± She turns to me now, her eyes shining with excitement.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ I enjoy being in PHAGE HEAD. Digitalis, I thi¡ª¡± I stop short when I feel her hand sliding up my thigh. She¡¯s groping me through my jeans and I stand up, staring at her with shock. She looks back at me with confusion, the hand that touched me turning into an awkward claw.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± She asks, pulling on the hem of my shirt. ¡°Don¡¯t you want it?¡± I instinctively back away, freeing myself from her grasp.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m gay, Digitalis. I don¡¯t...¡± I stutter my reply and she laughs.


    ¡°Then what was last night? We were with those men together, you know. We technically had sex.¡± I shake my head vigorously as her eyes darken with each word she utters.


    ¡°No¡­ That¡¯s not what that was. And I was too drunk to understand what I was doing, anyway. It doesn¡¯t count.¡± She stands and closes the distance I made between us, grabbing the wrist she scratched up.


    ¡°It does. It happened. Look!¡± She holds my wrist for me to look at, her eyes predatory and wild. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me it doesn¡¯t count. That was the most intimate night of my life, Asya! The evidence is right here! We held hands!¡± Her voice rose now. For the first time in a while, I felt a genuine fear that stopped everything else within me.


    ¡°We never once engaged each other sexually, Digitalis. Not once. You held my arm, but I didn¡¯t once want to reciprocate anything with you.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure what drove me to keep arguing.


    She was spiraling out of control, and my words wouldn¡¯t help.


    ¡°I thought we¡¯d just have a close friendship. I didn¡¯t want to go any further than that.¡± I added, my voice shivering.


    She quivered and glared, but suddenly her face became pleading, afraid. It caught me off guard and I tensed.


    ¡°We can still have a close friendship, Asya. I want to be your friend. I don¡¯t want you to be my lover.¡± Her voice was soft and her eyes looked like they¡¯d burst into tears.


    ¡°Then why did you-¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°I wanted to have an intimate friendship, Asya. And we can still have that. Please.¡± She got on her knees in front of me. I tried to back away before the wall I¡¯d reached stopped me. Her hands drifted towards the front of my pants.


    ¡°Just pretend I¡¯m a guy and enjoy it.¡± She murmured.


    For a moment, I was frozen. When she touched me, I could move again. I jumped away from her. She turned to look at me; her face a mess of emotions.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand, Digitalis. I don¡¯t want this with you. I don¡¯t know why you keep trying.¡± Digitalis yelled after me as I fled into the sound room where Absinthe played. She called me a prick and an array of other colorful words. Beating drums overpowered her voice, finally sealed away by the closing door behind me.


    I fall against the wall and experience everything at once. I take a deep breath, trying to shake the leftover fear and tension from my confrontation with Digitalis. That¡¯s when the old depression creeps back in: the empty worthlessness that weighs on me. The years of my life have gotten me nowhere with Gael. Even now I¡¯m just damaging my relationship with him, all while dreaming of a day that he falls in love with me. It¡¯s almost laughable at this point that the fantasy persists.


    The sound of the drums stops, then.


    ¡°Asya? Are you okay?¡± Absinthe asks, looking down at me from her stool behind the drum set.


    ¡°I-¡± My eyes flick up to her, but the door beside me swings open. Digitalis stands in the opening, enraged.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to leave the band. I can¡¯t stand any of you! All you people do is hold me back! And when Gael comes to work again, give him this for me!¡± She flipped everyone off with both hands, storming out of the room. Absinthe and I stare after her in silent awe. I grin bitterly, knowing that my act of rejecting her was instrumental in her decision. I leaned back against the wall, hoping that my choice didn¡¯t just kill the band.


    ¡°Asya¡­ Does that have anything to do with why you¡¯re sitting like that right now?¡± Absinthe asked.


    She sat beside me, unaffected by Digitalis¡¯ exclamation.


    ¡°One of many things, Abby.¡± I sigh, curling my legs to lean on them. Her hands were on my head, gentle and caring.


    ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡± She asks, the warmth of her body barely penetrating my icy skin.


    ¡°I¡¯m ashamed of myself, Absinthe,¡± I whisper. ¡°I can¡¯t handle anything.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°So much, Abby. It¡¯s my fault Digitalis left the band. I can¡¯t stop hurting over Gael. And¡­¡± I stop before I confess the events of last night. I¡¯m embarrassed enough that I got drunk and joined an orgy, even without telling Absinthe about it.


    ¡°How is it your fault?¡± Absinthe was wise, choosing one problem at a time.


    I sighed into my legs.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been hanging out a lot and¡­ Well¡­¡± I took a deep breath. ¡°Last night I was at her place and we brought some people over. She mistook what happened as an intimate moment and tried to make a move on me after the meeting. I rejected her and ran in here. That must be why she quit...¡± I hugged my legs tighter, suffering the crawling sensation of guilt. My eyes were dry.


    ¡°She¡¯s unstable, Asya. You¡¯re allowed to reject someone. It wasn¡¯t your fault.¡± She stroked my back tenderly. ¡°Asya¡­ What happened last night? Why did she get confused?¡± I sensed the fear and hesitance in her tone. I knew what she suspected, and I wouldn¡¯t lie to her.


    ¡°Well¡­ We uh¡­ Had group sex in her apartment.¡± My face heated and, for a moment, her hand paused before it kept making gentle circles on my back.


    ¡°Like an orgy or something?¡± She feigned naivete to get answers out of me. I knew it was futile to keep withholding them, but I was terrified to admit them so abruptly.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± My voice was timid.


    ¡°You¡¯re not into women. Why would you do that with Digitalis?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ I mean¡­¡± I couldn¡¯t make myself say it. She already seemed to know.


    ¡°Were you drunk, Asya?¡± Her tone wasn¡¯t cruel, but I still buried my face deeper into the safety of my curled legs.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I admitted, ashamed. I quivered at the sound of her sigh.


    ¡°Oh, Asya¡­ Why did you drink again?¡± The sheer volume of concern in her voice nurtured the shame within me. I wanted to end my existence.


    ¡°It was only one night¡­ I just¡­ I couldn¡¯t handle feeling the way I did. It just happened.¡± I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could, as if it would erase me with my sight.


    ¡°How did it happen? What feelings?¡±


    ¡°I mean, I was just trying to hook up with someone. I ended up drinking to gain confidence and one drink turned into many¡­ I just lost control of it.¡± She was hugging me, her slender arms wrapping around my curled form, legs and all.


    ¡°Why did you hook up with strangers again?¡± She whispered. I leaned against her, my leg wall loosening and falling away so we could embrace.


    ¡°Gael. I can¡¯t stand to see him with that girl. It¡¯s killing me.¡± Tears were coming, now. Recalling how he looked at her poisoned me.


    ¡°We¡¯ll find a way through this. You don¡¯t have to go back to drinking your pain away.¡±


    ¡°What am I supposed to do? All I have is unbearable pain¡­ If anything at all¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but we¡¯ll figure something out.¡± We spend a moment in silence, holding each other. It had been forever since she last consoled me this way. It always used to comfort me, but somehow, it only deepened my pain this time.


    Absinthe rose to her feet and picked up her drumsticks.


    ¡°Practice with me.¡± She invited, ¡°Maybe the emotions will ease if you pour them into music.¡±


    I pulled my studio bass from the wall and stood beside her drum set. I did as she said and put my whole heart into my song. It didn¡¯t relieve the aching, even after we went at it for hours.


    The sound room door creaked open, and we both stopped playing to see why. Gael was there, looking irked and weary. He had dressed very nicely and the smell of cologne emanated from him, different from his usual scent.


    ¡°Digitalis is done, then. We have lots of work to do.¡± He announced. Gael gestured for us to go back into the meeting room. He didn¡¯t seem to notice the looks of worry Absinthe made at me.


    ¡°You mean, she¡¯s really quitting this time?¡± Absinthe asked. In the past, she¡¯d stormed out like that only to return later like nothing happened.


    Gael nodded, waiting for us to pack our equipment.


    ¡°She sent me a shrieking voicemail. The manager messaged me shortly after, saying she¡¯d broken into my office to rip her contract apart.¡± His eyebrows knitted together at the thought of it. He hated others being in his office without him.


    We sat at the conference table once more. I stared at the empty seat where Digitalis would always sit. It was strange to return here after she made her pass on me. I wondered if this is how Gael had felt before he left the band the first time.


    Calmly, Gael started planning. We rewrote the songs to work without Digitalis, and we started working on how we¡¯d handle the media. His girlfriend was there, her plain eyes following Gael like he was a god in her world. I wished that I was in her place. I could scarcely focus on my task, and it took all I had in me not to glare at her. My envy for her was a poison, flooding my veins. If I could spend one day in her place, I¡¯d trade every pleasure in my life for it. No such offer would be made, so instead, I spent the passing hours crushing myself.


    I checked my phone when the meeting wrapped up. The guy from the bar messaged me, making an offer to see him later that night. I promised myself I wouldn¡¯t have a single drink. When the meeting ends, I take a taxi to the man¡¯s apartment. Every minute I spend inside, I am numb. The pleasure of the sex we have fades to nothing beneath the growing emptiness that devours me.

 Chapter 8

    For the last few weeks, I wake up to the same man¡¯s face each morning. I learned that his name was Marcus; I spent nights at his place or had him over at mine. We went out together occasionally. Aside from physical attraction, I wasn¡¯t all too invested in him. It was pleasant to have someone around that laughed at my jokes, told me about their day, and held me at night. Though, it didn¡¯t seem very important to me that he was the one to do it. I thought he was charming enough, and he knew how to flatter me or make me laugh, but something wasn¡¯t there. No matter how much I willed it, I couldn¡¯t find even an imitation of the raw emotion I carried for Gael.


    I only thought of him as my boyfriend when Absinthe invited him and I on a group date, with Gael and his girlfriend tagging along. We didn¡¯t go anywhere fancy, especially because Absinthe had always hated getting attention. She brought us to a family pizza parlor, bringing along a woman I¡¯d never met. Oddly, I realized I¡¯d never heard of her having a girlfriend. How much had I missed for my addictions that I didn¡¯t even know the woman she seemed to love?


    ¡°Asya, isn¡¯t this the first actual boyfriend you¡¯ve had?¡± Absinthe notes when my date is in the bathroom, taking a delicate bite of her pizza. Her girlfriend eyes me expectantly, leaving me to wonder how much Absinthe told her about me. I turn my eyes down, studying the cheese that oozed out of the stuffed crust I¡¯d forgotten on my plate.


    ¡°Yeah. He is. I guess I just got sick of being single all the time.¡± I couldn¡¯t avoid the sardonic edge that invaded my voice, and Absinthe hadn¡¯t missed it either. Gael laughs, a sound that was more beautiful these past few months than I¡¯d ever heard it sound before. Cynically, I wondered if it¡¯s because of the girl he¡¯s with, or an illusion brought up from my jealousy. I bit the inside of my lip, ashamed of myself for that thought.


    I see the way Absinthe¡¯s eyes narrow, and I can sense the worry budding within her. Marcus returned to the table. As Gael¡¯s girlfriend delights us all with a dull tale about her job as a call center employee, I try not to look bitter and annoyed. I nibble at my pizza to keep my hands busy, but my appetite is absent.


    I meet Absinthe¡¯s eyes for a moment, but I turn them back down the moment I see the look she¡¯s giving me. Her green eyes were so full of concern, looking between me and my boyfriend the same way she¡¯d look between me and a bottle of whiskey. I turn my gaze back to my plate. I wanted the strength to face Absinthe and those eyes of hers.


    I wished that I was strong enough to let Gael enjoy his happiness. It was weak of me to hate every moment as I sat there, an outsider looking into the most beautiful world imaginable. A world that would never be mine. That girl¡¯s laughter cut through my thoughts, followed by the sound of a light kiss. I tried with all of my might not to cringe. It took all of my strength to withstand it. I endure this part of the evening until the pizzas are half eaten, when Gael departs with his lover.


    My boyfriend orders a beer, quickly encouraging me to drink from his cup. I accept just a few sips, knowing that I can¡¯t drink enough to wipe away my sour mood as Absinthe remains in the booth, watching me.


    ¡°Are you sure you should be drinking?¡± Absinthe stated, and I set down his cup with a sigh.


    ¡°I can drink moderately, like anyone else.¡± I muttered. Still, my cheeks flushed a bit.


    ¡°Yeah. He drinks less than I do.¡± My boyfriend piped in, though Absinthe didn¡¯t seem to care much about what he added.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure you won¡¯t relapse?¡± Absinthe inquired. Her voice was quiet, her eyes cautious.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve got this.¡± I insisted. Absinthe asked her girlfriend to take her credit card for her to pay the bill. I suggested to my boyfriend that we might want some boxes for the leftover pizza.


    ¡°You must trust that girl a lot, giving her your credit card like that,¡± I noted.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been together for two years, now.¡± Absinthe smiled thinly. ¡°But let¡¯s not avoid the issue. Asya, are you doing okay?¡±


    ¡°How okay can I be? It¡¯s killing me, Absinthe. What does he see in that girl? She¡¯s so¡­ Average.¡± I put my face in my hands. ¡°I mean, she¡¯s not pretty or smart. She¡¯s not talented in any obvious ways. She¡¯s not interesting. I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s mean, Asya. He loves her, and we need to accept that.¡±


    ¡°I know. I just¡­ I know he¡¯ll never fall for me, but can¡¯t he at least pick someone better than her? It¡¯s like some kind of cruel trick, seeing someone like that with him. Knowing that I¡¯ll never make the cut hurts. But seeing someone as painfully average as her take the place that I want, the place I can never have... I¡¯d hurt less if I set myself on fire.¡± I couldn¡¯t start crying. Any minute, one of our dates could come back.


    ¡°If you still love Gael, Asya, why are you dating that guy?¡± Absinthe¡¯s voice was soft, but her words were strategic. I knew she¡¯d ask me that.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. I think¡­ I think I just want to love anyone else.¡± My eyes aim towards the register where he waits in line. When I see him, I¡¯m still numb. ¡°But it¡¯s not working.¡±


    ¡°Are you really in control right now? I¡¯m worried that you¡¯re falling back to where you were, starting with that relationship. He¡¯s obviously a crutch, but he¡¯s also enabling you.¡± Her hand slid onto my shoulder and I sat up to shrug it off.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, Absinthe. I just¡­ I feel like he¡¯s the only way to stop going on like this. He¡¯s the only chance I have. I can resist the temptation to drink. I know that I can. Just¡­ If I can¡¯t stop loving Gael, I¡¯ll only worsen every day I¡¯m still alive without him. I want to stop feeling like this. I want to be happy, Absinthe. Like I haven¡¯t been for years¡­¡± I took a deep breath. Absinthe¡¯s eyes flash towards the counter, and mine follow. My boyfriend is returning with the boxes.


    ¡°I want to talk to you later, Asya. Okay?¡± She whispers just before he reaches the table. I nod in answer before I give him my best false smile and help load the remaining slices of pizza into the boxes. Absinthe rises to meet her girlfriend at the register where she was still paying for the food.


    We meet up at the door, exchanging the usual farewells before we split into pairs to drive home. My boyfriend gushes about how cool it was to hang out with my bandmates, and it takes all of my strength to pretend that I share his enthusiasm. When we get to his apartment, I push our leftovers into the fridge and embrace him.


    I lead him to the bedroom and let out all of my pent-up frustrations in his bed. When it¡¯s over, his excitement has faded to a quiet satisfaction. I try to appear like I feel the same way. As his breathing evens out with sleep, I stare into the dark, flinching at the visions my mind casts into the empty blackness before my eyes. The sight of Gael and that girl fills the room to haunt me.


    ***


    The vision of Gael¡¯s smile reminds me of a gig we played when we were sixteen. As we left the stage, the thrill from our song still filled me with excitement. My hands quivered. I turned to look back at the cheering people.


    Instead, I saw Gael. As he walked offstage behind me, he waved at them. The stoic mask he wore melted into an elated and warm expression. It was the first time I¡¯d seen him so happy. His eyes were soft, his lips curved into a grin that came to life all on its own. The lights of the stage made him glow beyond what was natural. He turned to face me, and I was breathless, as though meeting the gaze of an otherworldly being.


    He tapped my shoulder, waking me from my trance. Realizing that I¡¯d stopped halfway down the stairs, I returned to my descent. The image of him, however, remained in my mind. To see him so happy was the greatest bliss I¡¯d ever known, and the warmth of it filled and revived me.


    ***


    I squeezed my eyes shut. I¡¯d seen that same expression on his face today, but this time he¡¯d made it for that girl. It was painful to watch. Back then, he smiled at the progress of his music. I was a part of it. We were realizing his greatest dream. Today, I was an outsider. I shiver, but the blankets don¡¯t offer me any warmth.


    Trembling, I slip out of bed and shuffle through the darkness. As I approached the kitchen, the memory of his radiance was becoming distorted and poisoned. I go to the liquor cabinet, grasping the cool glass of a whiskey bottle. A nauseating ball forms in the pit of my stomach. I¡¯m a failure. I¡¯ll never be the one to make Gael glow like that. The bottle opens with a pop, a hitched breath tumbling from my lips. I raise the bottle to my mouth, filling myself with the numbing fire of the alcohol. I¡¯ve known for years that it won¡¯t fill the emptiness. I¡¯ve learned that it won¡¯t erase my pain forever. For now, though, it will make me forget a few hours of my torment. I¡¯d drained half of the bottle before I curled up with it on the tile. For a few miserable hours, I cried and drank with the promise that I wouldn¡¯t remember it all in the morning.


    I wished that I could fall in love with Marcus, when in the morning he carried me to bed, half-conscious and tired enough to stay limp. When my body relaxed into the sheets. His hand brushed against my face, soft and caring. With all of my heart, I wished that I could muster up enough emotion to give him the love he has given to me. I slipped back into my dreamless sleep before I woke again to the sound of the TV. A celebrity news show was on and my boyfriend sat up on the bed, watching with excitement. I leaned up from my pillow to see what has piqued his interest, spying photos of Gael and the girl from last night. They were kissing in his car outside of the restaurant and the host of the show gushed about them. The blood in my veins turned to ice, the curiosity I had falling away to become a part of the overwhelming bitterness that filled me. The airheaded show host squealed about how ¡®adorable it is that such a famous musical genius fell for one of his own fans.¡¯ I wished that my boyfriend brought my half-finished bottle from last night into the bedroom with me. Before he started babbling about the news, I slid out of bed, grumbling about making breakfast, and slipped away into the kitchen. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    I stayed true to my word, trying to make the world¡¯s laziest omelets for the two of us. As I stared at the sizzling eggs, I felt like I was going to cave in on myself. I found the bottle from last night and took a long sip in between the moments I spent poking and messing with the food. My inattentive and impatient cooking turned my omelets into rubbery scrambled eggs. I choked down as much as I could stomach before I presented the abundant remainder of them to my boyfriend, in the bedroom where I left him. The same story he watched when I left was on the screen, covered by a different channel. Blindly, he ate. I watched him for a moment. The story sucked him in enough that he didn¡¯t seem to notice how terrible the food was. When they showed the kissing photo of Gael and the girl on screen again, I bit my lip. I made my egress to the kitchen again and had the rest of my breakfast from a whiskey bottle.


    The morning was a haze, as I sat against the hard counters on the cold floor. I finished the bottle off hours ago, but I found that I felt no better with the liquor in my system. I curled in on myself, my clumsy body slipping a few times on the smooth tile before I hugged my legs successfully. Softly, I wept against my bare legs, squeezing them hard enough that I¡¯d hurt there when I was sober again.


    There was a buzzing against my chest. For the briefest of moments, I was confused until I touched the phone tucked into the pocket of my shirt. I pulled up the notification, the heavy emptiness inside of me only going deeper when I saw Digitalis¡¯ name attached to it. I opened her message, remembering the last encounter I had with her. Briefly, I wondered if she wanted to confront me again, and my eyes hesitated to reach the words she sent me.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± It read.


    I leaned back into the counter, telling myself that I should wait until I was sober to respond. It was too late. My drunken hands replied with little elegance, my fingers repeatedly retyped the misspelled and misplaced words until they were legible enough to convey that I would accept her apology. She read them but didn¡¯t reply.


    I lay on the floor for a few more hours, waving to my boyfriend when he gave me a water bottle before he left the house for work. I¡¯d almost forgotten that he was home since I¡¯d been alone in the kitchen all day. The fog in my head was lifting as the hours passed, and I¡¯d started feeling normal again until my phone vibrated against my palm.


    ¡°Can I come over?¡± Digitalis messaged. I wished that I could read the emotions behind her words. I could only guess.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I replied, ¡°It¡¯s been a while.¡± I struggled to lift myself from the floor, dragging the water bottle and my phone with me. My legs had become weak and heavy, tingling from hours of being asleep. It took an eternity to reach the couch, and I chugged my water when I collapsed into the soft cushions. I was a corpse, enjoying a taste of my eternal rest as I blankly stared off into space and lay there like I was trying not to exist. It¡¯s only when the doorbell chimed that I finally rose from my place. Digitalis was outside, her face cautious until she saw mine. She crashed through the door and hugged me like I¡¯d died and come back to life.


    ¡°Asya, I thought I¡¯d never see you again.¡± She clung to me, and it was hard to get the door shut while she had herself wrapped around my shoulders.


    ¡°Me, too.¡± I leaned awkwardly into her, my arms strangely numb from whatever alcohol still lingered in my veins. I didn¡¯t know what I was doing, inviting her in after what happened in the studio. As she held me, I was so dead and so empty. I don¡¯t think I even cared about the possibilities of what could happen.


    It was almost dizzying, how I suddenly ended up on the couch beside her after the embrace ended, almost like I was suddenly just there with nothing between the actions. She was laughing, saying something I wasn¡¯t listening to. It was only when I looked back into her eyes when my attention focused on her. While she finished laughing, I saw the smile drain from her face, her eyes looking lost and full of yearning even before the joy died on her lips. There was a tense moment where we just looked into each other¡¯s eyes, each trying to read the other¡¯s mind.


    ¡°Asya¡­¡± Her voice cut into the tension, sudden and shocking, like jumping into ice water. ¡°I¡¯m so happy to see you again. No one¡­ No one really likes me. You¡¯re the only friend I¡¯ve ever had.¡± Her milky eyes searched mine, looking worried and afraid. It was heavy, taking in her words. If I was the only friend she¡¯d ever had, I could only fathom the loneliness she experienced. I didn¡¯t think that I could call myself a friend to anyone, lately. I¡¯ve been failing myself and the people around me for so long, I wondered why I wasn¡¯t completely alone by now.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± My voice sounded like someone else¡¯s.


    She sighed.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t being a good friend to you,¡± Digitalis admits. ¡°I should have listened when you told me that you didn¡¯t want me. I just¡­ I¡¯m so empty sometimes. I don¡¯t know how to fill myself. I thought that maybe if we did that, I might have felt better. Even if it only lasted a moment¡­¡±


    ¡°I understand. I feel that way, too, sometimes.¡± My body was so hollow that I couldn¡¯t even give my words inflection.


    ¡°Are you feeling okay? When I saw the news this morning, I¡­ I thought you might be down.¡± I could almost hear her toes dancing across the imaginary eggshells between us. She was tense, her eyes cautious, and she put almost a full foot of space between us on the couch. Even asking me how I felt, she seemed to expect rejection.


    ¡°I¡¯m not okay, Digitalis.¡± I close my eyes, only opening them to stare at the table when the darkness behind my eyelids produces the images of that dull woman and Gael together. I felt the light touch of tentative hands on my shoulders, sliding slowly, carefully, to my back in a shy hug.


    ¡°I wish I could make him love you.¡± She whispers.


    I¡¯d wished that for so long that it seemed immoral by now.


    ¡°No. I knew that he¡¯d never love me. But why must he love a girl like her?¡± I admit my feelings to her. ¡°If it were a beautiful and talented woman, at least then I could understand why she draws his eye. But that girl¡­ There¡¯s nothing to her at all. I beat her in everything but kindness.¡± As I say the words, I am the lowest person on earth, saying such blunt and cruel words about a person who never wronged me. Digitalis was the only one who would never hold that against me. She loosened her arms and sat back up, ending the embrace.


    ¡°Gael is a genius, but he¡¯s a fool for not seeing your value.¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m rich, famous, and good looking. Beyond all of that, there¡¯s nothing left of me. I might be better than her, but I¡¯m still worthless.¡± My words are whispers, and I¡¯m hearing them on the outside rather than the inside of my head. Tears fill my eyes as I repeat the mantra I¡¯ve told myself from within the deepest layers of my mind for years. I don¡¯t know when my confidence faded into a mere facade to become the ugly self-loathing that I got in the absence of it. Yet, I knew when I said those words it had happened. Inside, I was worthless. Although that girl was a boring nothing of a person, she was still worth more than me. Gael loved her because she wasn¡¯t void of everything like I was. Perhaps I¡¯ve always been this way, and my confidence had always been an illusion.


    I was leaning forward, collapsing slowly like a mound of molasses on a plate. Digitalis caught me again in her arms and I cried against her. As empty and as worthless as I was, I still took the comfort she offered me. As her hands grazed my back in circles, I knew that I didn¡¯t deserve the affection, but I took it anyway.


    ¡°Do you want to hang out sometimes? Like we used to?¡± Her voice was shy when she broke the silence with her question. I didn¡¯t speak, but I nodded into her shoulder. Her hands tightened against my back, and I imagined the relief in her eyes.


    For a minute, I wasn¡¯t aware that I had gone back to the routines I used to follow. Digitalis and I talked over glasses of wine during the day when we didn¡¯t have to work. At night, my boyfriend would come home and we¡¯d unwind with a case of beer and mindless TV. When they disappeared together into the bathroom to do pills, I¡¯d retrieve whiskey from the cabinet and sink into the couch until my hands couldn¡¯t grip the bottle anymore. Most mornings, I¡¯d wake on the couch with one or both of them filling the room with their gentle, sleeping breaths.


    I woke, my eyes glazing over the images on the TV as the plastic newswoman talked about the coming rain. Digitalis groaned when she rose from the carpet, her lipstick smeared across her cheek by the loveseat as she slept on it. My eyes didn¡¯t follow her as she took a seat beside me, the cushions sinking in beneath her in a way that made my body slide sideways. I blinked and tried to regain myself, looking to her face. She was glaring at the TV as she flicked through the channels. She skipped past a soap opera and a couple news channels. The channel lingered only a moment on a talk show, though still long enough to wound me. They were discussing Gael.


    Digitalis clicked it off and threw the remote onto the carpet, taking her forehead into her hand before dragging back the hair that hung over her eyes. The sigh she let loose was deep and edged with inner tension.


    ¡°Gael¡­¡± She muttered. For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut, her teeth visibly clenched by the tightness of her jaw. ¡°Do you know how hard it is to find work without the band, Asya?¡± I squeezed my arm with my fingertips, digging my nails a bit, to retrieve even just a scrap of the focus I lost in my sleep. ¡°Even after I left, I found myself lost in his shadow. Will I ever escape, Asya? Am I good enough to be a star without riding his coattails? No label wants me anymore. Few people show up for my solo performances, probably a thousand on good days. I have nothing left.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d take you back, Digitalis.¡± I offer feebly. Her frustrated face crumpled into an anger. Her eyes pierced into me.


    ¡°I will not admit defeat to that smug fucker!¡± She shouted before the anger in her eyes drained away into fear. Softly, her voice returned, ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t go back.¡±


    She got up from the couch, going into the bathroom after scooping up some pills that were scattered across the floor from last night. From the couch, I pulled out the bottle of whiskey that I failed to finish. I felt it scorch my raw throat as it slid down into me, ravaging me where my vomit burned me last night.


    I don¡¯t remember when I passed out, but the evening light is painting my living room with gold when I open my eyes again. My boyfriend is home from work, lecturing me for ignoring the mess we made the night before. I don¡¯t hear a word of it. He is plucking pills from the carpet and I rise, still sore all over, to help him clean.


    Digitalis entered the room after the cleaning was about done. She looked more awake now. She helped me pull an empty bottle from under the coffee table before she stopped my hands.


    ¡°Asya, I¡­ I was wondering.¡± She looked nervous enough to catch my attention. Her eyes, often bold, were strangely timid. ¡°I can¡¯t join the band again, but¡­ Do you think maybe¡­ If you asked¡­ Would¡­¡± She was quiet for a moment, taking a breath. ¡°Would Gael give me an independent contract in his label?¡± Her eyes met mine, pleading. I looked back at them, empty.


    ¡°Tomorrow, when we¡¯re both completely sobered up, I¡¯ll take you to ask him yourself.¡± I look away from her when I know that she¡¯ll make a face that I won¡¯t like.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll let me have one, Asya? I don¡¯t know how to ask... ¡° Digitalis insisted, and I can imagine that pleading note in her eyes again.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t spoken to Gael outside of work for months, now,¡± I stated. Marcus goes into the bathroom, and the two of us have privacy.


    ¡°Because of that girl?¡± Digitalis¡¯ interest was becoming irritation.


    ¡°Mostly.¡± I managed to say. It was becoming harder to speak over a whisper because of the thoughts that filled my head. Images of that girl haunted me: holding the hand I¡¯ve never held, kissing the lips that never kissed me back. Worst of all, it hurt remembering how she laughed with the man who would never love me.


    Digitalis sighed. ¡°You¡¯ll never be over him, will you?¡± She muttered.


    I sensed that she¡¯d been losing interest for a while in my unrequited love for Gael, so I almost expected the comment. It would have stung me months ago, but now it just stuck to me and faded into a numbness that would become pain again later. I didn¡¯t respond to her scornful words, merely walking into the kitchen to scrounge for food. Living on liquor for the last few days was taking its toll. Digitalis pouted in the living room, probably annoyed that I wouldn¡¯t do everything she wanted. I ate a sleeve of saltines and a spoonful of peanut butter, both tasting like ashes in my mouth. I take another bottle to bed with me and end my night in a numb haze.

 Chapter 9

    When I wake, my boyfriend¡¯s presence is beside me. Digitalis is draped along the bottom of the bed like a cat. Grey light from the windows bathes the bed in its bleakness. I frown at the cloudy sky outside and close the curtains to cover the room in darkness. My morning shower is scathing as I try to burn away the smell of whiskey that stuck to my skin. I put some frozen waffles into the toaster for Digitalis to eat before sending Gael a message to request a meeting later. Without waiting for his response, I fell into myself on one of the kitchen chairs, craving a drink before my departure. I squeezed my leg with my fingertips, a futile effort to distract myself from the longing.


    The snap of the toaster popping the waffles up wakes me from my delirium. I struggle not to burn my fingertips as I take them out with shaking hands. I don¡¯t remember when they started doing that again. It used to happen often if I didn¡¯t hit the bottle fast enough. With the crispy waffles in hand, I shake Digitalis awake and offer them to her. Groggy, she crunches on them slowly and doesn¡¯t seem to care that she¡¯s getting crumbs all over Marcus¡¯ bed.


    While Digitalis eats, I wash up and try my best to make my face look fresh and healthy. I splash water on it and pinch my cheeks, but the circles beneath my eyes won¡¯t fade. All the color I summoned up disappears in mere moments. I corral Digitalis into the bathroom so she can shower. In silence, I grab my car keys and we walk down to my car together. I promise to buy her coffee, all the while feeling a spark of excitement to see Gael again.


    She is completely aware halfway through the ride once her coffee has perked her up. I can see that her nervousness has left her. She looks too confrontational with her squared shoulders and focused eyes. I worried that I was setting Gael up for another bad time with her.


    As the studio draws near, that yearning becomes almost overwhelming. The intensity that Digitalis threw off as we reached the doors of the studio was rapidly transforming into anxious electricity. I didn¡¯t know whether to be relieved or worried. Every step we took in the halls, her hesitance grows like the longing grows in me. She takes a breath beside me when we reach his office door, and a scarce moment of confidence flickers like a candle within her eyes.


    As I reach for the handle, I¡¯m unbearably nervous. My yearning for Gael turned into an anxious jolting in my chest. So many fears pile up inside of me, I couldn¡¯t count them. It¡¯s been so long since I asked Gael to meet me outside of work that I felt as though I was overstepping my place to visit him now. I resented the pane of frosted glass between us, foggy enough to stop me from knowing if that woman was inside.


    Finally, I wrap my hand around the handle, my sweaty palm sliding on the aluminum. As the door whispers open, those captivating eyes of his rise from the books on his desk to meet with mine. The sight takes my breath away until I¡¯m woken from my dream with the confused look in them. I am relieved that he is alone. His voice rings out then, pulling me back into reality completely.


    ¡°Digitalis is with you?¡± He asks, his arms tensed. She steps from behind me, the anxious jitters within her consumed by the rising blaze of her confidence. The sight of his face puts the electricity in my chest to sleep.


    ¡°I wanted to ask you for something, Gael.¡± Her voice was entitled in a way that only I knew she¡¯d practiced.


    Silently, I faded into the background, taking a seat against the wall.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Gael¡¯s voice was patient, despite its guardedness.


    ¡°Since you opened the label, you¡¯ve taken a few contracts here and there. I realized that you didn¡¯t have any independent singers, so I thought I¡¯d offer to sign a contract with your label.¡± The strategic way she chose her words was obvious to me. It appeared Gael noticed it as well, with the amused smile that came onto his face.


    ¡°You thought that you¡¯d be so kind as to offer yourself to my company?¡± His eyes lifted to meet hers, their stares clashing in the air between them. ¡°I suppose I could offer you something.¡± His eyes dropped back down to his paper. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I saw the tremble in Digitalis¡¯ hand.


    ¡°You mean¡­¡± The entitled mask crumbled when he cut her off.


    ¡°First, I want you to apologize to me. And to Asya.¡± He demanded, those cat-like eyes raising back to meet hers. She almost lost her balance when they hit her. The firm stance she¡¯d taken fell away in an instant, her hands meeting in front of her chest with thrilled relief.


    ¡°I- of course! I¡¯m so sorry for putting you through what I did.¡± She turned to face me, her eyes a flurry of excitement. ¡°And you too, Asya. I¡¯m so sorry!¡±


    Gael smiles, pulling a paper from a rack behind his desk.


    I pulled out my phone for a distraction as they discuss the contract he placed before her. I didn¡¯t belong here.


    We leave his office when everything is signed and finished. I notice the way Gael¡¯s eyes trail after me, like he has words on his lips meant for me. Quickly, I rush after Digitalis with only a wave in his direction. I can¡¯t bear the terror of what those words might be.


    Digitalis takes me by the shoulders when the door closes. ¡°Thank you so much!¡± She pulled me into a tight hug and I took it, still wondering what Gael wanted to say. She pushed me back and held me by my shoulders. ¡°I can¡¯t wait for my solo debut!¡± She was so jittery and enthusiastic that it was surreal to watch her animatedly gush about her contract while I felt nothing at all inside of me.


    We picked up my boyfriend and drove to the bar. I spectated them from over the top of my glass as Digitalis told him her hopeful stories of her future solo career. It was odd, realizing that my boyfriend and Digitalis meant more to each other than I meant to either of them. Shouldn¡¯t it be different, since they are only friends to each other, whereas I have been more to both?


    I downed the last of my drink and asked for another.


    I was a shadow in the months approaching my 25th birthday, holding Digitalis¡¯ hand and observing as she fought the press for her new career move. Everyone in the media seemed to hate her. It left her distraught enough that she came over almost every day to complain before drinking and doing drugs in my bathroom with my boyfriend. I was sure that they also slept together, but it was easy not to care. I didn¡¯t love him, even still.


    It was only when my twenty-fifth birthday came close that she didn¡¯t come by for a while. My boyfriend stayed after work later and later, and I would have been suspicious if I wasn¡¯t busy writing songs with my whiskey. If he was out sleeping with someone else, I didn¡¯t mind.


    My hair was freshly dyed, the complete blue that I used to wear before rehab. The color was bright and almost uplifting if my growing feelings of emptiness weren¡¯t holding back the scraps of joy I might have gleaned. I pulled into the parking lot and made my way to Marcus¡¯ apartment, where I had all but moved in. I could hear noise leaking through the front door, the sounds of dozens of people laughing and talking enthusiastically. I stop before the door, listening. I checked my phone to see if my boyfriend was planning something. He sent me no message to warn me. Carefully, I open the door and I¡¯m greeted by the vision of a wild party. Most of the people I hardly recognize. Some, I have seen before at band functions or when I went out to the bars with my boyfriend. I weave through the guests to make it to my kitchen, where some men are snorting lines of cocaine off of the countertops between bowls of chips and dip.


    I find Digitalis and my boyfriend with some people in the hall, doing pills as usual, before the group congratulates me on my birthday. I watch them pop the pills into their mouths and I am compelled to join them. One girl slides one into my mouth and I accept it, swallowing it down. The night is a blur at first; the people buzzing energetically for the first hour before staggering and stumbling as they get drunker. As people paired off or got tired, the crowd thinned. Digitalis took some guy to the bedroom, but I was too high to care. Some of them didn¡¯t bother to go home, simply making love wherever they could find. I did a line of shots and licked some cocaine left on the counter before I moved on to beer. My boyfriend passed out after some shots, lying among the barstools. My head was a haze when I finished the last beer of my evening. The world spun around me as I tried to traverse the living room until I was on my back, in couch cushions. I let the empty bottle in my hand roll from my fingers onto the carpet. I stared at the ceiling. I wanted to help my unconscious boyfriend to the bedroom to sleep, but I couldn¡¯t lift even a finger. The ceiling spun before my eyes and I blinked at it to see if it would stop.


    A dark figure approaches me, a smiling face and terrifying black eyes. A hand reaches out, but before it touches me, the haze in my head takes me away from the world.

 Chapter 10

    My head pounds as though it will explode when I open my eyes. There are footsteps, shuffling forcefully against the carpet, and clinking glass and crinkling plastic. I sit up slowly, my head heavy and rolling on my shoulders like an enormous ball of stone. I hold my face up with my hand, licking my sticky lips to moisten them. My face scrunches with a mix of disgust and confusion when I encounter something salty and dried up on my lips. My body feels strange. I hear the tinkling glass turn into the pounding noise of many bottles hitting the ground at once. I looked up to the sight of my boyfriend. He held a trash bag as he looked down at me, his face alive with rage.


    ¡°Everything alright, babe?¡± I inquire, my spinning vision making it difficult to focus on his face. I hold the sides of my head, but the spinning won¡¯t stop.


    ¡°Is everything alright?¡± His scornful tone rips into me and I lift my eyes back up to him. ¡°I wake up to find you naked on the couch, knowing that I never fucked you last night, and you have the gall to ask if I¡¯m alright? Who was it? Or do you not even remember?¡± He twists his face into a mask of anger and disgust. His knuckles whiten from the tight grip he has around the mouth of the trash bag he held.


    ¡°I¡­¡± I close my eyes, trying to remember the night before.


    All I remember is climbing the counter to reach my bottle and popping some pills. I barely recollected falling onto the couch to sleep, though even then I¡¯d been alone.


    ¡°So you don¡¯t even remember whoring yourself out, then.¡± He lets the bag of bottles go, turning his back to me. ¡°I want you out. I can¡¯t be with someone that I can¡¯t trust.¡±


    He turns away, the scathing glare he gave lingering behind. Somehow, I¡¯m too numb to be hurt.


    I can¡¯t bring myself to get up at first, but I eventually drag myself off of the couch. I gather a few things, get dressed, and leave the apartment. My face through the rearview mirror draws my eyes. I see the trail of dried semen on my lips. As I try to scrub it away with my fingernails, I lean against my seat. What I would give to remember the night before...


    I want to talk to someone, and Digitalis probably knows what happened when I blacked out.


    ¡°Did you see me with anyone last night?¡± I message her. I wait for a moment, every second that passes becoming heavier and heavier. Finally, I get her response.


    ¡°Where are you?¡± She asks.


    ¡°In my car, outside of the apartment.¡± I answer. There¡¯s a few minutes of silence where I can do nothing but worry. What happened? I did drugs last night. Since when did I stoop back down to doing drugs? I got so wasted that my face is still a little numb. I woke up with no clothes on, semen still on my lips. She came through the door when I was studying myself, her red hair stark against the white brick of the building. She entered my car quickly, her eyebrows pinched together as though she had a headache.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Asya?¡± She asked, licking her fingers to wipe away the smeared lipstick on her chin. I stare at the dark dashboard, my mind searching for memories that are lost to me.


    ¡°I was wondering¡­ If you saw me with anyone last night.¡± I couldn¡¯t stop glancing at myself in the mirror, my eyes fixed on the dried line leading out of my lips.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t. Why?¡± She barely even looked at me, distractedly fussing with her messed up makeup.


    ¡°I woke up like I¡¯d slept with someone the night before. My clothes were gone and¡­ I felt like something probably happened.¡±


    Even when I avoided my reflection, the leftover taste of the salt on my lips was a reminder. Something had tainted my mouth.


    Digitalis laughed lightly.


    ¡°Maybe you fooled around a bit with one of the guys. There were a lot of hot ones there.¡± Her face remained affixed on the mirror she gazed into. I looked down into my lap.


    ¡°My boyfriend broke up with me. He wants me out of his apartment.¡± I state the words numbly.


    I knew that I should be torn apart from the heartbreak of it. We¡¯d been together for a while, and he was the only man that I¡¯d ever had an actual relationship with. Somehow, though, I felt nothing at all. I could only wonder what happened when I was drunk. It seemed strange that I would have cheated on Marcus, even drunk. I¡¯d never even been tempted to.


    ¡°Ah, don¡¯t worry about him. I¡¯ll talk some sense into him. It¡¯s not like he hasn¡¯t fooled around behind your back.¡± She was putting on new lipstick now. Her eyes focused on nothing but her face.


    I should have been hurt that he¡¯d cheated on me, but I wasn¡¯t surprised at all.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother.¡± I muttered, driving her home.


    I just wanted to go to my studio apartment and be alone. I wasn¡¯t in the mood to have my feelings ignored this way.


    I came home to my music studio apartment for the first time in months. I flick on the lights, confronted with the furniture that had greeted me when I first came home from rehab. Bags of groceries disguise numerous bottles of liquor. I didn¡¯t want to give the door guard anything to tell Gael.


    I immediately slid into the shower, drinking from a bottle I smuggled in. My skin seemed filthy, worse than any other morning that I woke from a party. Something was wrong with me, and I scrubbed my lip before I took a swig from the bottle. I thought about how I woke undressed and some frustrated tears mixed with the shower water. I remembered that I had a meeting in the studio today when my phone¡¯s alarm sang from the bathroom counter where I¡¯d left it. I dressed as quickly as I could and rushed downstairs. My head was dizzy from the liquor buzz I got, but I had no time to sober up.


    Gael was alone in the room when I got there, so I must have been early. He looked up at me, studying me. My hair was still dripping, eyes red from the night before. He gave me a look of concern before he approached me. Face to face, I wanted to hold my breath. His powerful gaze made me feel small.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been drinking.¡± He states, sighing with disappointment.


    ¡°I uh¡­ Had a birthday party last night. We drank a little. I guess it just hasn¡¯t worn off yet.¡± I scratch the back of my neck, giving him a sheepish grin.


    He doesn¡¯t buy it. His eyes are as disapproving as they were when he noticed the scent of liquor on my breath.


    ¡°If you relapse, Asya, I¡¯ll put you right back into rehab.¡± Gael starts toward his place at the meeting table, straightening some papers he would use for the meeting.


    I nod my head; the grin sticking to my lips like a mask. I sat down and stared at my hands. The silence between us only watered the blossoms of shame that spread within me.


    My apartment is a bleak, empty expanse as I spend my next week alone. When I was with my boyfriend, I would drink all day. Yet, it wouldn¡¯t seem so dead as it did when I drank in my apartment. Knowing that he would return home lifted some dreariness away. I wouldn¡¯t have that anymore, and that was all I had to grieve over for our breakup.


    The apartment was dark because I was too apathetic to flip any of the lights on. Even the furniture and decorations didn¡¯t weren¡¯t mine, merely props selected by the studio¡¯s interior designers. I sat at my computer, going through fan mail to keep Gael off of my back. A part of me wondered if reading their letters might take some loneliness away, but somehow, it remained.


    Over and over, each letter followed a pattern. It usually started with a proclamation of how much the fan loved me. Often, they stated the number of years they knew my music. Then, they would tell me about their favourite song or the moment they knew that they were a ¡®true fan¡¯. The letters often finished with a question about future music, the meaning of old music, or a personal question about myself. I gave them brief answers when appropriate before tagging on one of a handful of appreciative thank you¡¯s for their affection.


    Then I found one that was different. It was brief, only two sentences long, with a video link inside. ¡°This is floating around. You haven¡¯t seen it yet, have you?¡± I clicked the link.


    My screen is invaded by the image of my ex-boyfriend¡¯s apartment. I¡¯m lying on the couch, my eyes lost looking and only partially open. I appear as though I¡¯d been roofied. A strange man approaches me and I can¡¯t see his face. He¡¯s positioned with his back towards the camera. His pale brown hair is short, and the way he walks is strange, creepy.


    I squint at the screen, wishing that I knew what was going to happen.


    He speaks to the person holding the camera, asking that they hold it steady. I can see his eyes, as black as night despite the room¡¯s light.


    I freeze at the sight of his eyes.


    He pulls his pants down and he undresses me slowly.


    There¡¯s a sensation like I¡¯m floating outside of myself. I¡¯m barely anchored by my body, still sitting and watching the video without the ability to avert my eyes. It is mind-numbingly slow to watch, though the timestamp on the screen boasts that only a minute has passed. The muffled noises I can hear beneath the static are deafening to me, as though the louder sound of voices and shuffling feet weren¡¯t there at all. In the video, I groan.


    I hold my breath. I want to close my eyes, but I can¡¯t stop watching. Instead, they remain wide open, watered by the gentle tears that climb out of my eyes. The distressed expression on my inebriated face tears at me. I am helpless here, and I am helpless again as a viewer. There are strange feelings on my skin where I saw his hands on me, ugly phantom hands that seem to reach into my skin.


    Finally, he lets me go and clothes himself, turning the camera off.


    I stare at the blackness of my screen with a pure and raw wrenching inside of me. Tears stream down my face and I can¡¯t move my eyes away from their reflections. I can¡¯t stop thinking about the video and briefly I remember the man¡¯s face from the night it happened; The way he looked down at me with those black eyes, as though he would devour me whole. I shake in my chair, forcing myself to get up. It¡¯s as though I¡¯ve aged, and my body will snap and break when I go to the kitchen.


    I need a bottle, just one. I need to wash this all away; to forget what I saw and live my life confused instead. There¡¯s nothing for me in the cabinets, though. I push food onto the floor, desperately searching for just a drop. My hands are shaking violently by the time I¡¯ve cleared my kitchen out. I¡¯m on the verge of a complete breakdown when I spot it: one of Digitalis¡¯ pill bottles.


    I crawl to it in a hurry, praying that there¡¯s even just one pill inside. I wrench it open, relieved to find that it¡¯s filled to the brim.


    A momentary memory pops into my head of the man from the screen, so much stronger than I was.


    I don¡¯t count the pills I crush on the floor before I inhale them. The powder buries it all away inside of me, where I hope for it to stay. The euphoria fills me and for just a minute; I¡¯m no longer weighed down and empty, like a broken automaton. For just a minute, it¡¯s almost like I¡¯m someone again, even if that someone isn¡¯t really me. I might even handle the emptiness within me as this person¡­


    Then, I¡¯m melting into the floor and my eyes close.

 Chapter 11

    There is a hand on my shoulder and my body is being shaken as though I¡¯ve been caught in a tiny storm. I wake, remnants of the original euphoria still buzzing in my head. I smile when I see Digitalis¡¯ face, despite how it¡¯s streaked with worry. She sits me up and gives me water before she disappears into my apartment. She helps me get dressed and I stand to follow her. I pick up my car keys and she snatches them away, looking at my face for a moment before shoving her sunglasses onto me. Her hands are firm as she pulls me along with her, down the stairs and into her car.


    ¡°Asya.¡± Her voice sounds so clear. Everything is so clear. Her voice is wonderful. ¡°Gael found a video of you. Do you know about it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah.¡± I smile. Why was I so worried about it before?


    ¡°You won¡¯t be so happy about it when you¡¯re not high.¡± She groans, her eyes briefly cutting at me before they return to the road. I stare at them, admiring the way the sunlight fills them with color, making them a burnished bronze. ¡°When we get there, just let me do the talking.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re such a good friend, Digitalis.¡± I marvel at her, ¡°But there¡¯s nothing to worry about. Everything is wonderful.¡± She purses her lips and ignores me. The edges of my happiness are fading away and I¡¯ve become drowsy. She walks me into the studio, careful to keep my sunglasses from sliding off of my face when I become captivated by the beauty of my feet. I wondered what they called those pills on the street. They made the world so captivating.


    She opens the door of the meeting room and Gael waits in there, giving his laptop a distressed expression. He looks up at us as we enter, his eyes full of concern when he sees my serene smile.


    ¡°Asya.¡± He says, his voice sounding as though it belonged to an angel. I sigh at the beauty of it. ¡°Did you know about a... ¡° He held his own hands, ¡°Rather distressing video of you being passed around?¡±


    His eyes are full of such pure worry that I almost get lost in the vision of them. His eyebrows pinch together.


    ¡°Are you drunk or something?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡± My voice sounds like I imagine a cloud might sound if it had a voice. The thought makes me laugh.


    ¡°Are you high?¡± His words are more strained than before. I nod enthusiastically.


    Digitalis¡¯ arms drop to her sides with frustration and Gael puts his face in his hands. He moves to sit beside me, after a moment spent collecting his thoughts.


    ¡°Asya.¡± He speaks gently, his hand hovering over my shoulder, as though he needed to comfort me. ¡°There¡¯s a video of you going around. It¡¯s already catching attention from the media. I think we need to do something about this, okay? But I need to talk to you sober.¡± His eyes bore into mine, so serious that I almost want to laugh.


    I¡¯m becoming more and more tired, though. The laughter fades from my brain like a clearing fog with each second that passes. There is warmth in my eyes, draining down my cheeks in wet streaks. Gael holds me.


    ¡°We¡¯ll fix this.¡± He promises, his long fingers in my hair. I couldn¡¯t remember the last time Gael embraced me. I wanted to embrace him back, but I was getting so heavy. I collapsed into him, clinging to his clothes, and I cried. There¡¯s a knock on the door and I can hear the manager¡¯s stern voice, beckoning Gael away from me. I¡¯m cold when he leaves my side, leaning onto the table to make a slow-growing puddle on the polished wood. I can hear their voices from the doorway, hushed but audible.


    ¡°The media is already releasing stories about this. None of it looks good for us...¡± The manager¡¯s voice is filled with a suppressed panic.


    ¡°I know, I know.¡± I can imagine Gael cradling his head in his hands.


    ¡°I mean, there are a handful defending him. He was obviously assaulted¡­ But some, Gael¡­ He¡¯s being called an addict again. Some of them even blame him for it because he was clearly on drugs. It¡¯s already trending on social media and most of those sites are full of people saying that he¡¯s dragging the band down with his destructive behavior.¡±


    I tensed, my place in the band growing more precarious and unsure beneath my feet.


    ¡°I know how they¡¯re reacting, Michael.¡± He sighs.¡± What do you think?¡± Gael asked, but he already knew what the manager was thinking.


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous to keep him in the band. He needs to go.¡± His voice was absolute, the words seeping in like a poison when they reached my ears. I was so cold, I might freeze to death in the heated meeting room.


    ¡°No.¡± Gael states. I hear him shuffle. ¡°No¡­ We need to fix this before we can even think of letting him go.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too risky. If the fans turn on him and we don¡¯t take action, we might lose ticket and album sales!¡± The manager¡¯s whispers sound like hisses.


    ¡°It is risky, but I think it¡¯s also risky to just cut him off. If people sympathize with him as a victim of sexual assault, it¡¯ll kill the band for cutting him out in the aftermath. We need to think of that possibility, too. If we focus on his position as a victim of assault, we don¡¯t have to end the band. We¡¯ll work on fixing his addictions and getting this all sorted out. We¡¯ll catch that¡­ that guy,¡± He paused. He took a breath to cool the growing anger in his gentle voice. ¡°We¡¯ll catch that guy and make sure that Asya gets justice. That¡¯s the only way I can see to fix this.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ I think it¡¯s going to be dicey¡­¡± The manager sounded cautious and afraid. Gael turned back into the room. His voice was directed towards me, now.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be dicey for a while, but I have a plan.¡± Gael says, his voice rising to a normal speaking voice again. ¡°We¡¯re going to announce my engagement, give the press something to chew on. We hope that the video loses attention for a while until we can control how it¡¯s reported. Asya,¡± His hand was on my shoulder. I looked up at him, my sunglasses sliding off of my face into the moist spot on the table where I cried. ¡°We¡¯ll fix this. We¡¯ll find some way to get you through this and make sure that that fucker pays for what he did.¡±


    Numbly, I nod. I want to go home and drink everything away. It doesn¡¯t matter what happens after this. I don¡¯t even care about getting justice for it, really. I¡¯ll never feel good again. Maybe the pills can fill the void and erase the pain.


    ¡°I think you should stay with someone for a while.¡± Gael says, shattering my plans.


    I stare at him, barely even seeing him, as I register the meaning of his words.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to go on a bender over this. I want you to stay sober,¡± He insisted.


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± I can¡¯t even respond. I am like a black hole, exploding into myself. The void sucks in all the happiness and joy in the world to turn it into nothingness.


    ¡°He can stay with me.¡± Digitalis offers, and I remember that she was here all along. Her face is serious, composed, and it almost surprised me to see her so passionless. ¡°You and Absinthe live with your significant others, and Michael has his kids running around. I¡¯m the only one that lives alone. Asya won¡¯t be intruding on anything at all with me. I want to support him.¡±


    She looks up at Gael with such a true and heartfelt concern for me he¡¯s caught off-guard.


    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯ll have to be the way we do this.¡± He looks defeated, his eyes flicking back to his laptop where I¡¯m sure the video is waiting. Did he already watch it? Did he see it all?


    I¡¯m almost embarrassed, knowing that the entire world saw what happened to me. I almost don¡¯t even believe that it happened. Only a few clips of the memory came back to me, fuzzy and surreal, like faded recollections of a bad dream. Maybe it was better that way.


    Digitalis¡¯ place is full of red and gold, a large painting of herself on the dining room wall. She has a rather large apartment, almost like a sky mansion. We sit down after she shows me where the guest bedroom and bathroom are. I¡¯m too ashamed to meet her eyes.  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    She turns to me and her arms encircle my shoulders. She holds me like a lover, cradling the back of my head with her fingers entwined in my hair.


    ¡°I¡¯ll help you, Asya.¡± She cooed. ¡°We can make the pain go away.¡± She separates from me, taking pills out of the coffee table drawer. ¡°You know how to take these, don¡¯t you?¡±


    She gave me a knowing look when she passed them to me, watching as I crushed one on the table and snorted it with no thought. She patted my back before she joined me.


    ¡°We¡¯ll make you feel good again.¡± She promised.


    I was so happy, everything seemed brighter. The obscured moon was as bright as the sun. Up and down, I spent my months in a haze of quiet euphoria. I spent my depressed days with liquor, my emotions worsening with every sip. Still, I couldn¡¯t stop drinking and hoping it might be different next time. I spent the happy days depending on pills or cocaine for any joy when they worked. It was wonderful until it crashed, leaving me in the darkness of my sorrow. I¡¯d stare at the bright paint of Digitalis¡¯ apartment and the smoke from my cigarettes swirling in the air before fading away. Somehow, the brightness of my highs made my lows feel even worse. It was as if my life had become a high contrast photo, the light as white as possible beside the darkest shades of black.


    In between each high and low, I filled out paperwork, attended dates with lawyers, wrote music, and had meetings in the studio. I wished that I could have been inebriated for it all.


    Every second that I was sober, I was handling the business that I wanted to forget. I would describe the events of that night the man assaulted me for the lawyers, again and again. The studio had me writing songs with undertones of the event. Gael would use them to support his plan to paint me as a blameless victim. Then there were also the uncomfortable meetings of normal business where everyone tried to pretend that the video or the media weren¡¯t on their minds. No one was normal. Even Absinthe walked on eggshells in our conversations, dancing around anything she imagined might be uncomfortable.


    At first, I appreciated it. There was such an overwhelming number of new emotions rushing through me, I had been fragile for a while. Pure anguish and fear distracted the emptiness in me. The solitude seemed to be the only way to cope.


    After a while, the treatment became unbearable.


    I longed to connect with someone, anyone. Even if Absinthe would say something thoughtless, I missed speaking openly with her. Gael¡¯s distance seemed like coldness. Digitalis¡¯ selfish impulses that once upset me became something that I was desperate to deal with again. Even if she was letting me take her drugs, she didn¡¯t seem to know how to chat with me anymore.


    I couldn¡¯t talk to the people I cared about. No one wanted to discuss what loomed over me like a shadow. Even worse tension grew in every room I entered, making me into a pariah among my closest friends.


    I wanted desperately to escape the world that had fallen apart beneath my feet. Digitalis was hiding her pills from me. She told me I was relying on them too much, which probably said something considering the depth of her own addiction. I found myself on the greasy bathroom floor of a bar one day, offering my mouth to a man for a few lines.


    When I stay at home, I escape to the bathroom. Every time, I check the medicine cabinet for pills. Every time, I learn all over again that Digitalis has hidden the stashes. Often, I can¡¯t face my reflection. More than my self-loathing, the memory of my face in that video popped into my head every time I saw myself. I kept seeing it when I closed my eyes: the strange blend of watching like an observer through the video contrasted by the hazy memories of that night. New parts of the memory were always bubbling up out of the void in my mind.


    Other times, I felt like my entire being had suddenly been scooped out and discarded, leaving a hungry black hole behind. I could look at my face in the mirror and it would be as if I was looking through a window at a stranger.


    My eyes captivated me the most, expressing with such intensity how I lacked anything inside of me at all. At times, I feared I¡¯d collapse and dissolve into myself, absorbed by the emptiness. I would sit on the floor and press my face against the side of the bathtub. Without drugs, the closest I could get to being high was evoking the memories of it this way. I was too numb to care about the soreness of my cheek as time passed and the hard tub pressed too long. Again, I performed my ritual, grazing my fingertips against the flaming bass I¡¯d tattooed on my arm when my career took off.


    When I was young, I used to dig my fingernails into this part of my shoulder when I was too overwhelmed to express my turmoil any other way. I¡¯d gotten the tattoo to stop my habit, leaving something at stake if I ever fell back into it. Now, I was tempted to risk ruining the tattoo just to feel something again. My fingernails rested on my skin, and it took everything in me not to press them past the surface.


    The next morning, I was putting on a suit, my hands shaking from withdrawal. I passed my kitchen, both too tempted by my liquor cabinet and too repulsed by my food to enter it. I went out that spring morning, greeting the crisp air with a quivering breath and a desperate thirst. I walked into the courtroom, looking at the man that took advantage of me, the man whose eyes I saw when I least expected it. He looked back at me, his black eyes sucking me into that night again, leaving me shivering. I sensed his eyes on me through the trial, barely able to say the words Gael told me to say. I let myself detach for it all, leaving my mind to operate itself like a robot. It was dizzying to hear the words I spoke without thinking about saying them, like my voice belonged to another person.


    By the end, I¡¯d won. With the evidence on the table, it was all too easy. I just had to convince the jury that my inebriation at the time shouldn¡¯t put me at fault, which should have been obvious, anyway. The man would go to prison for a few years, no longer able to see me again. Gael expressed vexation that his sentence wasn¡¯t longer as he walked me out of the courtroom. Even though it was he who spoke to me, I couldn¡¯t focus on it. I couldn¡¯t respond.


    Somehow, I experienced almost no relief. How could I be so disconnected and care so little about something this personal to me?


    To celebrate my win, Digitalis hosted a party. People filled the apartment. Many gave me impersonal and ritualistic hugs and congratulations, but most were strangers to me. I suspected that anyone working for the studio had been invited to come.


    I sat alone for most of the gathering. I¡¯d watch everyone talk and laugh with each other under the pretense of celebrating my victory in court. Few spoke to me again after their initial greetings and congratulations.


    Gael¡¯s girlfriend approached me, smiling from ear to ear. I stared at her blankly, my eyes drawn to her hands, which held something familiar and pink. My shoulders stiffened.


    ¡°I have a flower box in my apartment and I thought you¡¯d like some flowers to cheer you up! Congratulations!¡± She pulled me into a polite hug before handing the peonies off to me. I smiled with gritted teeth, the smell of the blooms making me sick. ¡°Gael is always talking about you, and I¡¯m sure he¡¯d like it if we all hung out more after this. I look forward to becoming your friend!¡±


    ¡°That means a lot to me.¡± I lied. ¡°Thank you.¡± I gave her the practiced smile that held my career together.


    I could still feel where her hands had touched me during the hug and I was ill; Her hands that held Gael, while mine could not.


    She turned away and melted back into the party, no doubt seeking Gael out. I was certain that her gift wasn¡¯t his idea. He wouldn¡¯t have let her choose these flowers for me. I stared at the pale petals, layered over each other like concealing shields, hiding shameful secrets. I slid into the kitchen, sitting on a stool beside the counter. I laid her flowers across the counter and studied them, their scent reminding me of childhood and the sensation of manicured nails burying themselves into my shoulders. Their pinkness brought back past criticisms from a voice I hadn¡¯t heard in almost a decade.


    For every moment that I sat alone in the kitchen, I wished that I could pry open one of my cabinets for the goodies that Digitalis had hidden inside. Just a single pill or a shot of alcohol, and I might calm my nerves enough to face the people around me. I couldn¡¯t do it, though, knowing that any of the eyes in the room might see me, and I¡¯d have a whole new set of problems to worry about.


    I closed my eyes, hoping that the minutes would fly past me. I only opened them when I saw those black eyes reaching into me like hooks, threatening to rip me apart. I closed my fist and pretended that I saw nothing as I opened my eyes, unable to shake the sensation of being touched by unwanted hands. The peonies on the counter filled my nose with their sickly sweet smell. Masochistically, I forced myself to touch their petals and fixate on the shame they reminded me to feel. The longer the gathering lasted, the deeper I drifted into myself. I recalled how I¡¯d been empty for years when I wasn¡¯t drunk. I pondered the sorrow I¡¯d known without pills in the past few months. I wondered about the haunted nights that I spent awake in my bed, trying to pretend that I wasn¡¯t afraid of waking up with hands on my body again.


    What if I just died?


    People passed before my eyes, walking about as though I didn¡¯t even exist. Gael was with his girlfriend in the living room, laughing with someone that I didn¡¯t know. Digitalis was behind me somewhere, joking loudly without paying me any mind. Absinthe was having a quiet conversation by a window with a couple of people I¡¯d never met. No one in the room so much as looked at me, even though it was my victory and my grief that brought them together. I didn¡¯t matter at all to any of them.


    I looked at a blank spot on the wall, searching inside of myself for anything amid the void. I knew that I¡¯d been unhappy for almost my entire life. The things I¡¯d wanted when I was younger I¡¯d grown to learn would never satisfy me or that I could never have. If I knew that I would never be happy, why should I want to live through more of it?


    The party was getting slower and people were leaving. I went to the bathroom with my flowers, knowing that none of them would notice my absence. I wanted to cry, to let some of my grief leave me as it so easily did when I was younger. Nothing came.


    I grabbed my cigarette lighter from my pocket and held it beneath a peony, the petals drying and curling into black ash, impossibly slow because of their freshness. The flame seared the skin of my thumb as I held the lighter. I was too numb and focused on destroying the cruel flower to care.


    The noise outside faded away, so I set the peonies aside and rifled through Digitalis¡¯ medicine cabinet. She had replaced some of her stash, and I spread some of her cocaine out onto the countertop. As it made its way into my head a wave of euphoria washed over me. For just a minute, resting against the nice coldness of the porcelain toilet bowl, I enjoyed the falsest kind of happiness.

 Chapter 12

    When it was all over, I could go home again. Gael was sure that I was stable enough to stay away from the addictions that kept me in their thrall. He was unaware that I hadn¡¯t let them go for even a single full day. I drove to the bar when my apartment became too big and empty, ordering my drink and waiting for the bartender to get around to making it.


    I lifted my eyes to the TV, and the last shred of hope died within me. People around me stared, whispering to each other and pointing at me from the dark corners of the bar. I squeezed my eyes shut. The news was covering my video and the court case, a clip of my testimony appearing on the screen. I knew that they¡¯d show it, but I somehow thought I¡¯d escape seeing it all again. I stood before the bartender even pulled the right bottle off of the shelf to pour my drink, and I walked out. I tried to keep a mask of calm, but it was flimsier with each step I took. It seemed every pair of eyes in the bar were fixed on me. When I finally pushed through the door, I was shaking. The darkness of the night threatened to infect me, so I ran to my car to hide from it.


    I sped to the liquor store before I got home. The realization came that I couldn¡¯t even enter the studio building with all of my alcohol, so I settled for drinking in my car. I looked up at my apartment window and realized that I didn¡¯t even want to return to that place tonight. It was as dark and lonely as I was. Digitalis sent me a message inviting me to her place, but I refused her. I couldn¡¯t bear to deal with anyone right now. I tried to sound calm in my reply, but the messages were frantic. It didn¡¯t matter. She wouldn¡¯t read into them much. She was the center of her own world, and I had no place in that.


    I drove to a hotel, drinking as I walked alone up the stairway. I brought the pills I kept in my glove compartment, resolving to have a night alone with my addictions. They were always there when I needed them.


    I hated hotel rooms for the mirrors that hung everywhere. Wherever I looked, I saw myself reflected, a broken down mess of a person outlined in a gold-painted frame. I despised every reflection. My skin was pale, my hair unkempt, and circles were forming under my eyes again. My skin was unhealthy from dehydration, my eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep.


    I thought about how I was here, alone in a hotel room with pills and booze, while everyone else I knew was happy, succeeding in everything. Digitalis complained, but she was ecstatic about her independent record deal. Gael was getting married to that girl soon. Absinthe was happy for her girlfriend, who she said was becoming a successful lawyer in the area. They seemed to be close, and it hurt that I never knew about a woman so important to her until they¡¯d been together two years.


    Yet, here I was: buzzed, ready to go on a bender, and isolated. All I had was my fame and my beauty. Everything else about me was a hollow facade. I¡¯ve failed everyone around me. I¡¯ll only ever be the slutty addict that the world knows me as. Even attempting sobriety had failed, and I ended up worse than ever. I can¡¯t find it in me to cry as I stare at my vacant eyes in the mirror, looking at a face that never belonged to me.


    I should just die.


    I looked at my wrists, thinking about how some people slit them to bleed out. I flinched just thinking about bringing a razor so close to my skin. Maybe I could do it when I get high, unable to feel it no matter how deep I had to go.


    I remembered that I might not remember to do it when I¡¯m riding on the euphoria. I looked at the pill bottle, and a new idea was born.


    The bathroom overwhelms me as I enter with orange and gold that covered it from floor to ceiling. I started the bath, watching numbly as the water pours and splashes into the gold-painted tub. I set the pills and my whiskey bottle beside the tub, and I stirred the water with my fingertips.


    ***


    When I was seventeen, I saw my parents for the last time. My mother sat beside me in a lawyer¡¯s office, her blonde hair blocking her face from my view. I imagined the look she made. It was she who taught me to make a charming smile for those that looked at me. It was her lessons that taught me that if I wanted to be liked, I had to appear kind and happy. As she picked up the pen to sign my emancipation, I imagined that she had that pleasant smile she¡¯d crafted over the course of her lifetime. Even if she¡¯d never see this lawyer again, she¡¯d want him to like her. It was this need for people¡¯s admiration that put us in this office.


    Mom¡¯s signatures were perfect and beautiful, and she had a relaxed posture. I loved her, but those affections had chipped away to a one-sided yearning as I realized that she didn¡¯t love me. A year of her subtle, cutting words at the dinner table every night taught me that there was no place left for me in her world.


    I was a teenage alcoholic. That didn¡¯t look good to the neighbors.


    My father stood behind me, his hands on the back of my chair. He didn¡¯t speak. I sensed his hesitancy when he let my chair go to take his turn signing the papers. He was never like mom. We rarely spoke as I grew up outside of family meals, family outings, and the occasional evening movie. He left for business trips often. Even when dad was home, he was too busy to spend much time on me. Even so, he loved me. For a while, he opened his office door and let me watch him work. For a while, we were as close as a father and son could be. The first time I¡¯d seen the man smile in my lifetime, he was showing me spreadsheets, teaching me about his job with a passion I¡¯d never witnessed before.


    The most wonderful time of my childhood was when I was close to him. As distant as we¡¯d grown, I still yearned for my father¡¯s affection. In the shaking of his hand as he signed the documents, I saw he didn¡¯t want to let me go, either. The signatures he left on the paper were twisted and deformed imitations of the ones I¡¯d seen in his office.


    I looked into my lap as he finished, closing my hands into fists to stop their trembling. Before he put the pen to paper, I¡¯d hoped that Dad would take my side. I¡¯d hoped that he¡¯d refuse to sign because he wouldn¡¯t want to abandon me. Instead, he was pulling his hand away from signed papers, my mother¡¯s firm hand on his arm, tense beneath her fingers. He always did things her way. The day his office door was closed in my face was the day that mom made other plans for me. Mother said I had years before I would need to worry about a career. She thought that my youthful face would raise donations to the causes she worked for. She wanted to hear the neighbors gush about her wonderful parenting, proven by my willingness to work for charity at her side. She didn¡¯t care that my time with my father was so important to me.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Again, dad closed a door in my face, with my mother¡¯s wishes behind the act. I closed my eyes. I couldn¡¯t cry in here. As far as the lawyer knew, I wanted to be removed from my home. I wanted to be alone in the world. As far as anyone outside of my family would know, I chose this to focus on my music career.


    I opened my eyes and took my turn with the pen, still warm from my dad¡¯s sweaty hand. As I signed my name, I used the autograph I¡¯d practiced. I heard my mother huff when she saw the stylized signature. It looked nothing like the elegant cursive she¡¯d taught.


    I pushed the papers towards the lawyer and raised my gaze to meet my mother¡¯s eyes, the same blue as mine. She gave me that pleasant fake smile, and the sight of it numbed me. My father¡¯s hands were on her shoulders, and she rested her fingers on his wedding ring.


    I returned her smile, twisting my lips into the carefree mask she¡¯d taught me. We both rose from our chairs, and I followed her out of the office. Suzie, the manager that Kidex assigned to my band back then, waited in the parking lot to take me to my apartment. I spread myself out on the leather seats of her car, still wearing the facade on my face. As the car started up, I saw my parents arguing in their SUV. My father held his face in his hands. My mother looked cold and annoyed as she started the car.


    Suzie rolled smoothly out of the parking lot, and I stared at their car until it left my sight. She played one of my songs to fill the silence, and when I knew that she wasn¡¯t looking, I let my smile die. I bit my lip, and I closed my eyes. I knew that I shouldn¡¯t cry, because Suzie might see, but the tears fell against my wishes.


    ***


    I turn off the water when I hear it splashing onto the floor, and I look at myself in the shimmering reflection. Experimentally, I make my trademark smile. My messy hair and the circles under my eyes set the image apart from my autographed headshots. With that expression, only the emptiness of my eyes serves to show who I really am. No one ever notices the emptiness.


    The smile fades and I can¡¯t face my reflection anymore.


    I ease myself into the warmth of the water, feeling it embrace me like a hug. The water rises around me and spills over the edges of the tub. I pick up the bottle of pills.


    ***


    I was fourteen when I¡¯d seen an overdose for the first time. Absinthe¡¯s trailer reeked of stale, cheap beer. She and I were going to meet Gael for a movie, but first she insisted that we check on her mom. She said that she¡¯d been drinking more lately, and she was worried that she¡¯d fallen asleep on her stomach again, as she often did. Instead of a slumbering woman, we opened the door to a nightmare.


    On the floor, Absinthe¡¯s mother jerked like a fish out of water. A needle shook loose from her arm, and she drooled onto the floor. I froze, my eyes widening at the sight. Absinthe screamed and rushed to her mother¡¯s side, her hand fumbling for her phone. When her mom¡¯s elbow hit the coffee table, an avalanche of empty beer cans and TV dinner trays fell to the floor. Her bony legs shook against the carpet, illuminated by the light of Absinthe¡¯s phone. Absinthe sobbed as she shrieked into the phone, but I didn¡¯t hear the words. I felt weak and lightheaded. I lowered myself to the ground, but my view of her mother was only clearer from down here. Her eyes were vacant, with tiny specks for pupils. Her hands were tense claws with blue fingertips.


    Looking at her was the same as watching someone die. Absinthe collapsed into my arms when the paramedics poured into the little room. Even the act of saving her appeared violent, the way they shoved another needle into her body when they spotted the one on the floor. I held Absinthe closely, but the way she shook in my arms put me on edge after the sight I¡¯d seen. I had to pull away and look down into her wet eyes to make sure that she wasn¡¯t dying, too.


    We collapsed against each other again. That night, I¡¯d witnessed something that had kept me terrified for years.


    I never thought that I¡¯d desire that sort of outcome, someday.


    ***


    A bitter aftertaste clings to my mouth, untouched by the whiskey that I drank to wash it away. The empty orange pill bottle floats somewhere around my knees. I wait to fade away as the first part of the high hits me, my last illusion of happiness. My hand relaxes, and the sound of dancing glass on the tile fills my ears before it all turns hazy¡­


    ***


    Digitalis:


    Asya was especially strange tonight at the party. I noticed how he sat alone all evening, how he seemed withdrawn from the rest of us. I remember the way he studied those flowers that Gael¡¯s girlfriend gave him, as if she¡¯d handed him someone¡¯s severed hand. Later in the night, too, when I asked him to come back and hang out with me, he seemed odd. It wasn¡¯t like he always stayed over when I invited him, but never had I received an answer as scrambled as the one he sent me. He rarely gave excuses, but in this message, he rambled about needing to go somewhere. When I asked him if he¡¯d been drinking, he never responded. It was rare that I worried about him, but something seemed very wrong about the way the night was going. Even the sky, as I looked out my window, was the oddest portrait of red and orange as it faded into darkness.


    Before I was even thinking, I was going into my car, and my hands hardly even noticed the keys gripped in them. I opened the new app that the label was using to monitor all of us after Asya¡¯s video surfaced. His icon showed that he was in a hotel, nowhere near where we usually went to bar hop. The streets were ominous and barren as I drove in this unknown part of the city, making me feel only more anxious.


    I read and reread the texts as I climbed the stairs to the room that the front desk attendant claimed he had rented. When I approached the room, I was disturbed to see that I wouldn¡¯t even need to knock. He¡¯d entered with such reckless abandon that the door was just resting beside the frame, open. Gently, I placed my hands on the door, taking in a breath. When I pushed it open, I smelled the potent scent of whiskey like a barrage to my nose. The air was humid. A loud, violent splashing came from the bathroom. My veins filled with razors. In a moment of paranoia, I envisioned him being brutally drowned by some lunatic fan.


    The air breezed past me as I reached the bathroom. I stop for only a moment at the sight of water seeping from under the door, a light brown color from the spilled whiskey nearby. I took in that image before I burst into the bathroom, the bright orange paint attacking my eyes. The sounds of splashing and banging were louder.


    At first I didn¡¯t believe my eyes. There he was, seizing in the tub, the broken glass of a fallen whiskey bottle below his jerking hand outside the bathtub. His eyes were half-closed, his body looking almost possessed. He didn¡¯t seem to breathe, but moved too much to tell.


    I became immobilized, then. All I could do was stare, his bright blue hair slapping wetly against the golden rim of the tub over and over.


    I took in a breath. I pulled out my phone. I called an ambulance.


    Then, I cautiously tiptoed to his side as my eyes gave life to tears. My hands shook as I reached out, too focused on him to care about the glass that scratched at my expensive boots. He kept thrashing around and I couldn¡¯t stop him.


    I couldn¡¯t stop him.


    His eyes were open just a sliver to show me their vacantness.


    I knelt beside the tub in the spilled water, clinging to the edge. There was no way for me to help. I couldn¡¯t stop the seizing. I couldn¡¯t hold him down to give him breath. I couldn¡¯t calm him. I couldn¡¯t save him.


    Sirens sounded outside, and I knew that they were for Asya.


    I took his hand and waited with him for his saviors.

 Act 3: Peonies, Chapter 13

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what they think.¡± I tell myself, my eyes resting on Asya¡¯s peaceful face. His blue hair seems faded by the hours of laying out across his white pillow beneath the fluorescent lights. Pale blonde hair invaded from the roots after the months that passed us by. His hand is cool and motionless in mine, so I tighten my grip on it. I gaze down at his blank face, wishing I could forget the way it looked back then as he nearly died in that bathtub.


    The only music in the hospital was the song of machines humming and beeping, our constant breathing, and the occasional voice from the hallway chiming in. Daytime sitcoms and game shows slipped through the walls, so quiet and yet too loud to disregard. The laughter playing on those TVs was so inappropriate and alien to my ears. My hands gripped each other, sweaty and restless.


    There was no color here, either. Only Asya¡¯s fading hair, losing the blue with each day. My vision blurred for a moment, but I didn¡¯t notice any tears that might have fallen. I only imagined them glittering faintly in the corners of my eyes, too afraid to fall.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what anyone thinks.¡± I repeated in my mind. Half the world hated him, as it always hated me. I wonder how he¡¯d feel about it, if he knew how the whispers and screens of the world were full of lies and poison. Too many people despise him for the drug overdose, claiming he deserved to die. Others took pity on him and wished for his health. A select few showed concern, remembering that he had just finished his court case, how he must have been in pain.


    None of it mattered, though, compared to the overwhelming shadows covering him, now. I wonder if they would have called it a tragedy if he¡¯d died instead.


    I shook my head, repeating. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    I looked at his face again, wishing it would change at all. He was blank, like a white canvas, haunting me with his emptiness. A tear fell onto our joined hands and I jolted slightly before I realized it was mine. I never thought he was a bad person. He was the only one that ever understood me. I wished he would wake up, even though I was afraid of what he¡¯d be like. His doctors said he¡¯d suffered brain damage from the overdose. Even if he woke, I was told, he¡¯d probably never be the same. With each passing day, the doctors had less hope that he¡¯d ever open those eyes again. After the first month of sleep, they said, most people won¡¯t.


    I couldn¡¯t look at him, now. I straightened the flower arrangement on his bed table, my hand untangling from his. I wished that I could sit here forever, but even if I was physically capable of it, I knew that I¡¯d never handle it emotionally. Even without the sadness of losing him, I would keep feeling the growing guilt. Not only had I assisted his relapse, but his overdose was the only thing that I could blame for my change. I was sober since the day I found him, and the public loved me so much more since. There was no way to enjoy the adoration that I¡¯d always yearned for. I felt like I¡¯d stolen it from him.


    I recounted the days when he started his long sleep. I¡¯d always assumed that people lay still when it happened, silent like corpses in the hospital with only their breathing to set them apart from the grave. When I went to the hospital with Asya, though, I learned that I was wrong.  When I¡¯d told him about the empty bottle of opiates I¡¯d found beside the bathtub among the glass, they pumped him full of Narcan. His body had settled down. They knew within a day that he¡¯d be in a coma, after shining lights in his eyes among other odd little tests. Asya groaned and made slight movements, but they still considered him too unresponsive.


    There were days when he¡¯d scare me. After that first night, he didn¡¯t do so much. He almost seemed like a corpse sometimes, in that white bed with the mask on his face. Other days, I¡¯d hold his hand and talk to him as if he could hear me. Suddenly, he¡¯d groan or his leg would shift under his blanket or his eyes would snap open, seeing nothing. It always made my breath catch in my lungs, as though I saw him possessed. After a few weeks, it wasn¡¯t so scary anymore.


    I remembered those first weeks that he slept, how the media relentlessly attacked him while he couldn¡¯t fight it. I remember the day that Gael and Absinthe held a press conference for him, how they stuck up for him against the media until they were both in tears. Gael¡¯s cold eyes seemed to melt, and he was even too down to glare at the reporters in his aloof way when they persisted against Asya. Absinthe had to step in for him and talk while he collected himself. It was the first time that I¡¯d seen Gael so openly emotional. Absinthe cried, too, but it wasn¡¯t as powerful as seeing Gael¡¯s tears. The room was quiet aside from the handful of voices that were too obnoxious and tactless to go silent. They still fired their disgusting questions as though they didn¡¯t understand that we were human, too.


    I remember seeing Asya on that first night when they¡¯d gotten him all hooked up in that bed. I remember the way his hair was dry again when they¡¯d laid his head on the white pillow. The pale light of the moon left the room almost black and white. That night, I cried. Gently, I cradled his hand, as though I feared I¡¯d wake up from a dream to learn that he¡¯d died instead. I was still wiping my tears away when I left the hospital, and someone shoved a camera into my face.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    How they learned so fast about his condition, who could say. I can barely recall the words the reporter said. I recalled just that camera in my face. The man behind it jumped in front of me no matter where I tried to go as I desperately tried to flee. His questions all bothered me, asking me things like what had happened in the hospital, why I was there, and if Asya was alive. He asked me if Asya drank himself to death, jumping in front of me with his camera once again. His face was so heartless, his eyes so bare of compassion. A fire rose in me before I had time to stop it. My tears were hot with rage and I punched the camera out of his hands. I recall his screams as it exploded into pieces on the pavement, the curses that followed as I ran away.


    After the event, the media despised me even more. It was more of the same for me, so I swallowed the bitterness inside of me and visited Asya instead. Where the media despised me, though, the love of Asya¡¯s most faithful fans had extended to me. Over the weeks, they called me his defender. They adored me for my loyalty, and for each day I went to his side. People cheered again when they spotted me on the street. Before Asya lay in his hospital bed, I would have eaten it up. I would have basked and adored it all. Now, though, it seemed so meaningless. It was too late to accept their love. I had failed them all. I had failed Asya.


    Yet, in the eye of this storm, I found my sobriety. When my cravings set in, I fled to the hospital instead. When I sweated and itched, I held his hand and spoke to his resting face. When my will became weak, I checked into rehab and stripped my apartment clean. In therapy, I wrote Asya mountains of letters, hoping he¡¯d open his eyes to read them some day. I walked the same beach he had walked so long ago and experienced the fresh cleansing air of the sea on my skin. New life was blown into me and after a hard month had passed, I didn¡¯t dream of parties or bottles anymore. I¡¯d become light and clean: reborn. If he ever woke up, maybe he¡¯d be proud of me.


    It was after this reforming month Gael called me to the studio. I met with him, Absinthe, and Michael. To see that I was meeting with them instead of Gael alone made me curious, as I hadn¡¯t been a part of the band in a long while. I took a seat in the chair I used to sit in, haunted by the vacant seat where Asya used to sit during these meetings. I missed the sardonic smile he¡¯d crack when we joked together, but recalled the more frequent occasions he¡¯d rest his head in his arms to hide.


    Gael was at the head of the table and we all looked to him as he stood there. He was fragile in his motionlessness, as if he would shatter with the silence if he spoke.


    ¡°Digitalis.¡± He started. His cold eyes reached into me, but not in the same sharp way they used to. It was their softness that gripped me, now. ¡°We were wondering if¡­ Since Asya is¡­¡± He seemed unable to speak, and he shuffled nervously at the head of the table. I¡¯d never seen him so ill-composed before. ¡°PHAGE HEAD probably won¡¯t ever play again. We¡­ We can¡¯t¡­ We won¡¯t replace Asya. And¡­ And because he¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s asleep.¡± I finished for him, not ruthless enough to leave him floundering like that. He looked at me with wide eyes for a moment before he exhaled and let them drift towards nothing.


    ¡°We thought we¡¯d ask you to sing with us for a tribute song for him. Like the whole band got together again, except that he¡¯s¡­ Asleep.¡± Gael¡¯s eyes were filled with a kind of defeat that I hadn¡¯t imagined I¡¯d ever see in them. I looked at Absinthe and the manager, who sat quietly by and looked to me for my answer.


    ¡°How are we all supposed to be together again if he doesn¡¯t play?¡± My voice cut through the silence softly, somehow both abrupt and gentle.


    ¡°We think that it would make the tribute song only more significant because he won¡¯t be playing. We want to give the fans something to say goodbye with, and we¡­ We can¡¯t do that without you.¡± Absinthe¡¯s hand moved onto mine and she looked at me with such a pleading gaze that I couldn¡¯t look at it. I nodded, looking down at the table.


    ¡°We won¡¯t have another bassist play, will we?¡± I asked.


    I wouldn¡¯t play with someone else under the guise of reforming the band one last time. I wouldn¡¯t sing for a group that hid an imposter.


    ¡°No. We can¡¯t.¡± Gael responded almost too quickly. He slowed back down when he noticed that he¡¯d reacted strongly. ¡°We don¡¯t want to feel like we¡¯re replacing him. He¡¯s just¡­ Asya¡¯s irreplaceable.¡± He said Asya¡¯s name breathlessly, as if it defeated him just to speak it aloud.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± I agreed, looking back up into Gael¡¯s eyes.


    As he looked back into mine, I thought of the way Asya drank for this man. I recalled the nights he¡¯d spent crying into his bottle because Gael wouldn¡¯t reciprocate his love for him. I thought of the tortured expression in Asya¡¯s eyes when anyone mentioned Gael¡¯s relationship with that mousy little nothing of a girl he¡¯d met. For just a moment, I looked at Gael and forgot the history that I had with him.


    I looked at Gael and I saw him as if I¡¯d only ever known who he was to Asya. For the first time, I saw why Asya loved him. Gael¡¯s eyes were so affected with emotion from Asya¡¯s loss. I could only imagine the relationship they¡¯d had before I met them; the conversations and the fun they¡¯d had when I was out on my own to enjoy my fame. I saw the affection that Gael had for Asya, and I saw Asya¡¯s anguish. Asya haunted Gael¡¯s eyes, as though they belonged to someone that might have almost fallen for him. It¡¯s no wonder Asya never stopped hoping for him.


    I dropped my eyes to the wood of the table. I couldn¡¯t look at Gael anymore. All I saw was the love that helped Asya end up in his hospital bed. Just then, I knew that it wasn¡¯t just me as an enabler that helped him into that coma. It was also Gael¡¯s blindness, his cruel coldness, that put Asya in the bathtub that night. If only he would have helped Asya move past him, rather than leave him yearning. Asya wasted a life chasing the euphoria of his nostalgia for Gael¡¯s affection, only to be crushed with the agony of coming down to wistfulness.

 Chapter 14

    I collected my thoughts, dragging myself back to the reality of the conference room and its heavy quiet. I rested my eyes on a framed album cover on the wall. The orange background of it raked into me like claws, reminding me of the walls in that hotel bathroom.


    ¡°Gael.¡± I broke the silence. ¡°When I found Asya that night... ¡° I closed my eyes, imagining him. ¡°They told me he¡¯d taken an entire bottle of pills with whiskey.¡±


    The silence in the room grew heavier. Absinthe shifted in her chair.


    ¡°I¡­ I used to do pills with him. I¡­ It was all my fault he even started doing them. But we¡­ We only needed a few to get high. I¡­ Gael... ¡° I opened my eyes, meeting the wide gazes of everyone in the room all at once. ¡°I don¡¯t know what he was thinking, taking them all like he did.¡±


    I fell apart, curling my hands into my hair as tears raced down my cheeks out of nowhere. Absinthe didn¡¯t extend a comforting hand to me. No one said a word for a while. I cried against the hush that overtook the atmosphere.


    Why didn¡¯t it occur to me until now? That first night, the paramedics told me they¡¯d found enough to fill a bottle in his stomach. I didn¡¯t even care about it back then. I wanted to know if he would live. Now, I began wondering.


    ¡°What if he didn¡¯t want to just get high?¡± Absinthe interrupted my sobbing, her voice almost too thick to be understood. I let the tears pool on my face, which became itchy as the tears soaked into my skin. Her words hung in the air. I lifted my head as Gael sat in a chair, his eyes wide and aimless. He almost missed the chair before he sat down and pulled himself to the table.


    ¡°Are you saying it was a suicide attempt?¡± The manager spoke for the first time. Asya told me once how he suspected the manager disliked him, so the man¡¯s silence didn¡¯t shock me earlier.


    Gael continued to stare at nothing, his body moving almost on its own as he shifted uncomfortably at the proposition.


    ¡°He¡­ He couldn¡¯t do it¡­¡± Gael mumbled, shaking his head quickly. ¡°No. Asya wouldn¡¯t.¡± His hands went to his head as if the concept of it would explode his brain and he¡¯d have to hold his skull together to stop it. ¡°There wasn¡¯t a suicide note or¡­ Or anything.¡±


    ¡°He might have.¡± I realized. ¡°I was there when he started drinking again. He was miserable. And he only got worse and worse. I mean¡­ He was raped and then his boyfriend left him.¡± My words came out faster and faster. I couldn¡¯t stop. ¡°I was there for it all, Gael. He drank harder and harder after what at his birthday party. Even after his court victory, he didn¡¯t seem relieved or happy or anything at all. He was always just¡­ dead eyed and silent. And when you got engaged, he couldn¡¯t stay sober for a moment.¡±


    ¡°Why would my getting engaged affect him?¡± Gael asked, looking at me with a strange look. He seemed confused, a little annoyed at being accused, and also terrified all at once.


    ¡°Because he¡­¡± I wasn¡¯t sure if I should tell Gael. It was Asya¡¯s biggest secret.


    I shut my mouth and looked down, pledging silence. It didn¡¯t matter, though, because Absinthe finished the sentence for me.


    ¡°...Loved you.¡± She said. ¡°And you didn¡¯t love him back.¡±


    Her tone was gentle and not at all accusing, but Gael took it like it was a sentence for a crime.


    ¡°I¡­ I never¡­ I never noticed.¡± Gael¡¯s voice was soft and tremulous. ¡°Is that why he kissed me? Years ago?¡±


    I looked up to watch them speak. I never knew Asya kissed Gael. Absinthe nodded, and you could almost witness Gael¡¯s world falling in on him.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t just you. Everyone treated him differently when he came back from rehab. Even his fans.¡± I noted.


    I tried to empathize what he¡¯d gone through, to have worked so hard to fix himself, only to discover everyone still considered him a hopeless addict. I was the worst of them all. Gael and Absinthe at least set him apart to support him. I¡¯d just mocked him and then turned him back into an addict when he was weak and vulnerable.


    ¡°He needed to go to therapy more than he needed rehab.¡± Absinthe said. ¡°He had so much in his life he wasn¡¯t equipped to handle, and no one to take it to. Even if we did things to make him miserable, he¡¯s still the one that chose to drink and take pills for it. Blaming ourselves won¡¯t help. If¡­¡± She seemed to choke on the uncertainty of that ¡®if¡¯, ¡°If he ever wakes up, we need to make sure he¡¯s seeing someone. He needs therapy so he can learn how to handle it without drugs and alcohol and¡­ death.¡±


    The power of the word ¡®death¡¯ hung over us.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Do you really think he wanted to kill himself?¡± Gael asked, frantic and small voiced.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Absinthe admitted. ¡°But he¡¯s been struggling for years.¡±


    ¡°I know he could have done it,¡± I stated.


    I saw the way he put drinks away, the way he took his drugs. I¡¯d seen the void in his eyes in between every smile. I watched the tears that fell when he was too far gone to stop his emotions. The only time there was relief on his face was when he was too high for reality to torment him.


    ¡°I knew he was suffering. I should have sobered up sooner. He needed the help of a proper friend,¡± I continued.


    ¡°We can¡¯t change what already happened.¡± Absinthe said. I looked at her, almost angry at her for saying something so obvious, even if she meant well by it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s think about the song we¡¯ll play for him.¡± Gael interrupted. He looked like a breeze would knock him over. He started writing sheet music, but he wasn¡¯t ready yet. The notes were so jumbled and nonsensical, the song they made would have sounded awful. We didn¡¯t stop him, though. If he needed to write, he needed to write.


    I got out of my chair. ¡°I¡¯m going to go home.¡±


    Gael kept drawing notes like he didn¡¯t even hear me.


    ¡°I¡¯ll send you some ideas later, okay?¡± I promised. There was no way I could write lyrics or chords right now. Tonight, I¡¯d write everything that I thought of when Asya came to mind, and I¡¯d send it all in an email to Gael. Right now, though, I needed to have a glass of water and take each sip with the wish that it was vodka instead.


    Asya:


    There¡¯s a song in my head. I¡¯ve never heard it before, but the words are soft and sad and beautiful. There is a quiet symphony of instruments in the background, almost covered by a mournful voice, but present enough to grace me with their beauty. The voice sings to me, but I can barely understand the words at first. As days go by, they are clearer. As I listen to them, I¡¯m reminded of the life I lived. It hurts to remember those days. Even the long past smiles I once smiled were tainted by a hopelessness and a longing too powerful to ignore. The song preaches lessons about life and love, warning me away from mistakes I¡¯ve already made. I try to shut it out of my mind when the beauty of the song is rendered unrecognizable by its lyrics. They¡¯re the same handfuls of phrases, now. They repeat over and over in a voice that left me a decade ago. The scent of peonies mingles with the notes, and the twisted song grows darker.


    I want to leave it all behind me, but I can¡¯t fool myself forever. I want to stop looking back, and I should, but the past is too daunting a thing to ignore. I¡¯m stuck here and I can¡¯t stop letting it all haunt me, ruining me with every moment. The calm of the song becomes chaos, but the melody and the words haven¡¯t changed. It¡¯s all in my head.


    Then I began to wonder why it is that this dream has gone on so long.


    Digitalis:


    Again, I spent a day at Asya¡¯s side, brushing his hair for the nurses. In my hands, it is dry and limp, the color fading rapidly. I wish they¡¯d let me bring in my own hair products to wash him with. I water his morning glories, a task I insist upon taking myself. Something superstitious in me wonders if it will help him if they flourish.


    ¡°Does that feel better?¡± I ask him, knowing he won¡¯t respond. I set the little watering can down on the side table of his room. The sunlight fills the blue petals of his flowers and they seem alight. ¡°It¡¯s been over a month since I had a drink or anything else. Are you proud of me?¡±


    His face was still, his chest raising gently with his breaths. He didn¡¯t need the respirator anymore, so his face was easier to see. The circles had disappeared from his eyes and his skin seemed smoother, but also much paler. I imagined he should look healthier than he did, living in this hospital so long.


    The doctors say that even if Asya would wake up, his organs and brain are badly damaged. He might end up spending the rest of his days in a hospital. If he¡¯s lucky enough, he might live under the care of a home nurse, instead.


    I took the time to learn about his condition. I learned about all the terrible things that might afflict him if he woke up. I had to turn my computer off to end the stream of potential horrors he might face if he ever ended his sleep. It had scared me when all of this began, but now the fear threatened to devour me. I couldn¡¯t bear to lose my dearest friend. The more I read, the more it sank in that I could just as easily have landed in the same condition. Greater than the addictions that were once firmly anchored in my brain, fear controlled me, now. If I ever took another pill or let myself drink, I¡¯d end up the same as Asya.


    Somehow, we finished the tribute song for him. It took a month for everyone to get together and collect ourselves so we might write something worth performing. We wrote a song about what he meant to us, the times we spent together, and the loss we suffered without him. It was such a wonderful thing, with Gael singing and playing the piano. I lent my voice and the softest guitar I could play. Absinthe played her drums, and the way she used to fill a concert hall with noise became the same skill that filled one with silence. We wrote a part for the bass that we would never play. We displayed the chords on a screen beside our own sheet music for people to see, but never hear.


    When we left the concert hall, the media plagued us as always, asking us questions and begging for comments about the song and the friend we wrote it for. I didn¡¯t even bother to say so much as to deny them any commentary. I closed my eyes and walked through them as though they didn¡¯t even exist. Later on, I would read that my silence shocked people. The world expected me to be the loudest voice on the news, milking the song for all I could. Saying nothing had more effect on the news than any words I may have chosen. Years ago, if I knew this, I might have used it to gain popularity or to sway my fans. Now, I didn¡¯t even care.


    I continued to return to the hospital room with Asya, watching him breathe for hours. Sometimes, his hand would twitch or his eyes would roll underneath his eyelids. It was the only thing that told me he was alive. I had learned to stop hearing the constant beeping of the monitors that once drove me insane. Sometimes, I used their natural rhythms to write songs with and I even wrote some poetry here and there. Maybe I would dedicate my next album to Asya, if the thought of it didn¡¯t make me too sad.


    ¡°Asya,¡± I whisper. I like to test him, sometimes. I like to see if he¡¯ll stir and rise from his pillow. He never does. He doesn¡¯t even twitch.


    I sigh.

 Chapter 15

    Asya:


    I was sure I heard someone sighing. My eyes opened, and the world was white.


    I almost felt it, the phantom of a shiver bursting through me. My eyes crawled along the whiteness, my ears barraged by the sounds of the beeping that grew faster and faster. I gasped, the sharp hiss of it ripping through the room with a shocking suddenness. A warmth covered my face to reveal something there, collecting my breath.


    I found the strength to lift my head, watching strands of my pale blue hair wander over my eyes as they slid off of my face. Staring forward, there was nothing but a blank white wall interrupted by a pine door, and the abrupt sight of my body beneath taught blankets. To my side is a chair and an end table with a half-dead morning glory in a small terracotta pot. The rest of the room was almost completely barren, with only a few generic medical posters on the walls. Light spilled in from behind me and when I tipped my head back, I saw the sky peeking through a window there.


    I¡¯m still alive.


    The sigh, again, took my ears. The way the breath slid from my mouth felt almost new, like I¡¯d been completely reborn. I pondered this for only a moment before the stale stickiness in my mouth proves how I¡¯ve merely been asleep. I started to rise into a sitting position, but my blood froze when only my left arm pushed against the bed. I looked to my right, staring with increasing panic as I realized it won¡¯t move. My sighing turned into quick panting. I tried to curl my legs up to aid my left arm in raising me. My left leg feebly obeyed, but the other remained flat on the bed. Terrified tears budded in my eyes.


    A doctor came crashing in when the beeping in the room reached its climax. His expression of concern transformed into the strangest look as wonder and joy melted into the creases of his wrinkled face. He ran to my side, his hands gentle on me as he broke into an elated smile.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright! It¡¯s alright!¡± He insisted, trying to help me back onto my pillow.


    I shake my head vigorously, but when I try to plead with him, he gives me a confused expression. I listen to myself, my breath hitching as I can¡¯t understand the babbling I hear in place of my intended words.


    The doctor calmed down, making a soothing hush sound. He began assessing me, but my body won¡¯t stop shaking. He studied and prodded at me, taking a moment here and there to study the machines.


    ¡°Asya.¡± He says, just after studying my chart. He pulls a rolling chair up to the bed beside me. ¡°Do you remember why you¡¯re here?¡±


    I stopped for a moment, fighting the disorientation which clouded my mind. What did I do to end up in a hospital? My eyes closed as I struggled to conjure memories. I remembered a room of orange and a bitter flavor in my mouth. There was warmth and wetness all around me. I¡¯d been so empty  I feared I¡¯d never be filled.


    I open my eyes when I cannot summon anything more from the void of my brain. I nod. The doctor studies me for a moment and I can¡¯t read his eyes.


    ¡°Try to tell me about it.¡± He seemed to have a trick up his sleeve, a cautiousness to his voice.


    I opened my mouth. Nothing but broken nonsense words spilled out.


    ¡°You can¡¯t speak, can you?¡±


    I looked into my lap. I knew what I was trying to say, but I couldn¡¯t form the right sounds. There were tears coming to my eyes, as I realized how much I¡¯d lost.


    I spend an hour with the doctor, learning about myself. I can¡¯t speak anymore, but I can understand others and read. When I write, my words are mixed with nonsense, but the messages are clearer than when I speak. My right limbs lay almost completely motionless. I can still feel with them and twitch my fingers and toes. My memories are a mess. I don¡¯t remember enough to be sure if its because I¡¯d been high or from the brain damage I suffered from the overdose.


    The doctor told me the paramedics had found me in a hotel bathroom, overdosing on drugs I¡¯d washed down with alcohol. He said the person who found me, found me alone.


    I stared in his direction, not seeing him. My memories were a wall of orange, and I strained to recall even a hint of why I was in that strange place. Recollections of my despair gave me a nudge in that direction, but I wanted more.


    He told me he¡¯d start planning a schedule for me, so I might try to recover and regain as much of myself as I¡¯d be able.


    As he spoke, I could barely focus on his words. The more I focused on the memory fragments of the orange room and the bathtub, the more I wished I had the whole thing. The only part of it I was sure of was how I¡¯d wanted to kill myself. I looked down at the unmoving right hand at my side, flinching at it.


    I¡¯d failed to take my own life, and now I¡¯m stuck like this. I closed my eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re not good for anything.¡± A familiar voice from my past whispered in my head with a ghostly sensation of nails in my shoulder. I bit my lip, and the sound of the doctor creaking in his chair sent the feeling away.


    ¡°Asya, I¡¯d like to start you on some physical therapy right away. There¡¯s a lot of hope for your paralysis, since you still have some ability to move in the paralyzed areas.¡±


    I opened my eyes and looked at the doctor, who returned my gaze with an earnestness that caught me off guard.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to call your emergency contact and update them about your condition.¡± He smiled, a warm smile. ¡°I think your friends will be happy to hear that you¡¯re awake.¡± He rose from his chair and left the room, leaving me to sit with those words.


    My friends would be happy to hear that I woke up?


    As strange and na?ve as I knew the thought to be, I¡¯d always assumed I was merely a headache for them. Even if they cared about me, wouldn¡¯t I be an easier friend to have if I stayed in my coma? Even as I had that thought, another part of me insisted that I was wrong. It was a strange paradox, to acknowledge the existence of friends that cared about me, but also disbelieve in their desire to keep me around.


    I lay back on the bed, collapsing onto the pillow beneath my head. Gazing up at the ceiling, I wondered what my life would be like right now if I hadn¡¯t tried to overdose. I thought back to that night, when I lay in the warm water of a tub, staring up at a ceiling just like I am now. I strained to remember the thoughts that put me there. The hopelessness that I¡¯d felt had been so deep that my current feelings couldn¡¯t compare. It was like being in the mind of another person who¡¯d never understand.


    I faded into the remnants of the memory. The heat of the steamy water was clear, and the memory of my emotions was sharp, but I failed to grasp the thoughts. I didn¡¯t remember the moments before or after the shard I replayed over and over in my head. Why was I in the hotel? What happened after I looked up at the ceiling and wallowed in my emotions?


    The information was gone, leaving the seeds of a headache behind. My hand wound into my hair as I cradled my head. The emptiness that filled me back then was still inside me now. The bitter taste, however, was long gone. I thought about what the doctor said. Was that flavor from the chewed up pills and whiskey that I took?


    The door opened, and I wondered how much time had passed while I lived in that memory. I opened my eyes and took in the full glory of Gael¡¯s face. He was giving me an expression that was filled with more emotion than I knew it capable of. His icy eyes were strangely warm and wide, his mouth parted with unspoken words on his breath. He had a kind of relief to him, but he was still tense from some kind of anticipation to appear relaxed. I wasn¡¯t sure how someone could seem worried and relieved all at once, but he had achieved it. His hair had gotten a little longer during my sleep, the shaggy black curls almost reaching his chin. Otherwise, he was exactly as I remembered. I looked next to him, noticing the band manager beside him, but no one else. He didn¡¯t bring his fiance.


    He was coming to me and I was overwhelmed by the experience of his touch when he embraced me too tightly. I returned the hug with my left arm, wishing more than before that my right one would move so I might experience this all the more.


    ¡°Finally, you¡¯re awake.¡± Gael breathed the words into my hair and I shivered. I hadn¡¯t been close to him in so long. My hand tightened against him and I didn¡¯t care to tell him that his grip on me hurt. I wished that I was able to speak to him, to tell him what it meant to me to see him. I pursed my lips with annoyance when the doctor spoke up, prompting Gael to let me go.


    ¡°Now that you¡¯ve seen the good news, I have to tell you the bad¡­¡± The doctor trailed off. He pulled another two chairs from the hallway so they both had somewhere to sit. Michael stood despite the offer of a seat, as he often did.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It was strange, being in the room while others discussed me, unable to be a voice for myself.


    ¡°While he¡¯s awake, he has still suffered a lot of damage. We did some tests this morning and discovered that he suffers from partial paralysis and he cannot speak intelligible words. Also,¡± The doctor pulled out a clipboard.


    I perked up. There was more? We did some tests, but I hadn¡¯t seen the results.


    ¡°We¡¯ve confirmed that his internal organ damage has improved little. He must follow a diet that our nutritionist is coming up with. We have hope that he can recover his paralyzed limbs, but he¡¯ll need physical therapy to achieve that.¡±


    ¡°So he might still play bass again, someday?¡± Gael sounded hopeful. Michael watched the doctor intently, taking down some notes for Gael¡¯s sake.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just try to work on basic movement to start. We can¡¯t know for sure what he might achieve even with a lot of effort.¡± The doctor didn¡¯t want to say it bluntly, that I may never play again. My chest ached at that.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t have much of a problem using written forms of language. We¡¯re not sure why he can¡¯t speak, as he has suffered no physical damage that would impair his voice. It¡¯s not uncommon for overdose victims with such severe trauma to struggle with communications due to the way the chemicals impair the speech centers of the brain. His ability to write his thoughts as clearly as he does, though, while unable to speak the same way, is somewhat unique. We¡¯ll work with him on it, since we may recover his speech as well.¡±


    Gael remained motionless, expressionless, but I smiled slightly. Even if I¡¯d never play again, maybe I¡¯d still write music for him. Maybe I could remain a part of my own life, even if that role was diminished.


    ¡°I¡¯d also like to have him see a therapist. The event itself was traumatic, and he may suffer emotionally from that trauma as he recovers. In a worst-case scenario, he may even develop PTSD, but I¡¯d rather we stay hopeful about it. Many people can learn to cope with their trauma and live happily with time and therapy. I¡¯d also like him to see someone about his substance abuse issues. This might be tricky with his communication troubles, but we can work on that.¡± The doctor was writing on his clipboard as he spoke, likely repeating these notes down for his reports.


    ¡°What about his memory?¡± Gael asked, his eyes drifting over to meet mine for just a moment.


    ¡°Well, we must look into that as well. Many coma patients suffer from amnesia and I haven¡¯t completely screened him for it, yet.¡± The doctor looked at me. ¡°We ought to work with a therapist on that as well.¡±


    ¡°Can I have a moment alone with him?¡± Gael looked to the doctor, and I wished that I could see the face he made.


    The doctor nodded and rose from his chair.


    As Gael stood, pushing his chair to the wall, Michael touched his arm. In a whisper that was just loud enough to hear, he spoke to Gael. He gave me a sidelong glance that reminded me of a bratty kid spreading poisonous playground secrets.


    ¡°If he¡¯s partially paralyzed, he probably won¡¯t be able to play bass again. Don¡¯t you want to reconsider finding a replacement for-¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Gael raised a hand and turned away. ¡°This isn¡¯t a good time for this conversation. Now, would you wait outside so I can be with him?¡±


    Gael walked to my bedside, bringing his chair with him as Michael left, closing the door slightly too hard with frustration. Gael helped me bring the bed into a sitting-up position so I wouldn¡¯t have to work to converse with him. He offered me a small smile, pleasant, but anxious.


    ¡°I missed you while you were here.¡± His hands shook, and he took my hand.


    I nodded my response to him, tightening my fingers around his hand. Our moment of touch ended. He drew his hand away.


    ¡°Asya, do you remember anything from the night of the overdose?¡± He spoke to me gently.


    Wishing that he wouldn¡¯t ask me about it, I averted my eyes from him. I didn¡¯t want him to know too much, but keeping secrets from him played a large role in how this all turned out. I nodded, offering him that same small, non-reassuring smile that he¡¯d offered me.


    ¡°Asya¡­ I- No, we all talked about your situation. We worried about you. We wanted to understand what happened that night. Digitalis found you. She was the one that called for the ambulance, but even she doesn¡¯t know what happened.¡± He sounded like he¡¯d become frantic in just a moment. His eyebrows knitted together and he wouldn¡¯t look me in the eye. He took a deep, quivering breath and let it out for what seemed like a long time.


    ¡°I¡­ I should start this slowly. I¡¯m panicking,¡± Gael seemed to speak to himself. He looked me in the eye, a kind of cautious anticipation on his face. ¡°Why were you in that hotel, the night that it happened?¡±


    I stared at him for a moment. The pills erased memories of my motive. I didn¡¯t know what I would tell him, even if I was able to say it. He seemed to recall my muteness, offering me his phone with a note app open. I stared at the blank space on the screen, unsure of how I would answer. When I started typing, I struggled to write proper words. It took multiple tries to get them right, but Gael was patient.


    ¡°I can¡¯t remember that,¡± my typed words admitted as I faced the screen to him.


    He read the words, sighing slightly. He looked almost disappointed in the answer. While I could understand why to an extent, I wondered if there was something specific he was trying to ask me behind the question he¡¯d chosen.


    ¡°Do you¡­ Do you remember the overdose?¡± He asked.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°What do you remember?¡± He passed the phone back to me, his eyes showing a delicate war of hope and fear. Which would overcome him?


    I paused over the keyboard for a moment, not sure what to include, or how much I¡¯d be able to write.


    ¡°I laid in water. I was taking a bath. A bitter taste was in my mouth. Pills? Everything in the room was orange. Too orange.¡± Just then, I could recall the sound of glass breaking as my hand loosened. ¡°I dropped a bottle.¡±


    I held my breath when I passed the phone back. Afraid, I tried to guess what he¡¯d think of my words. What if he asked me about the emotions I suffered that night? I wasn¡¯t ready to tell him that much.


    ¡°Asya.¡± He started. My heart jumped in my chest at the sound of his voice, saying my name.


    As much as I couldn¡¯t remember, I remembered that I had heard little from him for a while, even before my sleep. I remembered the loneliness that that rift between us gave me.


    ¡°Do you think it was just about drugs? I mean, was there more to this than just getting high?¡±


    There was a moment of tense silence between us. He hands me the phone, and I just hold it and stare back at him. The darkness that infected the memory told me I wasn¡¯t just getting high that night. I didn¡¯t want him to know, but I should start being more open with him. If I stopped keeping my secrets, I might not be so isolated. I looked at the keyboard, wondering what I¡¯m supposed to tell him. The longer I deliberated on it, the longer I stared at the phone without typing a word, the more anxious he seemed. He had always been someone who was comfortable to sit motionless for hours in silence, like a statue from a cathedral. Now he fidgeted with his hands and watched me intently.


    I didn¡¯t want to see his reaction. I didn¡¯t want Gael to know me that deeply. He already knew about my drug use and alcoholism, but I never told him where it all came from. Even if he could be ready to receive all of that information about me, I wasn¡¯t prepared to give up my secrets. I couldn¡¯t lie, but I couldn¡¯t tell him.


    I started tapping out my answer. The little clicking sounds that the phone played poisoned the silence that invaded the room, growing the tension. It took me a few tries to get the words right.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you want me to say,¡± the text stated.


    He glanced at the words for only a moment.


    ¡°Asya, please. Tell me what you felt that night.¡± He pleaded, passing the phone back. We looked at each other for a while again, reading each other¡¯s emotions in our eyes.


    ¡°Emptiness,¡± I typed. I didn¡¯t look at him this time when I put the phone in his hands.


    ¡°Emptiness.¡± He repeated it aloud. He stared at it like I¡¯d written the word in a language he didn¡¯t understand. ¡°What do you mean by¡­ Emptiness?¡±


    I shook my head. How would I describe what that was beyond just the word? How could I even try to explain it without telling him too much about myself and my problems? He sighed and set the phone down with a small click onto the table beside my dying flower.


    ¡°I want to know, Asya,¡±


    My name came from his lips again. He rarely used it so often.


    ¡°Were you trying to¡­¡± He took a heavy breath. ¡°To kill yourself?¡± The gaze he aimed at me was so weighted that it stopped my breath.


    There it was, the question that was weighing in the air from the moment he sat in the chair next to me. Suddenly, I noticed the way the light from the window had changed in color, growing more golden as each minute passed. I saw a painting behind Gael that I¡¯d never really looked at before, a meadow of blue flowers. Everything outside of me was more attractive than the truth that pounded in my head. I didn¡¯t want to tell him. I shouldn¡¯t tell him. Every moment of silence that followed his question, though, was a moment that the air grew heavier and heavier. The atmosphere weighed down on my weakened body, and I ached to lie down.


    Gael was becoming more and more nervous about my response. Slowly, I lifted the phone up again. I looked at it, ready to type a reply to his question that would explain everything. I was ready to type him my life story if it was necessary, no matter how many tries it took to get the words right. He lowered the phone away from my face, though, and I looked back into his eyes.


    ¡°Asya? Was that what you were trying to do?¡± He asked me again. Gael¡¯s eyes were losing their intensity, so filled with concern that I wondered if it was selfish for me to keep the answer from him.


    Instead of typing him anything at all, I dropped the phone and held his hand. I nodded, looking down at our hands to avoid the look on his face. Shame bloomed within me like a ravenous peony, its petals and stems pushing painfully against the confines of my chest.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± His voice was a whisper. When I tried to meet his eyes, I saw that he was just looking at our hands. He slid his fingers away. ¡°I wish I¡¯d known that you felt like that. I¡­ I should have known. I saw the signs.¡±


    Seeing him this way was harder than handling my own feelings. Knowing that he sounded and looked so devastated, so defeated because of me, was killing things within me I thought had died years ago.


    ¡°I think you should get a live-in nurse.¡± He blurted. ¡°Someone that can help you with things you can¡¯t do and-¡±


    My eyes widened. I wanted to say something, to tell him I was going to be okay this time around. I wanted to make promises I¡¯d break, and I wanted the freedom to try and fail again, to tell myself to believe that it could be different this time.


    ¡°I want you to have someone around so you won¡¯t get to try again. I know, you probably think that it¡¯s selfish but¡­ We, the band and I, can¡¯t handle something like this again.¡± He looked back at me and wrapped my hand in his again. It was a touch of reassurance, but I had no control anymore, even in comforting touches.


    I dipped my head down, and I didn¡¯t bother to fight it. He was right. I would probably try again.


    ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll try to get better, Asya? You¡¯re such an important friend to me and I need you to be okay.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll visit you again soon. This time, I¡¯ll be more attentive to you. I mean it.¡± His expression was so earnest that I had no choice but to believe him.


    When he let my hand go, the air that touched me was cold. Gael rose and pushed his chair back against the wall. He picked his phone up off the ground and walked away. I watched him close the door between us, calling for the band manager to begin a discussion about my future without me.


    I don¡¯t remember the thoughts I had that night in the hotel room. However, I didn¡¯t think that even once it could have crossed my mind that things would end up this way. I didn¡¯t believe that I could have expected losing even more control of my life than I¡¯d already relinquished to my bottles and pills. Now, I lay in a hospital bed while everyone else decided how my life was going to go. Now, I didn¡¯t even have the words to dispute them.

 Chapter 16

    Physical therapy is rough. I never thought that I¡¯d spend an hour of my life sweating and struggling just to make my hand do more than twitch. Here I was, glaring at it with all the hatred in my heart as it lay still on the table before me. Across from me, my physical therapist, Francine, watched with intense concentration.


    ¡°You can do this.¡± She urged. She¡¯d wanted me to pick up my hand and wave, but the step seemed impossible. One finger was all I was after. If I could just move one finger freely, more than a pathetic tremble¡­


    I huffed in frustration, and she placed her hand on mine.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Asya. Let¡¯s take a break.¡± She stood to pull my wheelchair away from the table.


    I wished that I could voice my frustrations, but the desire to complain only exacerbated another piece of me that had fallen into disrepair.


    Francine continued, ¡°Don¡¯t be discouraged. Only a small percentage of patients respond to therapy so quickly. You have plenty of time to try again.¡±


    She wheeled me into Digitalis¡¯ red living room. Until the studio selected my nurse, Digitalis agreed to care for me. Similarly, until they chose my nurse, Francine visited for a few hours each day to help me regain the physical abilities I¡¯d lost. She seemed hopeful that I would recover, but I wasn¡¯t so sure. Francine flitted to the kitchen to make me a cup of hot cocoa, a reward we¡¯d decided on to end each session. Secretly, I wished they¡¯d let me spike it. I closed my eyes, imagining the disapproved looks my friends would give me if I bothered to make such a request.


    The microwave disrupted my thoughts with its beeping, and Digitalis arrived from work. She kicked her heels into the floor, dancing across the room with a lightness about her that she couldn¡¯t shake off. Since I moved in, she¡¯s been happier than ever. I¡¯m sure the medication her psychiatrist prescribed has something to do with her levity. Yet, so much of her life has improved that I¡¯m sure she¡¯d be happy even without it.


    With my working hand, I lift one of her Digital Poison magazines off of the coffee table. Digitalis¡¯ grin crosses the cover. Something inside of me yearns to be happy for her, but a coldness overtakes it. My career is over. I¡¯ll never know the joy of being featured by one of these magazines ever again. I¡¯ll never stand behind Gael and her on any cover. Never again will I get to engage in friendly banter with an interviewer. I¡¯ll never strum my bass with a second hand to press the strings into place for a note. I¡¯ll never write another song that I¡¯ll get to play. I¡¯ll never stand on a stage to look out at my adoring fans. Now, when I turn on the TV, the only pieces of myself that I see left are tributes, warnings, and pity. I¡¯ve fallen from grace and there¡¯s no way I¡¯ll ever climb back up.


    I set the magazine down when Francine delivered my cocoa, listening to Digitalis as she hums in the kitchen. Francine goes to chat with her, and they laugh and joke together. I stare at my orange cup, reminded of the orange walls of that hotel room, a fragment of the dark memory I can¡¯t grasp.


    ¡°Asya.¡± Francine¡¯s voice cuts into the fog of the memory. I raise my eyes to her, and I push the cup into the back of my mind. ¡°Remember to make me that list, alright?¡±


    I nod. The list sounded like a stupid idea to me, but I promised Gael that I¡¯d try my best to heal. That included doing things that sound pointless, so long as a doctor proposes them.


    Francine had asked me to come up with thirty things that I used to love to do. We would work together to give me the ability to do them all again. I believed that the exercise would just make me become more depressed. I stared at the notebook on the coffee table, blank and waiting for me to fill it with goals and regrets.


    Francine waved goodbye to Digitalis and me, closing the door behind her. Digitalis sat on the couch near me. She opened her mouth to speak, but her face froze when she caught a glance at my cup.


    ¡°That¡¯s not one of mine.¡± She picked it up, studying it. ¡°Was this from Francine?¡±


    Digitalis walked to the kitchen, dumping the cocoa in one of her red mugs. My answering nod went unseen. She placed the mug on the counter, resting her palms on either side of it. She glared down at it, as if a demon would hop out of it or something.


    ¡°I have to ask her about that...¡± She set it into the sink. Her phone buzzed, and she suddenly breezed out of the room with her cell phone, her fingers flying over the screen.


    I looked at the sink where the mug had disappeared. The color brought back images of orange hotel walls in my mind, but I wondered why Digitalis reacted to it. I shook the thought from my head, focusing instead on Francine¡¯s list.


    I lifted the pencil with my left hand, knowing that it would never write as clearly as my right used to. Shaking, I brought it to the paper, pressing too hard as I etched a line to mark the first item of the list.


    <ol>


    <li> My music</li>


    </ol>


    The letters were barely legible, and the words were too vague. Francine would ask me what I hope to achieve in order to satisfy my desire for ¡°My music.¡±


    <ol>


    <li> My music- To sing and play my bass.</li>


    </ol>


    The dark lines that my clumsy hand made were hard to erase, so an unsightly smear of graphite trailed from ¡°music¡± where I¡¯d erased the period. Francine would enjoy the clarity, but the hope I¡¯d had to achieve my goal was already dying.


    I ached to play my bass again, which anyone would expect. Strangely, though, I also wanted to sing. It was something I¡¯d taken for granted in the past. I had a decent voice, never as good as Gael or Digitalis, but good enough to go solo if I¡¯d wanted as a low profile musician. I only ever used my voice when I wrote songs with Gael, to give him an audible sense of the ideas I wrote onto paper. I never wanted to share the stage with him as a vocalist. I never wanted to be anywhere but at his side with my bass. Now, I longed for those hours singing offstage as well. The grudging but rewarding work of creation was always a way for me to stay close to Gael. I never appreciated it enough.


    2.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    I paused. Glancing at the magazines on the table, I recalled the wish that I may go to another interview. I wanted to write that down, but Francine would nitpick that I¡¯d written desires that boiled down to my voice too many times. Each item was supposed to be a unique skill on its own. Again, I stained the paper in eraser marks.


    <ol>


    <li> To play my bass</li>


    <li> To sing and talk</li>


    </ol>


    I sighed at the rough writing. It should be easy to make a list like this. There were so many things I wanted to do again. I just didn¡¯t know which was the most important.


    <ol start="3">


    <li> To write beautifully again</li>


    </ol>


    I bit my lip. Would Francine think that it was too sarcastic? I rolled my eyes up towards the ceiling. That space was a welcome rest for my eyes. The whiteness of it was the only thing in the room that didn¡¯t blast red at me like gunfire. I focused on the paper again and jotted down some obvious ones.


    <ol start="4">


    <li> To use the bathroom alone.</li>


    <li> To walk</li>


    <li> To bathe alone</li>


    <li> To wave goodbye</li>


    </ol>


    I glared at my right hand again, recalling Francine¡¯s exercise. If I can never complete it by waving, how would I do anything more complex?


    <ol start="8">


    <li> To tap my bad foot to music</li>


    <li> To dance</li>


    </ol>


    I frowned. A sensation washed over me, like something was weighing my insides down, pulling them into a nauseous ball in my stomach. Was the wish to dance too close to admitting that I missed my party animal lifestyle? All the way back to my early years in the band, I used to dance every night. There was such freedom to it, letting my inhibitions fall away. Before I became a proper alcoholic, the buzz of liquor was only a catalyst for that loose sensation of living in the moment. I sighed, filling my head with a dusty old bittersweet memory.


    ***


    My mother slammed my bedroom door as she left me inside. The mechanical clicking of the lock was the only sound left in the room after the echoes of her shouting faded. Sixteen and full of rebellious desire, I only smirked.


    How na?ve I thought she was, not knowing that a locked door would never be enough to imprison me. I waited in the darkness, watching the electric blue numbers on my alarm clock climb to eleven o¡¯clock. There wasn¡¯t a single night that she would stay up later than that, and tonight would be no exception.


    I slid out of my bed, opening my closet to change into the more provocative clothing that I liked. Tight jeans and a vest became a trademark of mine in the early years of the band, and not just because I wore them for the public to see. I slid my fingerless gloves on, marvelling at them. Cyrus Blake wore gloves like this, and even if my crush on him had faded, he remained an inspiring figure in my eyes.


    The window whispered open, and I looked down at the ground. It always put a bit of sickness in my stomach to see how far I might fall, a full story between me and my mom¡¯s peonies. I climbed through the window, sitting on the windowsill with a deep breath held in my lungs. The roof curved around the house a little to my left, and I¡¯d successfully glided onto it a handful of times. Petals from my mom¡¯s cherry tree covered the roof, a lovely but slippery surface to land on. Carefully, I edged myself closer, using a nearby tree branch as an unsteady bridge to make it onto the roof.


    My fingers slid across the petals, but the rubber soles of my shoes and my deft hands helped me along the roof. I dangled from the edge and used the wooden pillar to pull myself onto the railing. Then, I got onto the porch, climbed down the stairs past the peony bushes, and ran into the night.


    Across the neighborhood, music poured into the streets and lights shined as brightly as the sun from within. Other teenagers laughed and fooled around on the lawn, and I kicked plastic cups aside as I approached the front door. Jovial greetings and the potent scent of cheap beer met me. The stereo was so loud that it shook itself through my body. I filled a cup and made my way into the crowd that danced in the living room. I was free. Here, I could be whoever I wanted, move however I wanted, without the restraint of my mother¡¯s judgemental gaze or the restrictions of the record company. I closed my eyes, took a deep drink of the bitter beer, and just danced.


    I woke the next morning on someone else¡¯s couch with a mild headache. The floor was littered with sleeping people, and orange light spilled onto the floor from the rising sun outside. I ran home, sneaking in through the back door when I arrived, panting and sweating. The sterile whiteness of the carpet and walls were a cage. Perfectly arranged photos of my family dotted the walls, and I avoided them with my eyes. I hated the staged poses and smiles they depicted, illusions of a pristine family that would never exist. My fingers raked through my hair, and I raised a bundle to my nose. The scent of the party lingered on me: stale beer, sweat, and vomit.


    I sighed, tiptoeing towards my room to take a shower. I got a glimpse of the clock on the wall, groaning when I saw that it was past seven o¡¯clock. I¡¯d lie to Mom and pretend that I slept in when she¡¯d scold me for being late to breakfast. Dad ought to have left for work by now, and we always ate together. Hopefully she unlocked my bedroom door without opening it to check on me today. I turned the corner, sliding my hand along the wall as I approached the stairs.


    Mom cleared her throat.


    My eyes snapped up to where she waited at the top of the staircase, arms crossed, lips pursed. I froze as she walked down the stairs; her shadow falling over me like a net of heavy chains, holding me down. She placed a firm hand on my shoulder, her fingernails pressing down. I couldn¡¯t take my eyes away from hers as she looked into me like she had read my mind.


    ¡°You smell like beer again.¡± Her tongue was sharp as it spit the words out at me.


    ¡°Mom, I just-¡±


    She tightened her hand on my shoulder, her manicured, pointed fingernails pressing into my skin hard.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me excuses. Go to your room. Take a shower. Come down for breakfast. We¡¯re going to have a long talk about this unacceptable behavior, Asya. You¡¯ll either straighten yourself out, or I¡¯ll be forced to take drastic measures.¡±


    She pushed me away from her as she released me, shaking me as she whisked past me to go into the kitchen. I closed my eyes and bit my lip. Drastic measures¡­ I could only wonder what that meant with her. My hand gripped the railing of the stairs before I ascended to my bedroom.


    In a moment of passion, I swiped a vase full of Mom¡¯s peonies off of an accent table. I gritted my teeth when I didn¡¯t hear it shatter. The thick, plush carpet had saved her precious vase.


    I closed my bedroom door behind me. I undressed and fled into my bathroom. As I showered, I listened to a rough studio recording of a song Gael wrote. My fingernails dug into my shoulder where hers had pierced me as the water poured down into my hair. I sang with Gael¡¯s voice and tried to dance the way I had the night before. The freedom wasn¡¯t here, and I moved like a short-circuiting robot. Frustrated, I gripped my arm harder. I wished that I could stay in the bathroom forever; To avoid the confrontation that waited for me at the breakfast bar downstairs. Hot tears rivaled the scorching water as it all flowed down my face. I looked at my arm, five red crescents where my fingernails dug too deep.


    I sang louder, my voice cracking and breaking beneath my emotion. It didn¡¯t matter. No one was listening. I rubbed soap onto my skin, closing my eyes to pretend that I was at a party again. A twitchy, desperate smile forced itself onto my face and I swayed back and forth on my feet.


    I had only this one moment of freedom before I would face reality again. Mom could threaten and control me all she wanted, but she would never take away my music. Nothing would.


    ***

 Chapter 17

    Tears streamed down my face, and one hand wasn¡¯t enough to wipe them all away before the next stream flowed onto my cheeks. I had taken my music away from myself. I can¡¯t dance or sing or play my bass. I¡¯m useless. My gaze drifts to my arm, where I used to dig my fingernails as a teenager. I¡¯d tattooed over the site with a flaming blue bass, my way of conquering the control she¡¯d once had before my emancipation. I wanted to touch the tattoo, but my right arm remained frozen at my side. It was the first thing that I¡¯d inked onto my body, and it remained one of the few times that I¡¯d successfully taken control of anything in my life. My tears slowed, and I could finally keep up with them. I returned to my list, adding my latest wishes.


    <ol start="10">


    <li>  To touch my tattoo</li>


    <li>  To wipe away my tears</li>


    </ol>


    Digitalis returned to the room, holding her head in her hands as she sat on the couch again. She set her phone on the coffee table where my cocoa had been and hugged herself.


    ¡°Asya¡­¡± She didn¡¯t look at me, staring instead at her phone. ¡°I know what it¡¯s like now. I want to take pills again. I thought that would go away after the detox, but¡­ It¡¯s tempting¡­ I want to escape.¡±


    I tilted my head, and she met my eyes. Nervously, she laughed.


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one that understands me, you know. Can I talk to you about something?¡± Her voice shook, and she didn¡¯t wait for me to nod before she continued. ¡°When you¡­ When you almost died, I¡­ I knew that I had to change. That night showed me how dangerous it was to live the way we did. That night, I almost lost you.¡±


    I held my breath. She took my hand, the warmth of it waking the nerves that felt like static most of the time. This wouldn¡¯t be enough to make it move again, but it was nice anyway. I waited while she collected her thoughts, an anxious flutter in my chest as I imagined what she might tell me.


    ¡°I¡­¡± She squeezed my hand, the anticipation building inside of me. ¡°I can¡¯t describe what it was like, to walk into what I did that night.¡±


    I perked up, my left hand gripping the arm of my wheelchair. Describe it. I urged, wishing that she could read my mind.


    ¡°It haunts me, Asya. When I saw that cup, that color¡­ It was like I was in that bathroom again. I wonder if you feel the same, but you probably don¡¯t remember it so well. You were unconscious for a lot.¡± She looked at our joined hands. ¡°When I remember¡­ I wish that I wasn¡¯t sober. I would think, ¡®this must be how Asya felt when he was in rehab. This must be what he was going through when he came back.¡¯¡±


    I sighed. She wasn¡¯t going to recount that night for me. Her eyes were glassy and pained, staring at our hands like she could see the past through them. I gazed at them, too, wishing that I could have some footing in the conversation. I bit my lip, knowing that she wouldn¡¯t think to give me voice through her cell phone keyboard like Gael would. Should I just reach for her phone myself? I should at least comfort her, somehow...


    ¡°I blame myself for your relapse. I¡¯ve been dragging you down from the beginning, but when you returned from rehab, you were more vulnerable than ever. I¡¯m a terrible person, aren¡¯t I? When you wanted to be sober, I dangled liquor in front of you until you drank it. When you were down, I told you to bury it down with my pills. I¡¯m a monster. I wish I¡¯d known that it was so hard to resist those temptations. I wish I¡¯d known that it wasn¡¯t all just a choice to you.¡±


    She raised my hand and clasped it with both of hers. I brushed a tear away with my good hand, offering her a comforting smile. She didn¡¯t open her eyes to see it.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± She sobbed.


    It was as if I wasn¡¯t even sitting in front of her. My words were gone and my actions didn¡¯t change anything. I was hearing the words someone said to a grave, absorbing regrets I couldn¡¯t respond to. I needed to give her words. Digitalis was the person who understood me more than anyone, but it didn¡¯t matter. She held my hand and spoke to me, but it didn¡¯t change the fact that I was all alone. I may as well be dead in this chair, for all it would change. A sensation of familiar loneliness washed over me, deepened by helplessness.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± She repeated, pressing my hand against her face like a stuffed toy. With my good hand, I brushed her hair from where it stuck to the streaks of tears on her cheeks. Only then did she open her eyes to look at me. Again, I gave her my comforting smile. Warmth filled her eyes, and she returned it with one of her own.


    ¡°You¡¯re my best friend.¡± She got up to hug me, and I wished I could embrace her the same way. One arm wasn¡¯t enough to bring myself close to anyone. For a moment, she rested her face on my shoulder. Her leftover tears left my shirt damp and her breathing tickled my neck. Her cheekbones dug into me too much, but I endured the discomfort for her sake. When she finished, she looked at me again with a gratitude in her eyes. The connection between us was becoming too long, and I was grateful when she snapped up, her attention shifting suddenly to the kitchen.


    ¡°Oh! I forgot about your cocoa!¡± She darted into the kitchen, grimacing when she touched the red cup that she¡¯d poured it into. She popped it back into the microwave. ¡°Sorry! It got cold.¡±


    I nodded, pulling my list back into my lap.


    <ol start="12">


    <li> To hug someone with both arms.</li>


    <li> To make my own cocoa.</li>


    </ol>


    I wished that I could write ¡®To pour myself a drink,¡¯ but Francine and everyone knew about my old alcoholism, and they¡¯d know that I meant whiskey. I thought about Digitalis¡¯ words. I yearned for pills again, too, but now I was scared to even think about giving in.


    <ol start="14">


    <li> To open jars and bottles.</li>


    </ol>


    The wording was innocent enough, disguising the desire to pop open a pill bottle that brought the wish to mind. I thought of a few more obvious ones, starting with the wish that I didn¡¯t have to use my only working hand to move around. It maddened me that I had to stop everything to get from point A to point B unless someone pushed me around.


    <ol start="15">


    <li> To multitask- Doing something with my hands while I moved from one place to the next.</li>


    <li> To stand and reach high places</li>


    <li> To get into bed myself.</li>


    <li> To type with both hands again.</li>


    </ol>


    The last one seemed bitter to scrawl onto the page. Typing would make this list a far easier project, but Francine insisted that I train my left hand to write. Besides that, my old typing skills amounted to little now that only one hand can move with dexterity. I was thrown almost all the way back to using the elementary ¡®hunt and peck¡¯ method of typing. Trying to write anything was like banging my head into a wall.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Digitalis delivered the cocoa to me, curiously glancing at my list.


    ¡°Wow. That puts a lot of things into perspective, Asya. I never thought of all the things I¡¯ve taken for granted.¡± She sat down and I bit my lip.


    I knew that she didn¡¯t mean to be rude, but her statement still grated on my nerves a bit.


    ¡°I know that you want to be independent again, but I honestly kind of like how close we¡¯ve gotten lately. Tucking you into bed at night leaves me all warm and tingly.¡±


    I laughed, and I imagined the sarcastic remarks I could give if my mouth could make words as it was supposed to. I picked up the cocoa and took an indulgent sip. The cup was always kind of heavy to start, and my hands shook. When I first began physical therapy, the weight was too much and I would drop the cup without help. The ability to drink something hot from a glass mug like this was a mark of achievement, the reason I¡¯d selected it for my reward. The cocoa warmed me too much, and I set it down to throw my lap blanket onto the chair beside me.


    ¡°Man. It must suck to be so sensitive.¡± Digitalis leaned into the chair, observing me.


    Another fun side effect of brain damage was that my body had a hard time regulating my body temperature. It was like a running joke to Digitalis, who got to watch me throw my blanket on and off all day. Funny, until I need more than just the addition or removal of a lap blanket.


    ¡°Do you need your fan on?¡± She asked, putting it on top of the table from where she stored it on the shelf beneath the tabletop.


    I shook my head. I¡¯d rather put the cup down for a minute so I wouldn¡¯t have to put my list away. The fan would make it go cold too quickly, if I let her switch it on.


    <ol start="19">


    <li> To turn on my fan.</li>


    </ol>


    ¡°Maybe we can work on teaching you how to talk again?¡± She offered, wiggling her hips giddily in her seat like an excited puppy.


    I cringed. Digitalis was the last person I wanted to practice with. Even when she held back her teasing, her words begged to slip out from behind her tightened lips. It was a struggle for her not to laugh while I struggled to say something coherent. It was even worse when her patience wore away, and she became short-tempered and spiteful.


    I looked down at my list, a rough row of near-illegible scrawling.


    <ol>


    <li> To sing and talk.</li>


    </ol>


    I sighed and nodded. She squirmed excitedly, and I rolled my eyes. If the experience was always hilarious and then frustrating for her, why was she always so thrilled to do it?


    ¡°Alright, Asya.¡± She made a mischievous smirk. My hope for a serious session died before I could give it life. ¡°Start by telling me I¡¯m amazing.¡±


    I opened my mouth, prepared to tell her to fuck off. It made no difference. The words were too jumbled to understand, either way.


    ***


    Weeks ago, I was confined to the hospital while the doctors and my friends came up with plans for me. Digitalis was the one that stayed in my room by my side. Somehow, I hadn¡¯t expected her to be the most thoughtful of my emotions. Here she was, worried that I would be lonely while everyone else was outside making my future for me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why Gael and Absinthe would pass up an opportunity to sit in this chair.¡± She had her hand on my bedrail, her eyes focused on the dying morning glory. It had revived a little since she passed the duty of watering to my nurses. She continued, ¡°I visit you every week, but it¡¯s so much better to talk to you when I know you can hear me.¡±


    Her gaze moved to me, and I realized that this was the first truly intimate moment we¡¯d shared as friends. Digitalis had changed. She was more caring to start, but she looked different, too. Her skin had a healthy glow. Her hair was shiny. The circles beneath her eyes had disappeared. She¡¯d looked this way on the cover of albums and magazines, but I¡¯d never seen her so vibrant without the help of a makeup crew.


    I touched her wrist, where I saw a flash of vibrant blue. Her eyes moved to my fingertips where they touched her. She raised her hand to show me a tattoo of a morning glory, much like the one that wilted on my bedside table.


    ¡°After everything that happened¡­ I had to change. Seeing you in that hotel room, I knew that I¡¯d taken you and everything else in my life for granted. So I got this tattoo. Everyone else in the band got one, too, but it was my idea. It¡¯s blue, like your hair¡­ I thought this flower fit you the best.¡± She stared at it, a weariness in her eyes contrasted with the rested appearance of her face. ¡°Do you like it?¡±


    I stared at it a moment longer, studying the bright blue petals. Should I be honored that she got a tattoo for me? I only have guilt. I don¡¯t think I expected to leave any sadness if I had taken my life.


    I nodded, mostly to reassure her. It was a beautiful tattoo, but Digitalis was never the sort of person who would have picked out a plain flower like this for herself. She¡¯d chosen it for me, for whatever reasons she had. If I hadn¡¯t hurt her, she would have put something else on her wrist. Maybe a bright red rose would have replaced the blue morning glory? That would have fit her better.


    ¡°I started going to a therapist. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m messed up, Asya. I always have been.¡± She squeezed her eyes, looking at my dying plant again. ¡°I got a detox for the pills. That was¡­ Rough.¡± A darkness filled her eyes. ¡°It was worth it. I feel¡­ Healthy.¡±


    Healthy. I remember what that was like. For me, it was like I was wiped clean. The experience reminded me of the painful perfection of my childhood home. I couldn''t stand to be that way. I wondered if Digitalis had a different perspective. She never seemed the type to desire order over chaos.


    ¡°None of it was as good as this, though.¡± She looked up at me, ¡°I can talk to you again.¡± Tears budded in her eyes, ¡°I thought you¡¯d never open your eyes.¡±


    She pulled me into a tight hug. I was a rag doll, only able to throw my working arm around her as she clung to me.


    ***


    My cocoa was cold, and Digitalis had gone to make dinner. I drank the thick chocolate anyway, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she fumbled with a kitchen knife. She swore at the raw meat that she tried to cut, using a plate instead of a cutting board. Dinner has become my evening entertainment. I¡¯ve never been much of a chef myself, but Digitalis¡¯ inexperience was comically lacking. As she¡¯d disturbed me with her laughter when I failed to speak, I returned the favor as the plate flipped upside down under the pressure of the knife.


    Digitalis glared at me, waving the blade in my direction. ¡°Why don¡¯t you get up and lend a hand?¡±


    I raised an eyebrow, pointing at the motionless limb at my side.


    ¡°I know.¡± She retorted. ¡°You can¡¯t.¡±


    I squinted at her, pursing my lips while she put the meat back on top of the plate. I lifted my list, glaring at the knife in her hands as I added my new idea.


    <ol start="20">


    <li>  To cook for myself.</li>


    </ol>


    I held back the urge to add ¡°edible food,¡± knowing that Digitalis would read my list later and see it as a personal attack. Although, she might take it that way even as it¡¯s written¡­


    I look at my right hand. Francine warned me about overexerting myself, but I wanted to move it so badly. I twitched a finger, the most I was capable of at the moment. I squeezed the arm of my wheelchair with my left hand, willing my right to rise from where it lay in my lap. Nothing changed. One finger, I promised myself. If I can curl one finger, I can relax for the rest of the night. My finger trembled again as I focused on it, but it was more stubborn than I was. It refused to bend, to move at all aside from the pathetic shaking.


    Glass shattered in the kitchen, and my eyes snapped away from my useless hand.


    ¡°God-Fuck-Dammit.¡± Digitalis disappeared behind the counter, the sound of scraping glass accompanying the motion. The plate with the meat on the counter had vanished. She stood back up, her eyes darting around the kitchen. ¡°Asya, do you remember where the broom is?¡±


    I pointed at the crack between the fridge and the wall where the red handle poked out of the shadows. She thanked me and started sweeping the glass, cussing beneath her breath.


    <ol start="21">


    <li>  To use a broom</li>


    </ol>


    It was safe to assume that she ate out often before I moved in.


    ¡°Asya, can you go to that pizza joint¡¯s website and order something? I ruined dinner again. Don¡¯t tell Francine I gave you junk food.¡±


    I shook my head, smiling. This was the third pizza order of the week. By now, I had a favorite order saved to the website and everything. Digitalis cussed as she swept the glass away, and I closed my eyes for a brief nap.

 Chapter 18

    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Asya. My name is Laurent.¡± Laurent smiled easily at me, revealing a cute gap in his teeth. He took a seat across from me at the family restaurant Gael chose for us all to meet.


    I nodded my acknowledgement, offering a polite smile in return. I looked the man over. At a glance, he looked very little like I expected a nurse to look. He was conventionally handsome, with hair that he¡¯d meticulously styled to appear messy. He dressed in casual clothes that were too nice to be called sloppy. His smile was radiant and genuine.


    A year ago, I¡¯d probably try to sleep with him. He looked like he¡¯d be a confident and affectionate lover, who would hold me before we¡¯d go to sleep; The sort of person who might provide a brief repose from my undying loneliness.


    I couldn¡¯t use Laurent that way if I wanted to, now. My gaze drifted onto the table. My body didn¡¯t respond very well anymore to sexual desire, and I¡¯ve given up on chasing those fleeting adventures I used to indulge in. They merely helped me ignore my emptiness. When the fun was over, it was still lying in wait for me, stronger than before. I lifted my eyes to study him again, and shaking those thoughts away, I wondered why Gael had chosen Laurent to care for me.


    Digitalis pouted in the chair beside me, hiding her jealousy poorly as she glared at Laurent. On the drive here, she¡¯d ranted about how she¡¯d done so well to care for me. Like a child, she rambled about the unfairness. Even if I could speak, I would have stayed silent. There was no point in reminding her that her career would keep her away from me too much. It might have hurt her feelings if I had mentioned the many rules she broke, as well. For now, she sulked as she ate her fries, positioning her chair closer to mine so that Laurent would have to see her every time he looked my way. I closed my eyes, so that I wouldn¡¯t be compelled to roll them.


    Gael returned from his car with a stack of papers. He sets them down between Laurent and I and greets me, ¡°How are you feeling, Asya?¡±


    I smile, but there is nothing underneath it.


    ¡°We finally got your apartment at the studio furnished for your needs.¡± Gael had a proud excitement in his eyes. I wished it would radiate enough to touch me.


    Despite her flaws, I would miss seeing Digitalis every day. I¡¯d grown used to her attachment, the way she¡¯d made me feel valued. Now, I¡¯d be back in that old apartment that I despised. That lonely place¡­


    I squinted when a headache cracked my skull open. The image of my dark old apartment filled my mind, a piece of the broken memories from the night of my overdose. I¡¯d looked up into the empty windows with a bag full of bottles by my side. Filled with an overwhelming emptiness, I started my car back up and drove away, swallowing the feelings with a swig of bourbon.


    The click of a pen brought me out of that dark place. Laurent signed some paperwork Gael had brought in. I glanced at my copies, taking note that it was all generic stuff that acknowledged Laurent as my caretaker. The stack contained new apartment lease contracts, medical forms, and some updated paperwork from Gael for my royalties. Laurent probably had a few employment forms in his short pile as well.


    Asya Kalnina


    I signed the papers as well as I could with my left hand. Although I used only my first name on stage and in my autographs, I didn¡¯t legally abandon my surname when I became emancipated.


    Asya Kalnina


    With my right hand, I used to sign it with little thought. It was a routine I¡¯d kept from the years I¡¯d spent signing it over and over at school. Now that my right hand wouldn¡¯t work for me, the routine of signing my name was gone. With my left, I focused on each letter meticulously, and it forced me to dwell on the name I left behind when I took to the stage.


    ***


    In my childhood home, there were many pictures on the walls, each perfectly straightened and arranged in the hallway in identical white frames like exhibits in a museum. One of those pictures was of my father in his late twenties. He sat proudly at a desk, a proper office desk rather than a cubicle, awarded only to successful employees of the company he worked for. The accomplishment was further acknowledged by the engraved nameplate beside his folded hands. It read, ¡°Kalnina.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    When I was thirteen, I saw the nameplate in person. Over the years, he¡¯d become a veteran of his work, and his employer replaced the original nameplate. He brought it home, and when I came into his office during the time he opened the door, it lay on his desk. It was scratched from years of use, but it still shined in the light of his desk lamp when I studied it.


    Dad swiveled to face me, looking at the nameplate in my hands. A nostalgic smile crossed his face. Gently, he took it from my hands to admire it.


    ¡°Someday, perhaps you¡¯ll have one of your own.¡± He said, still gazing at it. ¡°It took years of grueling work in college, some rough internship time, and then a lot more work after that to earn this.¡±


    I glanced at the spreadsheet on his computer screen. It was alien and dis-interesting to me.


    ¡°Why did you want to become a financial advisor?¡± I asked as I sat on a folding chair he¡¯d put in the office for me. He put his chin in his hand as he considered my question.


    ¡°When I grew up, my family wasn¡¯t doing so well. You and your mother don¡¯t know what that¡¯s like, but¡­ This job started out as my way to have what I didn¡¯t as a child. Stability. Routine.¡±


    ¡°What about fun?¡± I asked. He¡¯d spent so much time on this computer. A part of me was sure that there was more than just ¡®stability¡¯ and ¡®routine.¡¯ There was no denying the passion in his eyes when he taught me about his job on the other days he invited me in.


    ¡°Well¡­ I enjoy it¡­ I suppose it¡¯s not something you¡¯d understand. Are you bored?¡± Insecurity leaked into his eyes. Immediately, I was guilty.


    ¡°No! I¡¯m not bored at all.¡± I touched his shoulder, ¡°I enjoy spending time with you, dad. I was just curious, that¡¯s all. I¡­ I just¡­¡± I trailed off, watching the relief wash over him like an ocean wave.


    ¡°Your mother says I spend too much time working.¡± He stated, his gaze shifting to the wedding photo on his desk beside a vase full of peonies from mom¡¯s garden.


    There was one just like it hanging in the hallway, somewhere. They looked young and happy, gazing into each other¡¯s eyes as though the universe lay somewhere in between. I wonder if that died before or after I was born.


    ¡°She¡¯d just drag you to her dumb charities if you weren¡¯t in here¡­¡± I muttered.


    ¡°It¡¯s important to learn to be generous, Asya.¡±


    I bit my lip. When I joined her, I wasn¡¯t witnessing a generous soul. I was watching a social networker use charity as an outlet for praise.


    ¡°What you do is more interesting.¡± I deflect, bringing his attention back to the spreadsheet.


    ¡°You might consider the same work in the future.¡± A flattered smile touches his eyes. ¡°And if it gets boring for you, you can fall back on your musical hobby for fun.¡±


    ¡°Dad¡­¡± I bit my lip, his computer screen blurring the longer I looked at it. I enjoyed learning about his job, but not because I was interested in it. ¡°Do you think I can make music into my job, when I¡¯m older?¡±


    His face faded into thoughtfulness. He turned towards me again, and I shifted my gaze to meet his eyes.


    ¡°If that¡¯s what you want, you can do it. If you work hard, you can do anything, Asya.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°My dad used to tell me I¡¯d amount to nothing, because I grew up that way. Now, I have you and your mother. I have this high-paying job and this beautiful house. Believe me, Asya. If you work for it, you can become anyone you want.¡±


    ¡°Mom laughed at me when I asked her.¡±


    ¡°Your mom grew up in a middle-class home in a family with inherited money. She thinks people can¡¯t change, that they have to fill the roles they were born to fill. When you come in here, she assumes that you¡¯re going to take my role someday. When she takes you to those events that you hate, it¡¯s because she¡¯s grooming you to take on her responsibilities. It¡¯s nice to hope that you might want to fill our shoes, but you don¡¯t have to.¡±


    He pulled his chair closer to mine, pulling some paper and a pen from his desk.


    ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡± I ask as he gives the objects to me.


    ¡°You want to be a musician, right? You should practice your autograph. Lots of people will want to see it.¡±


    I stared at the blank void of the paper. He turned back to his work, and I wrote my name a hundred times, a hundred ways. Asya Kalnina. Eventually, I settled for a version that I liked, stylized with a pair of scribbled wings and underlined with a quick cascade of waving lines.


    Four years later, I signed it in a simpler way on fan¡¯s memorabilia. The same stylizations were there, but this time, I just wrote: Asya.


    ***


    There was no room for me at home with my parents, so my autograph had no room for their name. My father told me I could be anyone that I wanted to be, and I became a musician just like I¡¯d dreamed. This didn¡¯t mean that his words weren¡¯t a lie, however. I failed to stay sober like I dreamed I would. I struggled to feel loved, like I wanted. He¡¯d cut me from being his son ever again.


    Every year, I got the same birthday card from him, but he wouldn¡¯t return my calls. I stopped opening the envelopes that came from his address. It burned me to look at them. He would send me a card, telling me I was still in his thoughts and that he missed me. Yet, he didn¡¯t love me deeply enough to do anything more. Over the years, I wondered if he ever loved me at all. It seemed like he sent the cards so that he wouldn¡¯t suffer the guilt of abandoning his only child completely.


    I signed the last of the documents in front of me, staring numbly at each shaky letter of my surname. Every time I looked at it, every time I wrote it, I knew I would never make it mine. My fingers were strained and hard to move when I finished. A lifetime of leaving using my right hand left my other weak and clumsy. I didn¡¯t finish my meal, too weary to pick up my fork.

 Act 4: Calendula, Chapter 19

    When everything was signed, Laurent took me to his car, Gael and Digitalis following behind. They left me alone to ride with him, taking Gael¡¯s car together much to my surprise, leaving Digitalis¡¯ in the lot. After he¡¯d helped me into my seat, I looked out the window at Gael and Digitalis. As expected, they weren¡¯t talking much. Digitalis had her arms crossed and leaned away from Gael with her entire body. Gael started his car as though he wasn¡¯t even aware he had a passenger. Neither moved their lips to speak.


    Laurent¡¯s bright smile drew my attention when he entered the car.


    ¡°I like your tattoo.¡± He commented, ¡°I¡¯ll admit, I¡¯m not very familiar with your music, but I look forward to getting to know you!¡±


    I gave him a polite nod and offered a handshake. He instinctively reached with his right hand and laughed to alleviate the strange mood when he had to twist his arm to grasp my hand.


    ¡°Whoops!¡± He laughed, almost too cheery. ¡°Here, how about I play some of your music? No better way to know an artist than to see their work.¡±


    I laughed, but gestured to encourage him.


    ¡°Your friend, Gael, sent me a bunch of songs.¡± He stated as he pulled something up on his phone to broadcast to the car speakers. One of our early songs started playing, an edgy track from Addictions. I snorted, thinking about how odd it was that our debut album theme would predict my entire life.


    Laurent pulled out of the parking lot, dancing as he drove. It reminded me of my childhood, when my dad would do the same thing as he drove. Occasionally, dad would turn his head towards me and sing a line of whatever song was playing. As a child, it made me giggle. When I got older, I thought it was embarrassing. Now, it made me wistful.


    ¡°I wish I heard this sooner. You guys are good.¡± Laurent commented during the song change.


    I smirked. If I could, I¡¯d have given myself a moment to be rude, to say that we weren¡¯t famous for nothing. Perhaps it was better that I was mute for now.


    The next song crept into the car, a melody of a violin that I¡¯d never heard aloud before, but knew from old thoughts in my head. I froze. This was a song I wrote, but not one that I shared with anyone.


    I wanted to thank you


    For each day of my life...


    Gael¡¯s voice rose, singing lyrics that were more of a private letter than a song. This was never meant to reach Gael; never meant to be recorded. This was never meant to be listened to. I squeezed my hand and my palm was sweaty.


    Since I began living


    Since the day you arrived...


    Laurent kept driving and dancing in his seat despite the somber song, as if he wasn¡¯t hearing something that shouldn¡¯t exist. I held my breath, looking in the side mirror at where Gael¡¯s car followed behind. If he sang this song of mine, he knows more about my feelings than I believed.


    Without you,


    Where would I be?


    I picked up my phone and started typing to Gael. Each letter was frenzied, afraid. What would he say? If he sang that song, what did he know? How much has our friendship changed while I was asleep? I typed the same sentence over and over, trying desperately to get it right.


    ¡°You recorded a new song that I wrote.¡± I hit send.


    The violin soared over me, steady and slow, while my heart raced out of control. I remembered he was driving and wouldn¡¯t even see it. I dropped my phone into my lap, imagining the many things that he might say.


    The car went silent and came to a halt, the music stopping in its tracks as the engine died. Peering out, I saw that we¡¯d returned to my old apartment above the studio. My familiar windows loomed down at me, the memory of them on that dark night coming to mind. Now, though, they were bathed in the bright afternoon sun.


    Laurent helped me out of the car and into my chair. I watched Gael approach. He reached into his pocket for his phone and I held my breath as he glanced at the screen.


    He put it away as quickly as he retrieved it, making no expression to show that he saw my message.


    We got into the elevator together, a tangible tension between Gael and Digitalis that clashed with Laurent¡¯s oblivious humming. I stared, fixated, on the pocket where Gael had stashed his phone. Now and then, I glanced at the top of mine in vain, waiting for the blinking light of a new message in the corner. It never blinked, as I knew it wouldn¡¯t.


    The elevator opened, and we poured into the hallway. As we got closer to my apartment door, it seemed as though the walls were bending and rising around me, imposing. The last time I was here, I had felt so alone that I couldn¡¯t even bear to enter again before I attempted suicide. How would I live in a place so dreary and filled with loneliness? How would I improve and heal as a person in a place so loaded with darkness? Even the other bandmates rarely stayed in their apartments here, so why should I be confined to this empty little place?


    Gael opened the door to my apartment, silent as a whisper, and I gasped at the sight. Half of my furniture had been completely replaced or removed to make way for handicapped-friendly furnishings and assistance utilities. Railings were installed along the walls in some places. They replaced my high kitchen counters and breakfast bar with a shorter version that I would reach more easily without being too low for a standing person to use. I noticed a few more houseplants as well. The most notable was the morning glory that Digitalis got for me, prettily placed in a pot with a trellis.


    Laurent pushed me inside, and Gael watched my face expectantly to gauge my reaction to the changes. I wonder if he saw how bewildered I was, how strange it was to see all the things that had to change to accommodate me, now. Something dropped within my chest at the thought that I had needed all of this to live my life. I tried to uplift myself, remembering that my arm was strong enough to lift my cup as it failed to before.


    ¡°We got you another chair, too, with electrical steering so you won¡¯t need help to move around so much. It¡¯s still on its way, though. Laurent will live here, too, so the guest bedroom became his.¡± Gael pointed down my hallway, still unlit and unchanged aside from the railing in it.


    I thought about how strange it would be to share this space from now on. I didn¡¯t even know Laurent well, and now I would see him every day and he would have to help me with everything I couldn¡¯t yet do. I would have to practice talking to him, moving my limbs with him. I would share every meal with him from now on and rely on him. Is that something I could do?


    ¡°I moved in right after they finished renovations, so everything would be ready before you came back home!¡± Laurent exclaimed cheerily.


    I raised my eyebrows at Gael,  astonished by the rate this was all happening. He wasn¡¯t looking at me. Laurent continued to take me down the hallway, opening my bedroom door. Everything inside was replaced, it seemed. There might have been familiar things that I just didn¡¯t recall owning after the time I spent between Marcus¡¯ apartment and my drunken states of mind. My bed was larger, but otherwise not too different. The painting on my wall had been swapped out from a minimalist blue one to a cool colored oil painting of a lake filled with lilies. There was a space with a new outlet installed. I could only assume this would be for the electric wheelchair that Gael had told me about, but there was nothing else suggesting what may go there. I had a new cabinet in the bedroom which seemed curious enough.


    ¡°I hope you like the changes!¡± Laurent burst out from behind me. He walked in front of my bed and held his arms out as if to frame the painting on the wall with them. ¡°I helped design the room myself! This painting is a gift from me!¡±


    My gaze returned to the painting.


    ¡°As are the houseplants. I¡¯ve learned that having visible plants in a home uplifts the spirits! It¡¯s kind of mysterious, isn¡¯t it? But it really works!¡± He clapped his hands together, proud and expectant of my response.


    I gave the ivy plant on my windowsill a passing glance, but the painting drew me. I studied it closer. The lilies were beautiful, but there was something about the water that seemed moody, deep, and forlorn.


    ¡°Do you like it? I painted it myself, years ago.¡± He admitted, looking up at the painting, his hands on his hips and leaning back slightly.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I nodded, though he wouldn¡¯t see the way he was standing.


    ¡°I was going through a lot when I started that one. It was a turbulent time for me. When I painted the flowers, though, towards the end, I was finding the things in life that gave me joy.¡± His voice was soft and distant at first, but brightened by the end of his admission.


    Viewing the painting in that light, I knew he was telling the truth. There was a turbulence to the emotions in the water. An enigmatic shadow beneath the surface that was carefully put in place with streaks of blue, green, black, and white. Had I not felt it so strongly, I may have only seen the flowers and paid it no mind. The lilies seemed almost out of place, emotionally. Though they were painted in masterfully and realistically, their colors popped and shone like sunbeams breaking into a dark room. They exuded joy and lightness that distracted from the water, but could not hide it.


    Laurent turned back to me, his face as kind as ever.


    ¡°Want to see my room?¡± He asked, giddy.


    I nodded politely, trying to disguise my curiosity. What kind of environment would he choose to fall asleep in every night?


    We crossed the hall, and I turned my head at the sound of whispers in the living room. Gael and Digitalis faced away, discussing something that seemed to add to the tension between them.


    Laurent¡¯s room opened before me, and the light of the sun from his window blinded me before I could see a thing. He left me by the door to close the tan curtain, strangely similar to those I saw in rehab, but with skinny stripes of white and brown on it. His bed was just a normal full mattress on a wooden block with drawers, shelves full of books behind the pillows. A birch easel stood beside the window and a wide drafting table with an angled surface. Jars of paint and cups of assorted brushes filled a small shelf nearby. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling in a variety of colors and patterns. On his floor a few feet from the bed was a simple round rug with vines and roses twisting around the border. In the center sat a rough Indian cushion for kneeling.


    His closet door was closed and covered in sketches that were taped corner to corner across the surface of the wood. Flowers, smiling faces, and playing animals were all depicted on each paper, some with splashes of color. Oil paintings hung on the walls and were stacked against a wooden prop by the closest wall. Many were beautiful and intricately detailed, but only the most emotionally moving ones seemed to be chosen for the walls.


    I noticed one that stood out from the rest, a painting with a pale cream background. Prominently in it was a large peony opening up in a white light, severe shadows cast beneath the petals. As much as I despised the flower, I admired the work. Something about it seemed honest to me. It was as if the peony had been laid bare by the light. The flower was scarcely able to keep anything hidden between its petals except the shadows which seemed to leap out against the light colors and highlights. I couldn¡¯t bear to see it much longer.


    ¡°Do you like that one?¡± Laurent asked, noticing my intent gaze.


    I flushed, unsure of how to answer. Even with words, I didn¡¯t know how I might have described the way it made me feel.


    ¡°You¡¯re much shyer than I expected. It¡¯s pretty cute!¡± He gushed, helping me back out of his room. ¡°In time, we can work on your arm a little by painting together. Won¡¯t that be fun?¡±


    It was strange to be around someone that I would normally be so attracted to and have absolutely no reaction to them as I did. Even with his playful words, it bordered on flirting enough that I should have had some reaction.


    We went back into the living room, Gael and Digitalis turning when they detected us, going silent as we got close. Digitalis couldn¡¯t hide her discontent, but Gael brought back that pleasant face he¡¯d been using all day.


    ¡°Do you like everything?¡± Gael asked.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Well, with all of that done, we¡¯re going to head out and handle some more business. You guys get settled in. I¡¯m available by my phone if you need me.¡± He stated, seeming a bit distracted. I remembered the message I had sent him, wondering if he¡¯d read it, yet.


    Digitalis came to hug me, but her arms were stiff. I recalled their whispers and the way they seemed to avoid each other¡¯s eyes. Was Gael¡¯s business some problem he had with her?


    Laurent gave each of them a warm handshake to say goodbye, and I noted that Digitalis glared at him the whole time they touched. She left abruptly, slamming my door behind her. Gael closed his eyes in frustration, waving before he followed in a quieter fashion.


    ¡°Do you want to sit with me for a while? Maybe we can practice moving or speaking?¡± Laurent offered brightly.


    I nodded, but checked my phone for Gael¡¯s response first.


    ¡°I thought it was too beautiful to be left unsung.¡± His message read. My heart leapt in my chest, but I knew how he loved music. The adoration in the words wasn¡¯t for me.


    I lifted my eyes to meet Laurent¡¯s as he extended a hand to help me out of my chair. Pushing with my intact leg and arm, I could do most of the work myself, now. He guided me to the couch, allowing me to limp to it. I tried to stretch my toes in my paralyzed leg while I was standing, but couldn¡¯t do much more. Still, a few toes were better than none. He helped me sit onto the firm, leather couch, resting my bad arm palm down on the armrest before kneeling in front of me.


    ¡°Alright, so I spoke to Francine and I think I¡¯m up to speed with your progress. Lets see if we can get you to lift two fingers today.¡± He was focused on my hand even before asking me to move it. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, perhaps we can get to know each other during this exercise. I¡¯ll tell you a little about myself.¡±


    I glared at my hand, willing my fingers to move. One twitched and lifted slightly, but the other wouldn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°So, I¡¯ve done some research about you and I know that you have suffered with depression for much of your life.¡± He started, still watching my fingers.


    I glanced up at him momentarily, wary of this line of thought he was pursuing.


    ¡°It¡¯s my philosophy that if you want to establish trust with someone, it¡¯s good to show vulnerability to them. So I¡¯d like to tell you about my experience with depression, so we can be on the same level as each other.¡±


    I nodded, curious.


    ¡°When I was younger, I had the same problem for many years. It was really hard to handle. My father was an opiate addict, always falling asleep in his chair and letting his cigarettes fall from his mouth to burn holes in anything they fell upon. We lost our first house that way when I was a child. I tried to care for him, picking them up before they¡¯d catch anything on fire and making sure he ate and slept.¡± He paused for when my second finger twitched, watching.


    My breath hitched as I tried to hold it up, but came out in a sigh when it was motionless again.


    ¡°That was very good, Asya. Keep trying.¡± He urged. After a moment of silence, he continued, ¡°When I became a teenager I was too angry to help him. I had told him I wished he¡¯d just burn up and die. He never seemed to care.¡±


    I held my breath as I strained again to force both up the way they had been for that glorious moment. He watched as one rose and stayed, the other quavering. I had to breathe, and my fingers fell flat again.


    ¡°I had a girlfriend for almost my entire high school career. She introduced me to psychedelic drugs, and I used them to cope with my troublesome home life. I despised drugs, but those seemed different. At first, it was all about the amazing feelings and colors. I became passionate about painting and experimented with higher doses to keep inspiration flowing. I fell deeply in love with my girlfriend. It seemed we connected on a level that transcended even the euphoria of the psychedelics. I planned on marrying her once we graduated, but she killed herself before that time came. She was dealing with her own demons and I was too sucked into my world to notice.¡±


    My eyes widened as I became slightly distracted by his story. He was still looking at my hands, his face composed and calm as if he didn¡¯t just tell me something that would normally be said only to trusted friends. I focused again on our exercise, waiting for him to continue.


    ¡°I became severely depressed after that. I hadn¡¯t imagined a future without her. After her, I only fell in love two more times: a man once and a woman second. It was never the same, and I didn¡¯t connect with them, so I broke things off. But I abused the psychedelics. I had a few bad trips that screwed with my mind enough to stop for a while. Yet, I had used them the wrong way and became dependent on them to become inspired.¡± He placed his hand on mine. ¡°Take a break. You¡¯re looking a little strained.¡± He smiled compassionately, and I relaxed my hand, my eyes fixed on his.


    ¡°So, I ran away from home. I lived in a few different people¡¯s houses for the next year before my dad reached out to me. He had gone to rehab, not because he realized the error of his ways or regretted how he neglected me. He was arrested when someone discovered that I wasn¡¯t living at home. The police discovered his pills. I was angry, I bought a few tabs of acid, and I wandered through the city high.¡± He closed his eyes, but continued.


    ¡°But everything changed for me that night. For an entire day, I wandered the streets in that state and I had a mystical experience. I realized what was wrong with my state of mind, that I was physically and emotionally unhealthy. I needed to change some things in order to live a happy life. People walked around me, smiling for seemingly no reason. It dawned on me it was their connection to their friends that made them vibrant. For those who were alone, it was nature that seemed to call them. As I walked through the park, I experienced the joy of nature in the pond, the trees, the sun.¡± He was holding my hand, still staring into my eyes with such a profound look in his eyes.


    ¡°I am who I am today because of that experience. I¡¯m not telling you that the way to fix your mind is to take drugs until something clicks. I¡¯m sharing the realization I had. If you nurture your body with healthy food and exercise, get sleep, maintain healthy relationships with others, and keep in touch with yourself and with nature, you can overcome depression. It¡¯s a process, and it takes a long time, but you can achieve true bliss even from the lowest point of your life. I began going to the park, and I stopped abusing drugs. I poured myself into my paintings and each day made sure that I fulfilled my checklist of health needs: my sleep, exercise, and healthy meals. For a while, I was still depressed, but I dragged myself out over years and felt like a new person by the end.¡± He looked back down at my hand.


    ¡°This is what I would like to teach you, Asya. I understand the pain you¡¯ve suffered and I would like to teach you the skills to maintain a healthy body and to overcome psychological distress. I know how helpless and isolated it feels to be in such states that you¡¯ve been in, but you can get back on your feet.¡± He stood, raising me up with him.


    I shook at first, nervous that he¡¯d try to make me stand on my own. Without one half of my body, this was disastrous. Yet, he still held me, making sure that my quivering wouldn¡¯t allow me to fall.


    ¡°I want to teach you how to do this without me, someday. Will you work with me on it?¡± His gaze penetrated me, determined and certain.


    I nodded, entranced by that look in his eyes. It was the same expression that made me fall in love with Gael, a raw passion and confidence that I had only scratched the surface of within myself. My heart fluttered at the sight of it, an odd feeling considering whose face caused it to happen.


    He grinned as if he hadn¡¯t just told me the story he had and helped me sit back down on the couch.


    ¡°Let¡¯s practice talking for a while. I heard you wanted to sing again.¡± He smiled, referencing the list I had made for Francine.


    I smirked cynically and got ready to tell him my life story, knowing he wouldn¡¯t understand a word.

 Chapter 20

    Laurent was a wonderful cook and made us a nice dinner. I¡¯d never enjoyed mushrooms all that much, but somehow he made them amazing enough to warrant eating them by themselves as a side dish. He used such a perfect array of spices in his cooking, that it must have been the secret. It was a welcome change from Digitalis¡¯ culinary failures and chain store pizzas.


    He helped me wind down by watching a movie with him. I was still so fascinated by him since that moment he¡¯d looked into my eyes during movement therapy. That feeling they brought out in me wasn¡¯t supposed to be for him. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be for anyone but Gael, yet a spark of came alive and I wanted to fight it off. I met this man today, so I had no business feeling anything. It wasn¡¯t even love or affection, or even sexual attraction, just that strange magnetic pull that often led me to thoughts of those.


    The movie we were watching was normal fare, a cookie-cutter plot with characters that followed common caricatures so that it would be easily digestible to any audience member. Frankly, it bored me. I had more fun exploring my apartment with my eyes to discover fresh changes, stealing glances at Laurent, who seemed engrossed in the film despite its predictable plot. He seemed most interested in the wide shots of the landscapes that dotted the film. I wondered if he was just looking at the trees and wildlife in the movie rather than the actual content. To be fair, the cinematography was pretty beautiful in this one, so perhaps that¡¯s why he chose it.


    I fidgeted with my phone in my good hand, stealing peeks at the message Gael sent regarding my song.


    It was too beautiful to be left unsung.


    I wanted to ask him if he¡¯d found all the songs I had hidden in this apartment before they took everything apart and rebuilt it. I wanted to see if he had recorded another, or if he thought about what he was singing as he read my words. I wondered if he released the track, or if he merely let Laurent download it from the studio¡¯s cloud. I fixated on the strife between him and Digitalis earlier, my mind bringing up the images of their tense body language and harsh-sounding whispers. Unable to wait until I saw him again, I opened our chat


    ¡°Was everything okay earlier with you and Digitalis?¡± I messaged.


    I stared at the screen for a moment, but after a while it seemed like he wasn¡¯t even going to read it. Perhaps he was asleep or buried in paperwork. I sent the same message to Digitalis, but got nothing but a quick dismissal from her, and an excuse that she was tired in order to end the discussion. I suppose that whatever happened must have been touchy enough to make her hide it rather than share it around, as she often did.


    We retired to bed shortly after the movie and I stared up at the painting above my bed. From this angle, I could only see the thick ridges of paint layered over each other, like choppy waves in an oceanic storm. I thought about what Laurent told me during motion therapy, the life he had lived before he became enlightened and changed his life from the inside out. Could I ever do that? Did I have the strength to become a completely different person the way he had? Who would I even be without my depression controlling my thoughts? Would I even have a chance after being this way for so long? He said he¡¯d done it when he was a teenager, but I am long past those years and my mind isn¡¯t so malleable anymore.


    Will I ever be able to put joyful lilies over the depressing pond of my life?


    Breakfast with Laurent was oddly comfortable. He hummed as he cooked, and it was fascinating to watch him effortlessly prepare an omelet that was far more complex than any I had ever made. The food tasted as amazing as it smelled, and he told me colorful stories of his years traveling the world chasing enlightenment.


    ¡°I think it will help you a lot if we practice some meditation each day. Spend some time reflecting on our thoughts and the world around us.¡±


    I flicked my eyes to him.


    ¡°A major thing that brought me out of my depression was to realize which thoughts I would have that were intrusive, acknowledge them, and let them just fade away. With meditation as a daily practice, I became better and better at it until I had rebuilt some of my self-confidence. Although I went on a soul searching journey around the world, it ultimately wasn¡¯t necessary.¡± He rambled, his hands illustrating his words as much as they could with a fork held in them.


    I stared at my eggs for a moment before returning my eyes to him, contemplating this. What kind of life and adventures did he live? I was becoming tempted to just hear him talk all day instead of spending time on my recovery. He continued.


    ¡°I grew to learn that I had the tools for healing inside of me all along. But, it didn¡¯t hurt to see how other cultures approached the issues I was working through and the practices I was interested in using to handle my own health.¡± The way he spoke was so unfettered, any fear of judgement absent.


    I saw that look in his eyes again, that confident passion that burned behind his irises and transformed him into something irresistible. I wasn¡¯t too interested in meditation. Yet, the way he spoke about it, the energy of his voice and the certainty in his eyes, inspired me to try.


    I picked at the omelet he gave me, probably one of the best I¡¯d eaten in years. It was rare in my life for anyone to put the effort into fluffing the eggs and cutting up such a variety of meat and vegetables to fold in.


    ¡°Today, I think I¡¯d like to focus mostly on that arm of yours. I think it¡¯ll do you a lot of good to write and maybe even play your bass again. The closer we can get to full use, the better. I came up with a plan last night on a good way to do it, too.¡±


    I perked up in my chair, then. It seemed an incredibly bold and optimistic offer to me. I was barely bending my fingers yet, and he was hoping to help me play again? I finished my omelet, hoping to rush past breakfast to see what this alternative method would be. He laughed, and I flushed when I realized that he¡¯d noticed my excitement.


    ¡°I think today¡¯s going to go pretty well with that attitude. Good on you, Asya.¡± He kept chuckling as he finished his meal.


    I tried to shake away the giddiness that his laughter put into me. It was of no use.


    Everything in the house was clean again, and I had been practicing my writing with my left hand until Laurent finished the dishes. I couldn¡¯t help but glance up at him. He hummed cheerily as if he were home alone, moving in a small dance all the while. My writing was no less shaky today as it was any other day, so I was finding it hard to force myself to keep interest in it.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    When he finally came over to me, I had gotten only half of the words down I was trying to, but he made no comment about it.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing pretty well! Are you ready to work on hand mobility?¡± He tilted his head, as expressive as he always was.


    I nodded. He was nothing like Gael in that way, with a warm aura to him and embellishing every moment with body language and an ever-changing face. Gael had always been still, enigmatic, and statuesque. Yet, they shared that passionate expression and I wondered if that was the reason Gael had been trapped in my heart for so long. What a terribly simple little thing.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s try something a little different today.¡± He picked up the pencil I was writing with and placed it beneath the fingers of my right hand. ¡°I want you to try to grasp that with as many fingers as you can. I¡¯m hoping for two, but we¡¯ll see where we go with this today.¡±


    I focused on the pencil, my first finger curling shakily around it with some effort. My second twitched, but would not bend. He watched with the promise of a grin, staring at the first finger which was moving more easily than yesterday, albeit not by much.


    ¡°Do you mind if I tell you a story?¡± He asked, his eyes not once leaving my hand.


    I nodded, my fingers loosening as I broke concentration for it. I took in a breath and laboriously worked to regain their position. The second was just now bending where I willed it. I watched the third, now, still not even trembling.


    ¡°I lived in India for a month, in Tibet for another. Both places had incredibly different cultures, but in both places I was studying Buddhism in a monastery. I¡¯m not a Buddhist myself, but I became interested in the study of meditation and their ideas about energy within the human body. Each monastery had its own daily routines and some differences in practice and belief, but at the core they shared something important.¡±


    My third finger twitched, and he paused for a moment to see if I could bend it. It became still again after a moment, and we both sighed.


    ¡°They believed a person had to undergo a personal and spiritual journey to achieve enlightenment. That much is pretty obvious. What I found interesting is that this enlightenment means more to human life than just religious practice. It is about being at peace with your place in the universe, finding and accepting your place; Becoming independent of insecurity, doubt, and anxiety about the goings on of other people and the world. In that, I could shed the shackles of expectation and yearning to fight against what I believed to be a cruel world. I learned the beauty of nature and the balance of the highs and lows in life.¡±


    ¡°Relax your hand.¡± He paused his story, and I obeyed. He took my hand and curled my fingers one by one, massaging my palm. He rested it back in place. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s do it again.¡±


    My first finger feebly curled around the pencil, my second yet again struggling to follow. He nodded in approval.


    ¡°Anyway, that is something that I would like to practice with you if you become comfortable with it. I don¡¯t see it as a religious practice, but a way to cope with the thoughts and anxieties that come with depression. If I can help you reach that mental state of understanding, I think we can help you shake free of the things that hold you back. I think that we can inspire strong confidence and inner peace,¡± He continued.


    My second finger, again, curled around the pencil.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing so well, Asya. Are you tired, yet?¡± His eyes raised from my hand to meet mine. I was breathless, but not only from the exertion.


    I shook my head, insisting on trying a little longer. Something about the way he spoke as I made my efforts made it easier to do it. Perhaps it was because it seemed like there was less pressure than when I tried with Francine. She would watch my hand in near-silence with a few urging words from time to time.


    I strained to bend another finger. Even to make my third finger wiggle would have been a victory beyond my expectations. My second lay steady where it was curled around the pencil, its shaking halted as I focused on the next. This time, Laurent was silent, his muddy green eyes affixed as we watched my hand. I grunted from the effort when my third finger finally twitched, and Laurent placed his hand over mine when my hand was limp yet again.


    ¡°That was excellent progress! We shouldn¡¯t overexert you, though.¡± His smile reached across his face as he took the pencil from beneath my hand. ¡°Let¡¯s take a breather, have some cocoa, and then I have another new exercise I¡¯d like to try.¡±


    His hand lifted from mine as he rose from his seat to go to the kitchen. It was cold without that warmth. I watched him prepare it, a much more intricate process than watching Digitalis make me a cup. He made cocoa almost completely from scratch on the stovetop and used a sort of cream besides the water, making it thick and rich. It was far more of a reward, even just the scent of it, than the old instant cocoa was.


    When the cobalt mug was placed before me, I gave it a moment to appreciate the way he liked to garnish it. It had a bit of whipped cream with crosshatches of chocolate and a dusting of cocoa powder. It was gorgeous, like something you¡¯d post online for your friends. I lifted it to take a long, decadent sip, a little guilty for destroying the beauty of the drink as I did.


    He sat beside me with his own cup, spending some time reading a book that lacked a title and boasted a large mandala on it. It was nice to take breaks like this, instead of shoving all of my exercises into a few hours with little pause between the way I¡¯d done with Francine. After some time, Laurent cleaned up our empty mugs and placed his book aside. He sat in front of me, folding his hands.


    ¡°Are you ready for speech therapy?¡± He asked.


    My lips pursed as I despised this exercise. Still, I nodded.


    ¡°Today I want to try something new. If we work on the vowels and sounds within the words we want to use, it¡¯ll be more useful than articulating phrases as we¡¯ve been trying. You mentioned you wanted to sing again, so I thought we could have you sing the sounds and speak them to help you relearn control over your voice.¡±


    My eyebrow raised, but I was willing to try about anything to get my voice back. It seemed a million times more helpless being unable to speak than it was to be half paralyzed. If I only had my voice, I might at least tell people what I wanted help with instead of relying on their intuition.


    He hummed and told me which sound to try in tune with his humming. The hour we spent on speech therapy passed faster than usual and seemed more productive. Rather than babbling forever without seeming to make any progress, I learned how to control my voice a bit. I couldn¡¯t speak, but if I wanted to say something, I at least had a few better ways to make the attempt. Laurent smiled more and more as it went on, pleased by the progression. A spark of hope lit within me. I made no tangible progress before today, and it seemed as if I glowed now that I had.


    When it was over, that feeling remained within me. How refreshing it would be to finally sing in the shower again and make it sound good, with words that made sense. We wound down again with a movie as he took care of his paperwork, recording my progress. Again, the movie was nothing special. I would rather have heard him tell me stories of his life abroad or his lessons about his mystical experiences after he had his epiphany. I knew nothing like that for myself, and it fascinated me. I became filled with a new longing, to understand and experience such a magical thing for myself. The way he talked about how he overcame his depression made me believe in my own efforts.


    Bored by the film, I pulled out my notebook to practice my handwriting some more. I wrote and rewrote the lyrics to old songs the band had performed. Only when my phone lit up did I stop my task. It was from Gael.


    ¡°I¡¯d like a meeting with you later this week. It¡¯s about the songs you wrote.¡± The message stated, simply.


    How could he type something that would draw my curiosity this way as if it were nothing? He must know how anxious it made me to think about him seeing those secret songs I had kept away. Now, too, he even asked for this meeting like it was normal business?


    ¡°Sure, but will you give me more information?¡± I responded, perhaps a little too vague.


    I stared at the screen for what seemed like an eternity before I gave up. It became cold and black as I waited and there seemed to be no hope that it would light again. I returned to my notebook, but it was hard to concentrate on the lyrics of the song I¡¯d been copying down this time.


    I turned the page and experimented with new lyrics. Perhaps if I brought a new song to the table, Gael wouldn¡¯t pay so much attention to those old relics of my lifelong yearning and despair.

 Chapter 21

    Over lunch today, I did some research on my phone. Laurent had made Murgh Kari, a type of Indian curry dish with a fragrant tomato-based sauce, rice, and browned chicken. It was something I¡¯d never thought to try before, but enjoyed more with every bite that I took. As he ate his meal and finished some emails on his work tablet, I slid my phone out and searched my condition. What I suffered was considered a stroke, though I wasn¡¯t so grievously affected by it as I could have been. I was disheartened to learn that only 10 percent of all stroke victims have nearly full recoveries. A quarter will live on with minor impairments, but the majority need special care or eventually die despite surviving the initial stroke. I was also a little scared when I read it was possible for me to have another one or even contract pneumonia after a few months. I had hoped that since an overdose rather than heart disease caused mine, I might not be at risk. To learn that many people couldn¡¯t speak clearly for up to two years also worried me. I wanted to talk again more than anything else.


    I was, however, given a spark of hope by the phenomenon of ¡®spontaneous recovery.¡¯ This phenomenon happens when skill or ability that I have lost is suddenly returned to me. The brain heals to a certain point or finds an alternative way to do what it couldn¡¯t for a while. I wondered which part of me I might win back with hardly any effort, fantasizing about regaining my voice or my arm or even my leg overnight. Reminding myself that the only sure way to have any of it back was to keep working at it, I quashed these daydreams. I stared at my hand again, twisting my first two fingers down as the third shook feebly. I was getting somewhere with that, a fact that made me proud. Would I feel robbed if I just woke up with my arm back again, all of those hours struggling to move my fingers seeming like a waste of time?


    I shook my head and put my phone to sleep.


    My fork sank back into my bowl of curry, and I gave Laurent a sideways glance to see if he¡¯d noticed my distraction. He was still engorged in his emails, his second cup of chai tea in his hand as the other tapped the screen almost casually. Today, he wore a pale yellow t-shirt with a sun on the front. Curiously, I could see the bottom of a violet mandala tattoo peeking from beneath the sleeve on his shoulder. I wondered what the full piece looked like, and if he had more of them hidden beneath his clothes. Even if I could say the words, however, I don¡¯t know if I would have the courage to ask him about his ink. He¡¯d seen mine while helping me dress and clean up, but never brought up tattoos as a subject before.


    ¡°Asya.¡± He blurted, his soft eyes on me and his small gap-toothed grin on his face. ¡°I have a few new exercises I¡¯d like to try out this week. Would you like to hear them?¡±


    I nodded once, intrigued by his subtle excitement.


    ¡°I have another list I¡¯d like you to make, alongside your goals list,¡± He started.


    I groaned, and he laughed lightly at my discontent.


    ¡°Also, I would like to take you to the hospital again a few times a week so we can do some aquatic therapy. I¡¯ve noticed your hands and toes getting mobility, so you may try moving the limbs soon.¡±


    My chair creaked a little as I perked up at that. I hadn¡¯t gone for a swim since rehab, but it was always a pleasant thing to me. Sure, this wouldn¡¯t quite me swimming, but it was a step in that direction. I pulled out my notebook, flipping to my goals list.


    <ol start="22">


    <li>  To swim</li>


    </ol>


    Laurent peeked at my writing, neater than the first entries of my list by far, though still worse than my right hand would have written. He seemed pleased by it, and a little amused.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you look forward to it.¡± He giggled, taking a small bite of his Murgh Kari. ¡°Would you like me to tell you what your second list will be for?¡±


    My eyes met with his, but I made no movement to suggest one opinion or another on the matter.


    ¡°Gratitude.¡± He stated. ¡°It¡¯s a list of things you¡¯re grateful for. I¡¯m hoping it¡¯ll stave off depressive thoughts and show you what the world still offers, no matter how well recovery progresses. Though, on that note, I think you¡¯re doing well.¡±


    He¡¯d added the last part when I widened my eyes a bit, reminded of my research and the threat that I may never fully recover.


    I opened the notebook to a new page, scrawling the words Gratitude List across the top in large, slanted letters.


    ¡°I won¡¯t give you an entry goal for this one, because gratitude can be endless. Put anything, major or minor, onto the list. Though, I would like to try for one per day to make a habit out of showing gratitude for life.¡± He smoothed the paper of the notebook for me, a mindless gesture, as his eyes were locked on mine. Warmth filled them and I became overwhelmed by it, glancing back at the paper.


    <ol>


    <li> Good food.</li>


    </ol>


    The scent of the fragrant dish lingered in the air, a small but pleasant thing. Laurent smiled, touched, as he read my first entry.


    We finished our meal in silence after, as he continued to work on his tablet. He washed the dishes, and I helped myself into my chair. With one leg and one arm, it only took time to learn how to move from one chair to the next. Sometimes it was nearly impossible for me to get into it without help, as I lacked an arm to establish balance during the move. Plenty of times I didn¡¯t need this so much. It was wonderful to have regained some of my independence.


    <ol start="2">


    <li> To do more things without help</li>


    </ol>


    I wrote that with a bit of pride, recalling this morning when I hadn¡¯t needed Laurent to undress me for my bath. I could always get clean on my own, but I still needed help with more than I wished. Dressing and undressing, getting in and out of the tub, and getting into my chair much of the time were all things I depended on others for. When I lived with Digitalis, it had been Francine who would help with such things. To ask Digitalis to be a part of the daily ritual would have been mortifying. Even with Laurent, I wasn¡¯t quite comfortable with it. At the very least, Francine was always just a medical professional in my mind and not much more. Laurent was a man to me. Even coming into my world as a medical specialist, I was simply too intrigued and interested in him to see him in the disconnected way that I regarded Francine.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    I couldn¡¯t push myself into the living room with only one arm, unless I intended on making circles over the tile. However, my wheelchair was easier to relax in than the low-backed dining room chairs we¡¯d been sitting on. I tried to think of more items for my list. I closed my eyes and reached back into my brain for those lovely moments of life that I could still grasp.


    <ol start="3">


    <li> Cold water on my hands</li>


    </ol>


    As I wrote it, I thought of this morning: the icy coolness of the faucet as I washed for breakfast running over my fingers. They were still hot and a little sweaty from being inside the strange nerve stimulating glove Laurent would put on my bad hand each morning. It was so refreshing to feel the water that I had closed my eyes and thought of mountainous waterfalls.


    <ol start="4">


    <li> Sweet scents</li>


    </ol>


    That point conjured up an array of wonderful smells. There was the salivating smell of my meals, the floral aroma of Laurent¡¯s clothes. Notable was the faint scent of leather from my wheelchair that reminded me of a nice jacket I owned once.


    When Laurent finished the dishes and pushed me into the living room, I put my list aside. He disappeared for a moment to his room. Arriving again, he had a cushion, a glass jar of liquid, a lighter, and a terracotta dish that looked something like a gravy boat. Curious, I tilted my head at him as I watched him set up the dish on the table. He placed a string into it and filled it with the thick, gold fluid. Only when he set the string alight did I realize that it was an oil lamp. He sat on his cushion, pulling my wheelchair forward by the footrest with an extended foot.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to show you how to meditate today.¡± He announced, noticing the confusion on my face.


    I looked down on my legs as he crossed his own, knowing that I couldn¡¯t copy his sitting technique even if I had been on a cushion like his.


    ¡°Now, we are going to start with some breathing, okay? Just go in¡­¡± He paused, and we took a slow breath together. ¡°Out.¡±


    We exhaled, and I watched his eyes close, a calm washing over him. We repeated a few times, and I closed my eyes to attempt that same peacefulness.


    ¡°Focus on your breath.¡± He interjected into the silence, his voice soft and low but still disruptive like a toe in a still pond. ¡°Where do you notice it the most? Think of your answer and focus on your breathing.¡±


    My mind focused on my nose, where each breath passed in and out. My chest rose and fell and got a strange sensation, like I was growing and shrinking. My thoughts wandered, and I recalled the last time I had been so aware of my breathing. A time when I was out of breath¡­


    ***


    My hand had fallen from the strings of my bass and I was gasping for air. My hair fell down from where it had been whipping around me in my dance. My smile overtook my face and the screaming of fans seemed to rush into my lungs as I inhaled, filling me up with their excited energy. I couldn¡¯t hold still, holding my pick in the air and pacing along the stage to run the energy back out. I waved at the thousands of people that cheered for my band.


    Gael bowed and waved from behind his microphone as he always did, each shake of his hand riling them up all the more.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± He called out to them. ¡°You¡¯ve been an amazing audience! Who wants one more?¡±


    They went insane with noise at that, each voice joining into one enormous chant: Encore, Encore, Encore!


    Gael turned to nod to us, signaling our planned song for this moment. His eyes met mine, touched by the crowd¡¯s excitement, and I remember my breath catching at the sight. I wanted to kiss him and my legs took me towards him without my consent.


    I stopped short when I realized where I was going, focusing harder on my hands to put them on the strings. I disguised my walk as stage charisma, leaning backwards towards him to strum the bass and kick off our song. He laughed, looking back at me with a sidelong glance as he fixed the microphone back into place to hold his guitar.


    It was so warm and wonderful then, always leaving me breathless to think about it.


    ***


    I opened my eyes and Laurent was looking at me with an amused smile, the light scent of the fragrant oil hanging on the air.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it? How your thoughts can just wander away from you when you¡¯re so focused on just breathing.¡± He commented, and I realized that my breathing had paused for my thoughts, though it never got out of control as it used to.


    The impact of that moment Gael and I had shared never failed to leave me breathless, yet I was breathing just fine this time.


    ¡°That¡¯s why meditation is so good for your mind. It allows you to wander through your thoughts without attaching to any one thing. It teaches us to see that thoughts are a part of us, but aren¡¯t who we are. We as humans are active beings, not passive ones. We have the power to control our thoughts and bodies in ways that will always surprise you.¡±


    He rose and placed a hand on my chest.


    ¡°You can learn how to feel everything that you always have, but have the power to decide how it affects you. If a dark thought enters your mind, you can learn through this practice to acknowledge it, but let it go. You can learn to see more than what your thoughts are bringing into play, and go beyond mere impulse,¡± He continued. He took a step back to return to his seat.


    I blinked, looking down at myself.


    ¡°Our minds are like machines. They work in patterns, and if you¡¯re stuck in a terrible pattern, it¡¯s a big fight to move out of it. When you suffer from intrusive or unwanted thoughts, you must work to recognize them and deny them agency over your actions. Avoid letting them become the focus of your mind. When your thoughts tell you things like, ¡®I am worthless,¡¯ for example, you can hear it and let it pass by without putting it under a spotlight. You can remember your gratitude and the positive things about yourself and the world. Recognise that it was nothing more than a passing thought, a part of a pattern that you don¡¯t want to control you,¡± Laurent recited. He was closing his eyes again, moving his legs back into position.


    I pondered his words, but I knew that that hadn¡¯t been the reason that my memory was ineffective to me. I wasn¡¯t ¡®letting the thought pass¡¯ in that case, but just didn¡¯t have the same reaction as I used to. I didn¡¯t understand what was different this time.


    My eyes closed as I breathed again: In and out, in and out. My mind faded back into the rhythm of it. Again the thought of why I didn¡¯t react to the memory as I usually did arrived in my head. I focused on my breath, and I waited for it to fade away.


    ¡°You can open your eyes, now. Slowly.¡± Laurent¡¯s voice eased into my mind, but I hadn¡¯t gotten so deep down that his presence left me.


    I suppose I wasn¡¯t as good at meditating as him, yet. I wasn¡¯t lost by it like I thought I was supposed to. Even though I tried to let my thoughts pass, they kept coming back to try again. It seemed like I was fighting them off sometimes instead of ¡®letting them go¡¯ as I was meant to.


    I opened my eyes, and the world seemed bright after I had closed them for so long. Laurent was getting up from his cushion, stretching his limbs out.


    ¡°I often do some yoga afterward to get my body loose again. While I do that, would you work on the gratitude list for a bit?¡± He asked, looking as refreshed as if he¡¯d taken a nap.


    I pulled the notebook out from the pouch that was velcroed to the side of my chair. I watched him stretch out across the floor, bending and twisting and folding. It would have been hard to do before my overdose, I thought, still longing to join him and try it. To get a taste of it, I stretched my arm over my head, dragging the other up with it in a clasped hand.


    I stared at my gratitude list, but wasn¡¯t overly inspired to add anything new. I stared at my motionless right hand, struggling to bend the fourth finger this time. If Laurent saw, he might ask me to wait for movement therapy, but I wanted my hand back too badly to obey him.


    My first two fingers curled almost effortlessly now, the third struggling to make it, though assisted by the tendon it shared with my middle finger. My fourth twitched, but seemed so much weaker than the others. I took in a deep breath and focused.


    I would make them all move today.

 Chapter 22

    The first week with Laurent had gone so well, I barely noticed the time passing. I could move most of my hand by now, though not with much strength. My toes wiggled more easily, but they¡¯d take more work. I could say a handful of sounds when I wanted to, but couldn¡¯t yet say words well. Most importantly, I was feeling more refreshed and connected than I ever have in my life. It was strange to imagine the years I had spent isolated and exhausted just for a week with someone like Laurent to transform it all. I still had many of those negative thoughts and emotions, but it had become easier to stave them away when they arrived. I worried this was just a temporary phase; That the depression would fall back onto my shoulders with a force greater than ever before, as it had when I returned from rehab.


    Laurent was helping me into the elevator to see Gael in his office. He¡¯d been wanting to chat with me for a while. Gael had even offered to come up, but Laurent insisted it would be better for my mental health to get out of the apartment. He arranged the meeting at the office. I recalled the text messages he had sent me earlier in the week, asking to discuss music with me and the song he¡¯d recorded as I slept.


    My palms sweated, my chest aching just a bit. I was nervous to see Gael. Since I thought about them in new ways, my feelings for him hadn¡¯t tortured me as much as they used to. Finally, a part of me realized we would never be together and started letting go of him without my conscious effort. I worried that if I saw him again, I might become entranced by those eyes all over again and sink deeper into hopeless love.


    Laurent stopped me, moving ahead to open the frosted glass door to Gael¡¯s office. As he passed, his floral smell wafted to me, today the scent of lilacs and lilies. I had been curious about where that scent came off of him. In the bath, I noticed his shampoo had no scent at all. He owned no colognes or perfumes I¡¯d ever seen. Perhaps it was his laundry detergent that smelled so nice, but then how did it always change from flower to flower?


    I shook the thoughts away, squeezing the arms of my wheelchair with both hands, though the right wasn¡¯t doing so well as the left at the task. My eyes rose to where Gael sat at his desk, Laurent returning to the back of my chair to guide me in. Gael looked up at me, his eyes as focused as they often were, but warming at the sight of me. It seemed strange how ice made such heat that it would melt me from the inside, yet I melted.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you!¡± He exclaimed, though he still sat calmly in his chair.


    I waved, loosening the fingers on my right hand to remind myself to relax as my left returned to my lap.


    ¡°I¡¯ve gotten lots of emails from Laurent this week, and I¡¯m glad recovery is going so well!¡± He said, optimistic and uncharacteristically bubbly.


    It was strange, like Gael was talking to someone he didn¡¯t know very well and wanted to be flattering. It left me uneasy.


    ¡°I wanted to discuss the music we found when we were cleaning your apartment after the, uh¡­¡± His eyes darkened, ¡°event.¡±


    I tried to hold his gaze, but he wouldn¡¯t look at me as he spoke. It was isolating to see how alienated he acts when the subject of my attempt came up, even if talking about it was uncomfortable for me as well. I never used to think people would care so much about my life that they¡¯d become so deeply affected by even the mention I may have died.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, some of it was very good and impossible not to record. I know you¡­ didn¡¯t really seem thrilled that I had recorded the ones I did¡­.¡± He was briefly sheepish, but the mask of cold drifted back onto his face as he became ¡®Gael the Band Leader.¡¯


    ¡°I wanted to apologize for that, first and foremost,¡± Gael continued. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure if you¡¯d ever wake up and to be honest, seeing new songs you¡¯d written made me feel you couldn¡¯t really be gone. Playing them, singing them, made me close to you in a way was impossible otherwise. Digitalis would visit you in the hospital every day, but I¡­¡±


    He got a little pale and averted his eyes from me again.


    ¡°I hated to be in that room. I was too afraid to face you in your sleep.¡± He admitted.


    I reached my hand out to touch his, and he met my eyes again. Beneath the aloof face he put on, his eyes were shimmering with vulnerability and the threat of tears.


    ¡°I understand it was a breach of your boundaries.¡± Gael continued. His voice softened and his eyes got a little drier from my comforting touch, ¡°I didn¡¯t even plan on releasing them, but really, Asya¡­ They¡¯re amazing songs. The lyrics are good, but even the composition is so raw and unlike almost anything you¡¯ve ever shown me. I barely had to do a thing to make it sound perfect. Hardly a thing¡­¡±


    Gael¡¯s eyebrows came together, the cold genius within him visibly at war with his emotions.


    ¡°Asya, I wanted to have this meeting with you, not only to apologize, but to ask your permission to do something. It¡¯s difficult to ask for, because I know how sensitive those songs are to you¡­¡±


    My stomach twisted into a knot. As much as I adored him, would I really let him take what I feared he¡¯d ask for?


    ¡°I wanted to ask if you¡¯d allow me to record and release some of those songs. I even found a bassist who worships your work who can fill in for your parts. Not to replace you, I¡¯d never¡­¡± His eyes grew distant. ¡°Just to be the instrument that you can¡¯t be for now. I¡­ I really hope you recover so we can play again. I don¡¯t want it to seem like I¡¯m trying to¡­¡± He trailed off, those knit eyebrows tightening.


    I squeezed his hand, reassuring. I nodded slowly, though I wasn¡¯t really ready to accept all of this. It wasn¡¯t even the other bassist that bothered me. I would have expected him to hire someone. It was the songs¡­. They were so loaded up with deep and personal feelings, fears, and desires. To let the world hear them would be the same as showing up on stage wearing nothing at all.


    Gael offered a tense smile and held my hand in return. He squeezed my fingers with his, still clammy from his anxious speech.


    ¡°Would you like to meet the bassist I chose?¡± He asked, ¡°I really think you¡¯ll like her. She¡¯s young, but she¡¯s modeled her entire play style off of yours. I guess you¡¯re her Cyrus Blake.¡±


    We both laughed nervously at that, but the sound added some levity to the air. Even the fact that Gael remembered my huge fan crush on Cyrus was a little funny to me.


    ¡°I think it would be good for you to meet someone new, especially someone who shares the same interest.¡± Laurent chided, coming out of the silence he¡¯d placed himself into as Gael spoke.


    I nodded, though I wasn¡¯t really sure if I wanted to meet someone who was so fixated on me. What if she came on too strong? What if she had a crush on me as I had for Cyrus in my youth? Even worse, what if she bombed her entire career by focusing on my style too much and never came into her own? I didn¡¯t want the guilt of bringing down a potential talent¡­


    Yet Gael vouched for her. He was such an elitist about music¡­ She must have something that caught his attention aside from just copycat skills from my work¡­This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°I can have her come to visit in the next few days, if it¡¯s okay. She¡¯s signed to join the label either way. I just hadn¡¯t decided if she¡¯d fill in for you or have her own independent situation yet. So, she¡¯s also got one of the upstairs apartments.¡± Gael interrupted himself with a light chuckle, ¡°Though no one really seems to enjoy living in them¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a bit of a ghost town in those halls.¡± Laurent added, the two both sharing a laugh over his comment.


    ¡°Well, now that that¡¯s all done¡­¡± Gael started fishing for something in his desk drawers. ¡°If I might have awhile alone with Asya, Laurent? Maybe you should relax upstairs?¡±


    Laurent took a step past me, reaching out as Gael produced an envelope to give him. Perhaps his paycheck?


    ¡°If it¡¯s alright, I¡¯d like to go out and do a few errands. I need to pick up some more groceries for the week.¡± Laurent offered, folding the envelope and sticking it into his trouser pocket.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be fine. If Asya needs anything in the meantime, I can take care of it.¡± Gael closed the desk drawer. ¡°Remember to charge anything for the apartment to the label¡¯s expense account. I¡¯ll need the receipts for my accountant.¡±


    ¡°No worries. I¡¯ll have it all ready when I come back.¡± Laurent shook his hand, squeezed my shoulder in a friendly manner, and left.


    I turned my full attention to Gael, tilting my head. I didn¡¯t expect him to have anything more for me today. His eyes were closed, and he folded his hands.


    ¡°Asya,¡± He started, ¡°I don¡¯t know how to talk about this, but if I don¡¯t then I won¡¯t be able to stop thinking about it.¡±


    Tension formed a knot within me, my left hand seeking my right where it lay on my legs to squeeze it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, when you admitted to me you had attempted suicide, I didn¡¯t understand it. I still don¡¯t, really.¡­¡± His face was lined with discomfort, his eyes pensive. ¡°We¡¯ve done events for suicide awareness in the past. But imagining something like that would be so¡­ relevant¡­. I suppose I never expected it. I never took the time to ruminate about it, though I should have¡­¡±


    I shifted in my chair, my hands getting sweaty like his were only minutes ago.


    ¡°When I was young, my dad always made me watch operas. You remember that?¡± He asked, his eyes meeting mine.


    I nodded slowly, studying his eyes carefully.


    ¡°I loved many of them, but some of them I didn¡¯t really like. A few because of the story, some because of the music, and a couple just because I didn¡¯t understand the characters. One of those operas I never really enjoyed whenever I watched it was Madame Butterfly. Don¡¯t get me wrong, the aria in it is unbelievable, but¡­. No, I¡¯m missing the point.¡± He held his temples for a moment, took a deep breath.


    ¡°The reason I brought up Madame Butterfly, the reason I never connected to it, was because the protagonist did everything I wouldn¡¯t do.¡± He continued, ¡°She completely dedicates her life to a man who is clearly just using her to flatter his ego; Who obviously never wanted to come back to her once he left and never cared for her in the beginning. Yet, she latched on to him and turned down opportunity after opportunity to improve her situation. She was certain he¡¯d return. She even changed her religion for him, which was a big deal to her family who swiftly abandoned her when they found out.¡±


    He met my eyes, but his gaze was too guarded to read. The vulnerability there had gone.


    ¡°During the entire opera, everyone is telling her he won¡¯t come back. She needs to move on and think of her son. She needs to be more practical and put herself into a new situation. Even when she becomes financially troubled and might lose her home, she never changes. This always frustrated me, but that¡¯s not the point. The point comes in the ending.¡± Gael was speaking frantically, staring at his desk as if it were his audience.


    ¡°Her terrible husband does finally come back, but not because he ever intended to be with her¡­. No, he heard she had his son. He brings his actual wife, a woman from the west, with him. Suddenly, he takes her child away to live with them instead. He has truly taken everything from this woman, and she just lets him. Even with her son, she just tells the boy to go along into his father¡¯s car without a fight or a second thought.¡±


    I shifted, still wondering what this whole monologue was building up to. Gael was staring at his fingers, so deep in thought it was as if he were talking to himself.


    ¡°She handed her son over, dressed herself in white robes, and killed herself in the way of seppuku. I¡¯m aware that culturally this is a way for her to recover her lost honor¡­. Yet, it always seemed like there was more to the suicide of her character than just cultural expectation. I couldn¡¯t grasp it. I couldn¡¯t fathom a reason for her to just give up every time anything came to test her. For a while, I figured it was just weak writing. The play was written to portray a woman living under the constraints of Japanese culture, but the writer was an Italian man. I thought perhaps he just didn¡¯t understand what he was writing, and that was the reason I never figured it all out.¡±


    I pulled out my phone, opening the note app. He didn¡¯t notice as I typed.


    ¡°When you did the same thing, I was reminded of that opera. I wondered what made you do it. I know you were struggling, that you were going through awful events¡­. But I thought you still had the drive to fight in you.¡± He met my eyes, his gaze watery as his eyes desperately searched mine for answers.¡±


    ¡°You were never the person to just give up on things like that when we were young. I know we grew distant over the years and maybe I just didn¡¯t see it in you, but I still thought.¡­¡± Gael closed his eyes and took a breath. Calmer, he continued, ¡°So that¡¯s why I was so shocked when I got the call about your overdose. It¡¯s why it shook me when the band told me they suspected you probably tried to kill yourself.¡±


    I perked up, pausing at my typing. I never considered that the band had discussed it. I wonder who it was that brought up the idea, or how obvious it had been. A wash of loneliness came over me, then. If they had guessed I¡¯d do that to myself, why did no one reach out before I did it?


    Hurriedly, I finished typing, turning the phone to Gael. He lifted his eyes to read it, the layer of sorrow draining away to make room for focus.


    ¡°I think Madame Butterfly¡¯s story makes sense. She was holding on to a dream and didn¡¯t want to face the cruel reality that came with giving it up. When everything fell apart, all she knew was how to dream and hope until there was nothing left to hope for. That¡¯s why she gave up. She lost everything and didn¡¯t have a way to get it back,¡± my message read.


    ¡°But¡­ Why did you¡­¡± Gael started, but didn¡¯t seem to want to finish.


    I turned the phone back around to type a new response.


    ¡°It was the same for me.¡± I avoided his eyes as I pushed the phone into his hands.


    A bloom of shame filled me, and I took a deep breath to push it out.


    ¡°In the opera, she had said, ¡®Don¡¯t cry for me, I¡¯m already dead¡­¡¯¡± his voice drifted off as his mind retreated to ruminate on his thought.


    ¡°When you¡¯re deeply depressed, you feel dead.¡± I typed.


    His eyes filled with pity and confusion as he read it.


    ¡°How does that¡­ make any sense¡­¡± He massaged his temples, staring at the phone as I brought it back to my lap to type.


    ¡°Have you ever felt nothing before? Absolute numbness?¡± I asked.


    Gael held the phone tenderly as he read, staring for a long time at my questions. With his mouth, he repeated them silently over and over.


    ¡°No,¡± he finally answered.


    I took the phone back, laying it on my legs to put fresh words onto the screen.


    ¡°That¡¯s what it was like for me all the time. If you feel nothing, you are full of emptiness. You don¡¯t really feel alive, so you must be dead.¡± I passed the phone back and watched him read.


    He sat for a moment as he had before, reading and rereading. Silently, he turned the phone off and set it on his desk. He rose and walked around the desk to me. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around me and cradled my head against his chest. My breath caught in my throat.


    ¡°Asya, if I had known this before, I never would have left you alone the way I did. I¡¯m not the friend I should have been.¡± His voice was quavering, as if he was about to cry. Yet when I last saw his face there was nothing but his usual statue-stillness.


    I shook my head, wishing I could tell him he hadn¡¯t failed as a friend. I wanted to explain that even if they all gave me some more attention, I had to do most of the work to recover with my own effort. Still, I was mute.


    I wrapped my left arm around him, taking a handful of his soft vest into my hand. We held this position for a long time, listening to each other breathe in and out, in and out. I closed my eyes and inhaled the musky scent of him.


    Long ago, I would have been overwhelmed with emotion by this embrace. It was strange how now it was the same as hugging Absinthe or Digitalis.

 Chapter 23

    The night was restless and full of orange nightmares. In my dreams, I couldn¡¯t control my body, not even the arm and leg that still worked in my waking hours. I suffocated, the air heavy with steam and the scent of liquor that choked me. Struggling, I tried with all of my might to force a hand to move and grip something so I might pull myself up and out of the dream. The scent of peonies and rose water overpowered the whiskey in the air and I screamed.


    When I woke, I jerked sideways, panting and gasping. I must not have really screamed, as Laurent never came to check on me. Relieved, I lay back in my bed, but I wouldn¡¯t close my eyes again. Even the thought of returning to that dream left me shaking and breathless again.


    In the living room one afternoon, the sound of Laurent vacuuming the carpet was muffled by my thick headphones. I was still and my eyes were closed, but my hand was tight around my phone. Notes poured into my ears, notes that I had once written onto paper but never wanted to hear. Gael had recorded almost all of my secret songs, and though it made my heart race dangerously, I forced myself to listen. Even if I pretended he hadn¡¯t recorded it for my comfort, it wouldn¡¯t change that he had. I unclenched my hand and focused on my other. After a couple weeks, my hand was mobile almost to the wrist. It brought a spark of relief to recall it, and I curled and uncurled my fingers just to appreciate them.


    I was supposed to meet that girl, Whitney Way, who would take my place until I returned. That is, if I returned. What would she be like? What if I hated the way she played? Somehow, I thought of Digitalis, how jealous and upset she would be if she were in my shoes. Oddly, it didn¡¯t bother me all that much to have a placeholder. The girl was a fan of mine, anyway, so perhaps she would learn to be even better than I ever was. The band might just become better without me in it.


    I took a deep breath, the bittersweet thought filling my chest and stomach with tension. Laurent¡¯s lessons whispered back from the back of my mind, reminding me to push the ugly notion aside. I must remember something good, something to appreciate. My hand, again, flexed. More effortless than I ever might have hoped, it moved as I willed it, and I was filled with gratitude once more.


    Again, the music drifted from the background of my mind as a particularly private line was sung in Gael¡¯s voice. A twinge of shame brought a flush to my cheeks as I envisioned him serenading the microphone with this depressing love letter I wrote. I took another deep breath, but it didn¡¯t calm me the way the first one had. This might be easier if I got sleep at night, but I doubted it.


    The hum of the vacuum died, and gently Laurent lifted the headphones from my head. I opened my eyes, smiling up at him as his face appeared in front of me.


    ¡°You got a letter! It feels like a card.¡± He mused, seemed more excited than I was by the concept.


    I raised a brow, holding out my right hand for it. It shook and quivered, the arm still weak, but I wanted to use it as much as possible now that it finally moved.


    ¡°Hey, now. Don¡¯t strain it too much.¡± He fussed, though he grinned with a bit of pride and amusement.


    He placed the envelope into my hand, but watched my arm closely. I still couldn¡¯t bend my wrist or elbow much at all. To open and read it, I needed to pick it up with my left hand.


    There was no sender listed on the front, which seemed odd. The envelope was a familiar beige, the same shade as all of my birthday cards from my father. I closed my mouth, swallowing nervously. Laurent placed a hand on my shoulder when he noticed my mood shift and I met his eyes for a moment, drinking in the comfort in his gaze.


    My finger ripped through the top of the envelope roughly, leaving it a little shredded and sloppy at the top. I wiggled the card out with a pair of fingers, holding the envelope down with my thumb until it was out a few inches.


    It was a plain-looking card, a pale yellow with a geometric design on the border. As it emerged from the envelope, gold embossed letters boasted, ¡°Thinking of You,¡± in the center.


    I held my breath as I opened it, cautious. Familiar handwriting filled the inside of the card from corner to corner on both sides: the rigid script of my father. Even in my yearly birthday card, he never wrote more than a couple short lines.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Laurent took the envelope away and sat beside me. He didn¡¯t read over my shoulder, instead observing my face. I put him out of my mind, struggling to focus in order to read the words.


    Asya, it¡¯s been decades since we saw each other; since we spoke. I have missed you dearly all these years, but I was too ashamed for leaving you. I didn¡¯t believe that I had the right to speak as I wanted. Please believe me when I say that I have not forgotten you for even a day. When I saw the news about what happened to you, I was devastated. I visited you once in the hospital. To see you all grown up and sick like that was surreal.


    I wish that I had stood up to your mother years ago, so I might have stayed in your life. I blame myself for the way things turned out. If I had only been there for you, maybe you wouldn¡¯t have struggled so much. I have wondered what kind of man you¡¯ve grown up to be. Even watching the news, reading the tabloids, and seeing your band play on TV or online hasn¡¯t shown me that. It always brought me delight to watch what an artist you¡¯ve become, the artist you¡¯d always dreamt to be when you were young. Yet, I miss the son that I had. I want to know how your days go by, what feelings you have, what hopes and dreams you still foster. It was my most grievous mistake to leave you as I did. Even the day it happened, I was so overcome with regret and emotion, but I was too weak to reconnect with you. I¡¯m a terrible father and I won¡¯t ask you to forgive me.


    Yet, I have a request that I selfishly want to ask of you. Will you meet with me? When you nearly died in the hospital, I realized that I¡¯ve wasted these last decades of my life apart from you. Your mother won¡¯t come, only me. There is so much that I want to talk to you about, so much that I want to hear and so much that I want to say. More than any of it, I just want to see you again, awake.


    I¡¯m not a good father, but I want to try again. I love you more dearly than you can understand. I wouldn¡¯t blame you if you refused me, but please consider. It would mean the world.


    -Ivan Kalnina


    Laurent took my hand, and I realized I was crying onto the card.


    ¡°May I read what made you cry?¡± He asked, sweet and concerned.


    I nodded, lifting my fingers from the paper so he may slide it away. As he looked it over, he rubbed small circles on my back to calm me down.


    My father wants to meet me?


    There wasn¡¯t even a choice to make. I had to meet him. I had thought for all these years that he hated me. That was expected from my mother, and I have grown to stop caring for her and her reptilian coldness. Yet, losing my father was a real blow.


    Occasionally, I would wonder what was going on in the home I left behind as the years passed. How was my family doing? What was my childhood neighborhood like? Did anyone still love me that loved me when I was growing up? It left me yearning and abandoned. For all these years, was that despair all for nothing? I ached to write him a letter back, but I couldn¡¯t write very well, yet. My right hand was still shaky and weak, and my left still wrote with ugly, sloppy, and disjointed letters. I slid my phone out, determined. He probably had an online profile somewhere, I just never had the strength to look at it.


    I frantically typed his name into the search bar of each social app I found, discovering a couple of his profiles. I slid through them, shocked to witness how he had changed over the years in his photos. Oddly, there weren¡¯t any recent ones with mom in them. The recent photos weren¡¯t as polished and perfect as the ones she would take for him as I grew up. He smiled in many of them, set often in his office environment or by a lake with other men that might be friends of his.


    He didn¡¯t post much aside from the occasional outdated comic strip or text post referring to unknown events in his personal life. I stared at his profile photo for the longest time, an image of him smiling in front of a sunset at a house I¡¯d never seen before. Where were mom¡¯s peonies, the white siding of my childhood home? His face, too, was transformed. When I last saw him, his hair was brown and clean cut, his face still smooth but no longer youthful. Now, it had gone mostly white with few dark streaks and he¡¯d grown it to be shaggier than it used to be. Age creased his face, but despite his smile, there were more frown lines on his face than laughing ones.


    ¡°Asya,¡± Laurent broke in, tearing me from the depths of my thought.


    I looked up at him, closing the app on my phone so he wouldn¡¯t notice my father¡¯s picture on the screen.


    ¡°Would it make you happy to meet him?¡± He asked, the card in his hand held tenderly.


    I nodded, staring at the yellow card. Laurent followed my gaze and returned it to me. I took it gently, as if it were an egg that might break if I mishandled it.


    ¡°If you want, I can help you write a letter back to him. Or perhaps Gael can help us find a better way to contact him using the studio¡¯s resources?¡± He offered, kneeling before me to speak face to face.


    Again, I gave him a nod, but my focus was drifting back to my phone. I might try to message him today. Hopefully, he kept up with his online accounts, though his post activity seemed to tell otherwise. When Laurent left the room to start dinner, I opened my phone again and sent a request to my father¡¯s account. A giddy energy built in me, making me almost nauseous. My hands shook, and I stared at his photos again. How many years ago was it I last heard his voice? I can hardly remember the last time we spoke, the words we exchanged.


    Now, the meeting with Whitney had completely disappeared from my mind, the fears and tension from my nightmarish sleep momentarily wiped away. Jittery energy wriggled into me. As I waited for a notification about my father, I couldn¡¯t keep my eyes away from my phone.

 Chapter 24

    As the meeting with Whitney and Gael approached, I only became more distractible. I had looked over my dad¡¯s profile more than once by now, noticing how he often took photos by a lake with an unfamiliar man and adolescent girl. These two figures were with him more than anyone else. I wondered who they were and why they had become such central figures in my father¡¯s life. Frequently, the man who was called Hannibal Heller would tag my father¡¯s profile in dated jokes or photos like barbeques that the two attended together. The young girl seemed to be this guy¡¯s daughter, as they looked alike, but who were they to my father?


    Somehow, a part of me suspected they were involved romantically, as in their photos they would stand with arms over each other¡¯s shoulders. I¡¯d only ever seen my father with my mother, so the thought that he might be interested in men the way I was had never crossed my mind. Was that why it was so easy for him to accept my sexuality when he learned of it? I recalled that my mother seemed disappointed, but was careful not to be too blunt about it. Yet dad merely nodded as if he wasn¡¯t surprised or bothered at all. He had even been the one to buy me my Cyrus Blake posters and shirts when I was a teenager.


    There was a knock at the door and Laurent¡¯s breezy footsteps whisked past me as he went to answer. I looked up, knowing already that it was probably Whitney, Gael¡¯s new bassist prospect. I put my phone away to be polite, nudging my wheel so I might angle myself as well as I could with my one hand. I glimpsed her straight, white-blonde hair and a pair of enormous sunglasses. Laurent beckoned her inside with a swoop of his arm, closing the door behind her once she entered.


    Whitney was in her early twenties at the latest, but was probably only just an adult. She had her bass with her and wore trendy clothes, as one would expect of an entertainer. She wore a flowy short-sleeved top with thick diagonal stripes in black and white with a pair of flared blue pants. Her wrists were wrapped in a series of bracelets, some beaded and dangling, others close fitting and plain in solid colored acrylic rings. All were shades of black, white, grey, and blue.


    Whitney¡¯s smile consumed her face, the line of pale pink lipstick surrounding her flawless teeth. She brought her hands together and sucked in a breath, staring at me for a moment as if she couldn¡¯t believe that I was real.


    ¡°Oh, you have no idea how I have dreamed of meeting you!¡± She exclaimed, shivering with excitement.


    I could do little but give her a small wave, offering her my signature smile. She made a giddy sound at the sight of that and I felt more like I was meeting a fan than a protege. She sashayed over to the living room where I had waited, looking to Laurent for confirmation that it was okay for her to sit. He nodded, giving her a warm smile, and the two sat near me around the coffee table. Again, she stared at me for a moment, speechless, before extending a hand to me. I noticed that she held out her left, an unusual choice for most people and probably a courtesy to me.


    I shook her hand, letting my smile fade into what I had hoped seemed like a friendly expression.


    ¡°It¡¯s so nice to be here.¡± She gushed, ¡°You¡¯re the only reason that I even became a bassist. I mean, you¡¯ve been an idol to me for almost my entire life! When your label noticed me, I had no choice but to accept! I mean, to become a musician was already more than I dreamed, but to be signed onto Phage Head¡¯s Label? Impossible!¡±


    My eyebrows raised. It was a little flattering, but the excitement of a fan had grown too routine to be as moving as it was in my early years. I recalled when I was starting out how earth-shattering it was to be a rising star after a life as a normal teenager.


    ¡°But uh- Anyhow.¡± Whitney straightened up in her seat, a flash of insecurity breaking through her smile before she buried it again. She took her sunglasses off, revealing dark and moody-looking eyes whose color I couldn¡¯t identify from where I sat. ¡°I understand you can¡¯t really talk at the moment, so I brought along my bass, so maybe I could tell you who I am in an easier way. You see, I¡¯m not too great at chatting.¡± She smirked tensely. ¡°We¡¯re both musicians, so I thought we¡¯d get to know each other best through music! Since I¡¯ve heard so much of yours, it¡¯s kind of imbalanced that you¡¯ve never heard mine!¡±


    I tilted my head, the corner of my mouth lifting with intrigue. She unpacked her bass, drawing out the gorgeous instrument from its soft nylon case. It was an old-fashioned shape and had obviously been used for years, but it was maintained to a pristine degree. The neck and body were polished and shined like jewelry. The body had the same diagonal stripes as her shirt, and I¡¯d noticed that she even bought strings of alternating color to continue the striped effect.


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d play one of your pieces first, so you can get a feel for my voice.¡± She stated, though her voice was trembling and distant as she got her hands into position.


    She no longer looked at me, staring into the space in the room.


    The first notes of the song reverberated through the room, taking the atmosphere away and turning it into something new. Whitney played one of our debut songs, specifically one I had written to show off my bass playing. It wasn¡¯t the most complex song that I had played, but it was the crowning jewel of my early years which set me apart from other bassists on the scene. She played the piece flawlessly, but wasn¡¯t just repeating the notes from the original sheet music. I noticed different emotional beats in her playing, little flourishes and minor changes that transformed my music into her own expression. These subtle things may have gone undetected to a casual listener, but to someone who has spent their life with these songs it was unmistakable.


    She lost herself in her playing, the tension in her shoulders leaving her to allow fluidity and graceful movement. It was like she was making love to the instrument; She held it so tenderly and moved so naturally with the song. Even during the louder and more aggressive rhythms of the song, she never seemed forceful in motion. Within her lived the same passion and near-romantic relationship with music that I used to have. It moved me deeply, not just because it was beautiful to witness. There was an edge of fear to my thrill, watching her shine so brightly. I had lived the life of someone who had burned out. I knew how easy it was to let passion guide you to greatness as easily as to ruin.


    Gently, the last notes of the song rang out and faded from the air. She opened her eyes and inhaled deeply, as if she were waking up from sleep.


    ¡°Oh.¡± She murmured, looking at me with bewilderment. ¡°I didn¡¯t know I¡¯d make you cry.¡±


    Laurent¡¯s eyebrows knitted together as he tilted to see my face. I blinked, realizing that I¡¯d been weeping nearly the entire time. I shook my head, as if that would erase the tears away. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°He must have thought you were doing well, right Asya?¡± Laurent handed me a tissue from the coffee table.


    I nodded, my face flushing from their attention. I pulled my blanket across my lap, more to fidget with it than to chase away a chill.


    Whitney giggled.


    ¡°That¡¯s flattering.¡± She said, ¡°I didn¡¯t know I could move you, Asya.¡±


    That flash of insecurity returned to her face, and now she was blushing as well. A moment of silence filled the air with awkwardness.


    ¡°Oh, this is such a pleasant afternoon!¡± Laurent gushed. ¡°I¡¯m not a musician like you, Whitney. I¡¯ve never been able to connect with him so well as you have with just a song!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sweet!¡± She swiped a hand at him playfully, her face going back to its normal color. Though, her ease seemed to die again when she glanced at me. ¡°I could play you one of my songs, but maybe we should take a break. I¡¯ll say it¡­ I¡¯m so intimidated by what you think of my music.¡±


    I typed on my phone, wanting to reassure her. Laurent was faster than me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too intimidated! He seems to love your playing!¡± He said, ¡°I¡¯ve not seen him so touched in all of my time with him. Besides, it¡¯s been a little dry around here, musically.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a relief! Hey, how about we have something to drink together and just chat for a while. I¡¯ll play my song for you, but I¡¯d like to take some time.¡±


    ¡°Sure thing!¡± Laurent seemed to dance into the kitchen. ¡°What do you like?¡±


    She got up and fluttered to the kitchen after him, leaving her bass in its case to rest against the cushions of the couch. The energy in the room left with them, leaving the living room a little darker. Though their friendly chatter filled the background, the silence around me drowned it out. The oceanic curtains tinted the incoming sunlight with a blue haze that fell all around me.


    I pulled my blanket closer around my waist and legs to kill the coldness that spread within me.


    I turned my eyes to my phone again while they discussed beverages, distracting myself with photos of my father. I clicked on the profile of the man from his pictures, scrolling for clues. His name was Hannibal Heller. He seemed to work for an accounting firm. Often, the same lake from my father¡¯s photos appeared in his and he took photos in the same house my father did. Did they live together? There was little other information on the profile I might use to learn about him; Nothing more to show what kind of relationship he and my father shared.


    Laurent and Whitney returned to the living room, each boasting a steaming cup. The smell of his spicy chai tea was nearly overpowered by her black coffee. Laurent handed me a cup of cocoa, the ceramic of the mug warming my hands. Whitney took an indulgent drink of her coffee, crossing her legs on the couch as if she were comfortable in her own home.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never had French pressed coffee before! It¡¯s amazing!¡± Whitney said, holding her cup in both hands between long, gluttonous sips.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Laurent said, graciously.


    ¡°And you even made your tea from scratch! I didn¡¯t know drink making could be so cool. You ever considered opening a cafe?¡± She asked.


    ¡°That might be fun, but I enjoy being a nurse a lot, too.¡± He chuckled, giving me a kindly glance.


    It was a little lonely, not being able to engage in their small talk.


    ¡°So, Asya,¡± Whitney turned to face me. ¡°How about I play one of my songs and see how you like it?¡±


    I perked up, nodding. I set my mug on the coffee table so that I wouldn¡¯t have to focus on balancing it. She¡¯d already downed most of her coffee and her hands shook from the caffeine. She seemed a little more confident this time as she got her bass into her hands. Was it just my song that had made her anxious, the thought of performing something that I was the master of?


    Laurent looked on with delight as she started strumming the first notes. I didn¡¯t experience the same lighthearted joy. The song was undeniably unique, but there were hints of my influence beneath it. It was strange to hear echoes of my music in a piece that sounded so little like anything I had written. She peeked glances at me now and then, a dangerous excitement in her eyes. She didn¡¯t get so lost in her own song, but the mood she exuded this time was just as captivating. On a stage, she would be enrapturing to watch. No wonder Gael had boasted about her as he did.


    She focused more and closed her eyes for a few bars, a section that called back to one of my most famous bass solos. The intensity of each note rose and rose until the solo reached its climax, fading down with long and vibrating notes. The song ended with a gentle and almost playful series of bars before she lay the bass back down, taking shallow breaths.


    I clapped my hands together as well as I could, slowly and softly. She smiled with pride, glancing between Laurent and I as we quietly applauded her.


    ¡°Oh, it touches me that you enjoyed it. It¡¯s a song I wrote just for you.¡± Whitney admitted, her dark eyes contrasting oddly against her flushed cheeks. ¡°You were the reason that I learned to play, after all. So I made you that tribute. It was the first song that I ever wrote, but also the song that took me the longest time. I started writing it when I was thirteen and only finished it last year, after all.¡±


    I tilted my head, bemused.


    ¡°Why is it that this one took so much time?¡± Laurent inquired.


    A wistful air came upon her, her gaze shifting down to her bass, which she stroked gently with her fingertips.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit, I can be a bit of a perfectionist. Yet, most of my music is finished within a month. This piece, however, would never satisfy for all those years. I had written and rewritten it probably a hundred times. I told myself that it wouldn¡¯t be done until I could perform it proudly for you, Asya. Not that I ever dreamed I would have the chance¡­¡±


    She glanced at me for only a moment before her gaze dropped bashfully to her hands, cradled within each other.


    I began typing something to say to her, and she perked up at the sight of my tapping fingers, curious.


    ¡°It was an amazing song. You¡¯re just as talented as Gael claimed you were. I¡¯m proud to be an influence on you. I¡¯d like to see how your style evolves.¡± I typed, facing the screen to her.


    As she read, her face grew brighter and brighter.


    ¡°You like my style?¡± She asked.


    I nodded, warmed by how flattered she was.


    ¡°Most people praise me for my covers of your songs, but not so much for my original work. It really¡­¡± Her gaze grew distant. ¡°It really means the world to me, hearing that from you.¡±


    She took my hand.


    ¡°I hope you can play again, soon. I¡¯d love to play a song together.¡± Whitney said. Her gaze was earnest, her touch heartfelt.


    I nodded, but couldn¡¯t hold eye contact for too long. It seemed like there was something more to the moment for her than I. Her phone chirped in her purse and she jolted.


    ¡°I should go, then. I hope to visit soon!¡± She dropped my hand, sliding her sunglasses back over her eyes. She was smiling widely again, but her hands trembled. ¡°There¡¯s a meeting with the label I have to attend later today and I have some errands to run first!¡±


    Laurent rose from his seat, offering her a friendly handshake.


    ¡°It was a pleasure to have you!¡± He said, the amiable expression on his face failing to hide his confusion. She packed her bass up and waved cordially to us both. Although she was acting naturally about her departure, it seemed so sudden. Laurent closed the door behind her, returning to clean up her cup of coffee.


    I stared at the door, unable to shake off a strange feeling. Ending like that, it seemed almost like the entire visit was merely a dream.


    ¡°My, but you stars have busy schedules. She wasn¡¯t here for long. What a shame.¡± Laurent lamented, his lips pursed. ¡°It was wonderful to hear her play, though. I never listened to instrumental music all that much. I didn¡¯t know that a bass could carry a song on its own like that.¡±


    I gave him an absentminded nod, turning my eyes back to my phone.


    ¡°So, did you like her? I thought she was delightful!¡± He mused.


    I glanced up at him and nodded, giving him a polite smile to disguise my distracted mind.


    ¡°Gael will be curious about your opinion of her, but I think he wants to meet about it later in the week when he has an opening.¡± He returned to his seat near me.


    I put my phone back down, watching him sip the remains of his tea. The blue-tinged light from the curtains cast itself across his face, making him look like the subject of a painting. He caught me staring and smiled.


    ¡°So, now that we¡¯re alone again, would you like to do some exercises or do you need to rest?¡±


    I wiggled my fingers at him, grinning coyly. He chuckled and picked my right hand up to rest it on the arm of my chair.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get started, then.¡±