Hollow Stars

by Lauryn Dyan

  “So do we get to party with you tonight?” the oldest of the guys asks me. Black hair, brown eyes, full sleeve of tattoos. The epitome of tall dark and handsome. At least to me. He has that self-confidence that tells me he knows it, too.

  “For sure. You all get to join in on the chaos after the show if you want.”

  “Hell, yes, I do!” He grins. The others affirm their assent as well.

  We’ve hung with fans before but you never know what you’re going to get. Sometimes they want to talk and ask about your inspiration. Others want to get wasted and take photos for social media to lord over their friends. And other times, well, they want in your pants. I guess we’ll discover what each of their intentions are later tonight.

  ***

  Our show was another success if I do say so myself. The fans had gone crazy for our encore where we covered Hawthorne Height’s song “Ohio is for Lovers,” even though I’m sure a lot of the younger fans didn’t know it and then transitioned into our song “Hidden Spark.” The two mix well, starting off slow and somber and ending intense, loud and passionate. We may have to use this encore for a few sets.

  The radio winners hung out backstage before the show, but I didn’t see them. I opted instead for playing quarters with Sonny, Davey, Rickly, Ace, Aaron and Trent (also in Sheltered) in the parking lot. After many nights of practice, I kickass at bouncing the coin in the cup and couldn’t pass up a chance to school everyone. Even though I was by far the best, I was still tipsy before I even set foot on the stage. And, since I continued to drink while we performed, I’m drunk already.

  I’m just in one of those moods to get completely shit-faced and fast to escape reality and the worries that plague my sober mind. I still have no idea what to do about my situation with Rickly. Somehow, it went from perfect fling to complicated relationship in twelve hours. I wish there was some way to easily reveal the truth. Like, make him take a foolproof lie detector test. It might not hurt to run it on me, too. Then I’d know if I love him. Perhaps not being sure is my answer. If I loved him, wouldn’t I know? But I could love him, and that’s the problem. That 80s song was right; “Love Stinks.”

  We are now sitting backstage, in the green room, with the fans. The girl, Courtney, and one of the guys had to bail. Curfew. The other girl, whose name I still don’t know, is off in a corner with Jack. I’m on a tattered couch flanked by two of the remaining male winners, Dallas and Jimmy, and they are both pandering for my attention. Sonny is in a chair to my right enthralled by the adoring fan perched on her armrest. He’s cute with short brown hair, a lip piercing and hipster glasses. Every now and then she casts me a glance to check if I need rescuing but I’m fine right where I am. I don’t mind the attention and superficial conversation. I’m in no condition to have a deep heart-to-heart.

  Rickly and his band are at the merchandise booth signing autographs and chatting up the crowd. They do that post-show more often than the other two bands on the tour because they’re working hard to get noticed. It’s not that we don’t like to meet our fans, but they usually find us whether we sit out there or back here. For Sheltered, they need to be more accessible.

  I know they’ll be done any minute and I should extricate myself from these two players before he gets here, but they’re harmless enough. It wouldn’t be the first (or last) time he sees me with male fans. Just after the last couple nights, he might take it differently. Like I’m flirting on purpose to make him jealous. The thought definitely crossed my mind. A part of me wants to and another, more mature part, doesn’t. I guess we’ll see what I decide.

  Even though I’ve only been half listening, I laugh as Jimmy finishes his latest story.

  “…And this is how I earned a degree in being hung over,” he says leaning over to give me a shot. I take it fast and shiver as the strong flavor hits my taste buds. Vodka. Dammit, I should have listened more closely.

  My face twists in a grimace and the guys crack up. “You’re not as hardcore as we thought,” hot Dallas jokes.

  “Let’s see how hardcore you are after I give you some of my tequila, no chaser,” I jibe back, grabbing the bottle from the coffee table and wafting it in his face. I push the bottle closer and we laugh as it bounces between us like a hot potato. Mid-chuckle, I spot Rickly wandering into the room behind his bandmates. He pauses at the door and shoots me a silent, dark look. A twinge of guilt pulls down my smile a fraction until two ditsy, barely-legal bimbos follow him in. Looks like my decision on how to act tonight may have been made for me. Fuck maturity.

  Chapter Seven

  I’m lying on my metal frame bed cursing myself for letting a sliver of hope into my life. A part of me thought if I decided to fight back, to cooperate in my sessions, to try to remember the things I’ve forgotten, the blackouts would subside. That obviously isn’t the case. Either my psyche is seriously splintered, or Rickly is finding a way to keep playing hide-and-seek with my reality.

  When I was first committed, I was so sure it was him making me lose it. After everything that happened on the road, there were too many signs and coincidences to ignore. If only I’d had a better attention to detail in the moment.

  Like now, I wish I’d gotten a better look at that tattoo on the two o’clock package delivery man. Just a taste of the ink had sent me into such a panic I didn’t take the time to really see what it was. Rickly’s wrist has the blossoming end tendrils of a Japanese cherry tree that originates on his forearm. Its soft fuchsia and black is pretty distinct. Yet there are so many tattooed people in my life, did I jump to conclusions? Or perhaps that man (or maybe woman) wasn’t here for me at all. Vain party of one, not everything is about you.

  I don’t know. I can’t shake this feeling Rickly’s involved. The last words he spoke to me, that I remember, still echo in my head. His voice so eerily calm and monotone:

  “Wherever you fall, I will be the one there at the bottom with you.”

  I close my heavy eyes to sleep, but I can’t keep his haunting voice at bay in the quiet.

  ***

  “Come on, let’s do another,” Dallas coaxes as Jimmy wafts the shot glass by my lips.

  I grab it with my mouth as he makes a second pass and let my eyes close as I tilt my head back to swallow the stinging liquid. The hazy corners of my vision momentarily darken. Unfortunately, when they clear, I’m greeted with the sight of Rickly leaning over one of his skanks at a beat up pool table showing her how to hold her stick.

  Probably wishes it was his stick.

  I laugh out loud and my new friends exchange a look like I’m going bat-shit loco. I don’t give a damn. I slam back another shot like its water.

  ***

  For the last hour, I’ve been listening to my crazy neighbor incessantly drone on about cereal. Usually, she’s like a cuckoo-clock chiming out brand names every hour, though I’ve never officially timed it. Now, it’s like her gears are jammed because she’s naming an endless, repetitious string of them. I am impressed they’re in alphabetical order. “Apple Jacks! Cap’n Crunch! Cheerios! Frosted Flakes!” and so on. I know she’s started over when she gets to A.

  Normally, I’d find it annoying, but tonight it’s helping to drown out the sound of Rickly’s voice in my head. That voice that when he was on stage had called to me like a siren. Now it makes me shiver like he’s blown frosty air on the back of my neck.

  “Honeycomb! Lucky Charms!” she chants on and on and it sounds almost like a song. I could sell it as a jingle. My head bobs along as she comes to the anti-climactic end of the list. “Raisin Bran! Shredded Wheat! Wheaties!” All the cereals kids groan about. The bass drum of my jingle pounds along, but suddenly she stops. I lift my head off my pillow and stare at our adjoining wall as though I can see what’s caused her to abruptly end her ranting through the painted drywall. I guess she had to stop sometime. Maybe passed out from exhaustion or couldn’t go on due to thirst.

  Now I’m wrapped in silence and, somehow, it’s more deafening than when her voice was
my radio. I wish they’d give me sleeping pills, but I’m trying to show progress, so not the time to push for drugs. Though I do miss them, if I’m being honest.

  As the quiet presses in on me, my eyelids droop finally ready to surrender to sleep. It has to be after midnight and my body and mind are over today. I let images of bran flakes dance through my head as I lull into that peaceful state just before you nod off.

  That’s when a new sound slithers into the dark. “Ke… dy…” Every part of me flashes alert. I grip either edge of my bed from my horizontal position afraid to sit up, straining to make it out.

  Am I hearing things? Is the sound in my head like the echoes of Rickly’s words? I bunch the sheets under my clawed hands as it returns more distinct than before, but still low as a hiss.

  “Kennedy...” The K is harsh but the Y drags out like the last note played on a piano. “Kennedyyy...” it repeats. I can’t tell the voice’s gender it’s so faint. My pulse races and I will myself to keep it together. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. My gaze darts around the room. There’s nothing there yet the voice grows louder than before like it’s getting closer. “Kennedyyy!” I’m now completely immobilized on my bed as though the sheets are encasing me in cement. I stare unblinking with my ears at full alert. As the hiss becomes distinct, “Kennedy!” a dark shadow passes over the window in my door.

  I spring from the bed like I’ve been electrocuted, the cement exploding around me from the force of a scream that originates in the depths of my fucking soul.

  ***

  “Catatonic,” Craig says, somberly. There’s a long pause while someone asks I question I cannot here. “Yes, that’s right. She’s shut down and we can’t get her to respond.”

  ***

  “Rickly, you fucking man-slut! What the hell are you doing?” I can barely contain my furry though I only half remember why I’m pissed.

  “Me? You’re the one letting those horny groupies do body shots off your bare stomach!” he retorts.

  The world spins and I struggle to recognize the tilted plane around me. The ground is unyielding and dark, and lighted poles tower over us. A parking lot? Not sure if we’re outside the bar or back at our buses. Parts of the evening are already missing from my mind.

  “You’ll stick it in anything, won’t you? What does that say about me?” I stumble a few steps backward, partially because I can hardly stay upright and partially to get away from him.

  “Look at you! You can’t even stand up. Kennedy, what is wrong with you? You have no control.”

  If I wasn’t so mad, I’d think there was genuine concern on his face, but why would a selfish, narcissistic douche bag care about me?

  I continue to teeter around, unsure where I plan to go. I lift my hand with every intention of jabbing a finger in his pretty face but I lose my balance and fall on my ass. He grabs my arm carefully to lift me from the asphalt, but I shriek and swat him away.

  “Humph,” he grumbles, along with some choice words as he continues to try to pull me to my feet. I’m fighting him just to be obstinate.

  “Kennedy!” he roars in frustration. Done with being gentle, he grabs me tightly by both arms to haul me up but I slacken like a deadweight. Distant voices garble behind us signaling I should stop making a scene. Whatever. I can’t focus on this anymore. I let my senses go numb like my body.

  ***

  “Kennedy?” Craig leans over me. “Kennedy? Your sister is here. Do you want to see her?” He waits a long, silent moment before he exits my room.

  ***

  My head pulsates like a tiny man is sledge hammering my forehead from the inside. I crack my eyelids and wait for the fog to clear as my tan curtains greet me the next morning on the bus. Every part of me is sore, including some spots on my arms that are particularly tender.

  I don’t remember what happened last night. Rickly and I must have gotten into a fight after our game of who-can-make-the-other-more-jealous chicken, but the details are a blur, as is how I got here.

  Moving the curtain, I swing my legs out of the bunk and climb down to go to the bathroom, not bothering to check if anyone else is awake. I just need to pee, and get water, and take aspirin ASAP. I stumble to the kitchen first, since it’s on the way. There’s a half-empty water bottle sitting on the table. I down it with a handful of pills well above the correct dosage. Next, I wedge into the small toilet room, reluctant to turn on the harsh fluorescent light.

  What a mess I’ve made. I don’t need last night’s play-by-play to know things got out of hand. While I might have trust issues and conflicted feelings about Rickly, in the brutal aftermath of a rocky night, I realize I don’t want to lose him. I’m a fool for working so hard to teach him a lesson.

  The state of my relationship is personified in my trashed appearance reflected in the mirror. Smeared mascara and smoky eyeliner stripe my face. My arms and yesterday’s clothes are marked by black streaks too dark to be dirt. I grab a towel and gruffly wipe down my exposed skin first, but wince when I get to the tender spots on my biceps. I slow my movements in an attempt to clean myself more carefully, but the smudges are being a pain. Wetting the towel helps, but my shirt just can’t be salvaged. I squint and lean into the mirror. What the hell did I do?

  I search my mind for some explanation. Show. Backstage. Drinks. Bar. More drinks. Pool skank. Handsy boys. More drinks. Flirting. More drinks. Touching. More drinks. Parking lot. Rickly lifting me off the ground. Sonny. Her face hovers over the other pictures like the head in The Wizard of Oz, but I don’t understand how she fits the puzzle.

  Eventually, some of the images begin to align. The black marks on me aren’t dirt, they’re asphalt stains. And my sensitive arms are a byproduct of Rickly ‘helping’ me off said asphalt. It surprises me that I can’t remember the pain from him using so much force. I must have been furiously resisting for him to have held on so tightly.

  That’s as many memories as I can muster. If you can call them that. They are more like the shadows of memories.

  Well fuck. What to do now? My stomach lurches and vomit suddenly comes to mind.

  After that unpleasantness, I head back out. I want to curl into bed and sleep until I no longer feel like death. I reach the ladder ready to head up when I notice a hunched mass dressed in black slumped against the end of the wall sleeping. The tousled, blonde hair immediately gives him away. Rickly.

  I take my time shuffling over, unsure if I want to wake him. I suppose I can’t feel any worse. Maybe he’ll just get up and kiss me, and we’ll snuggle in my bunk like nothing happened, kind of like the other night. Seems unlikely.

  I nudge him with my foot and his head lolls, but he doesn’t stir. I wait and then try once more. He comes too slowly, rubbing his brow while he murmurs my name.

  “Kennedy, I was waiting for you to wake up. I must have fallen asleep.” He yawns and turns his gaze up at me and I stifle a gasp. One of his lovely blue eyes is rimmed with a deep purple darker than my hair. I guess I was wrong, I can feel worse.

  ***

  “Kennedy? Can you identify where you are?” They’ve taken me out of my room after I don’t know how many days of me sitting there in silence. I’m in Craig’s office and my glance roams with curiosity as though they’ve brought me onto a space station and not into his boring workspace. Anything is more exciting than the four blank walls I’ve been memorizing.

  I have to snap out of this. The realization dawned on me as the dark began to retreat from the orange glow of sunrise this morning. I have to fight the darkness. It’s the only way I’ll ever be able to go back into the light again.

  Yet, even knowing this, I can’t bring myself to speak. It’s like I screamed my final note the other night when I went full on hysterical. The scene after my episode was similar to the one after the tattooed, delivery man. Big orderlies and a nurse with her shot. They had a much harder time pinning me down, and I’d gotten a second dose of something when my shrieks wouldn’t subside. After a few hours of oblivion, I wok
e up and just stared into nothing. I felt nothing. I heard Craig say things like ‘catatonic’ and ‘state of shock’ to people in the hall, but when asked what caused it, he had no response. He doesn’t know, and frankly, I’m not sure if I do either.

  Did I imagine that haunting voice? The bone chilling shadow outside my door? It seemed so real and I’m not well versed in psyche hospital security. Could someone have snuck in to fuck with me? The nurse seemed to know that first terrifying visitor though...

  Another image tries to break free from behind my mind’s blackout curtain but my brain is in self-preservation mode. There’s nothing getting out of that abyss right now.

  I focus on Craig but it’s harder than it should be. His thin frame seems to vibrate though he must be sitting perfectly still. Perhaps another blackout is coming or my morning pills have made me more loopy than usual. I slowly attempt to nod my head to his question, but it bobs with more force than I predicted. At least I acknowledged him. It’s more than I’ve done in days.

  He nods back and the movement looks unnatural on his swimming figure.

  “Good, Kennedy. I’m relieved to know you’re still there. We need to discuss what happened the other night. You were making such great progress I’d love to get you back on track.”

  I nod again, or do I just let my head fall? I’m not sure. His lips twist into a reassuring smile that doesn’t fit his normally stoic face as he stands to go to the door.

  “I’m glad you agree. You have a few visitors who are here to help us with your journey.”

  He opens the heavy door and in walks my mother followed by a man that looks vaguely familiar. Suddenly, my vision snaps into focus as I register the face. It’s older and more worn than in the photos from which I’ve seen it. I lick my dry lips and part them with great effort. Like opening a door that was closed too soon after being painted and is tacky and stuck to the frame.