by Megan Walker
“I told you I’m not leaving,” I say, trying to keep my voice as even as his.
He shrugs. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Oh my god. You are not seriously deciding that I’m leaving you over this. Just because I wanted to talk about your obvious issues with Anna-Marie? Do you not see how irrational that is?”
His eyes are ice. “Who do you think leaked all that to the press?”
My mouth falls open. Anna-Marie knew a lot of this, but I highly doubt that after storming off, she came back around to eavesdrop on us and then call TMZ. I’m not even sure Shane believes this, or if he’s just trying to pile on more justifications so he doesn’t have to feel bad about what he did to her.
“Some reporter who saw you leave the party,” I say. “Honestly, that’s who I think did this.”
“Whatever,” he says again and starts rifling around his drawers for clean clothes.
I stare at his back, wanting to shake him. It hurts that this, too, is apparently something we can’t talk about. Something he wants to shut me out of.
I can’t do this right now.
“I’m going to rehearsal,” I say, my voice now matching his, flat and toneless. “Are you coming with me?”
He doesn’t turn around. “I’ve got stuff to do. I’m going to be late.”
My chest aches, even as I feel my own hands balling into frustrated fists. “Fine. I’ll see you there.”
I take my purse and leave his apartment. I doubt having to deal with a pageant full of hypochondriacs—and especially with Carlyle, now that Shane’s going to show up late again—is going to improve my mood any, but at least it can’t make it any worse.
Nineteen
Shane
I know I should go to pageant practice, but all I’m doing there is reading that awful script and pissing Allison off by not following it exactly, and I can’t stand the idea of having another fight with her today. That one was bad enough that she’s probably already rethinking the wisdom of dating an asshole like me. I don’t want to look her in the eye right now and watch her recalibrate, watch her realize she’s too good for me, that she has been all along.
Everyone will have read that article by now, and despite what I said to Allison, that obviously bothers me. I’ve spent the last few months holed up so no one will know how crazy I am, then I go out for one night, and it’s all over.
Everyone knows.
I lie on my bed with my hand dug into my hair, gripping the roots, not sure how I’m ever going to be able to bring myself to make a public appearance again.
“Dude,” JT says. “When did you become such a whiny ass?”
“I’ve always been a whiny ass,” I tell him. “Remember?”
“Yeah. But you used to be fun.”
My phone rings, so I’m spared responding to JT. Talking to him used to be something of a comfort when I was alone, but now all I can think about is what Allison says.
I should talk to the doctor. I should tell them what’s happening. It’s probably treatable if I would just face the reality that I’m never going to see my best friend again and get help.
“Don’t do it,” JT says. “You don’t want those people messing with your head.”
I look at my phone. I’m hoping it’s Allison, calling to tell me she’s sorry, and then I can say I’m sorry, and that I didn’t really mean it, and that of course I’m upset about all that shit in the press and of course I’m sorry about what I did to Anna-Marie and I just don’t want to admit it because then I’ll have to recognize how pissed and sad and remorseful I am about all the things, and it feels like black clouds about to burst and drown me.
It’s not Allison, though. It’s Kevin.
“He’s worried about you,” JT says. I’m not sure if he’s saying this because he means it or because he wants me to do anything besides call my girlfriend and tell her the truth.
I can’t blame him. If I get help, that’s probably the end of him.
The phone stops ringing, and it goes to voice mail. A few seconds later, a text comes through, also from Kevin. Saw the press. You okay?
My eyes burn, and I wipe them. It shouldn’t mean anything to me, Kevin asking if I’m all right. I want to believe that he doesn’t care about me anymore, but I know this, too, is just a means of holding back the storm, of trying to not feel any of the things, all the things.
If I let myself care about any of it, I’m not sure how I’m going to survive.
JT is right. Kevin is worried about me. Kevin’s been worried about me for a long time, but I drove him away by being relentless about the band getting back together, when I knew Kevin was going to be leaving anyway, even before the accident. He and Maya weren’t going to stay with the band forever.
And while I’m pissed as hell with him for leaving me now—why now, when I’ve lost everything?—I also understand.
Kevin couldn’t help it. He lost everything, too. Everything but Maya.
The burning returns to my eyes. I was jealous of that, I realize now. Jealous that Kevin had Maya, and I had no one. Jealous that Maya had a hold on Kevin that trumped more than two decades of friendship and over ten years of working and traveling and doing everything together. I wanted to believe the band wasn’t over because then I wouldn’t have to feel all the pain and anger and despair behind that jealousy.
It feels different now, and that’s because of Allison. I understand more now, because I feel the same way about her that Kevin feels about Maya.
And I yelled at her, and I drove her away, like I did with Kevin. Like I did with Anna-Marie. Like I do with everyone.
The clouds burst open, and I’m crying. I can’t call Kevin and bawl at him. I know I need to, but I’m not ready. But I have to do something. If I just let the rain fall and fall then I’m going to drown. I think briefly about calling Allison and crying to her, because it’s not like it’s anything she hasn’t seen, but I’m not sure how she’d take it. It might be the last straw, the last sign to her that I’m not worth all this trouble, that I’m too broken to be worthy of her.
There’s only one phone call left, because I’m sure as hell not going to call Anna-Marie. So instead I pick up the phone, and I look for the number of the doctor, the one who saw me for my concussion.
“Don’t do it,” JT says.
But I turn my back on him, just like I have everyone else, and I make the damn call.
One of the benefits of being a celebrity who’s just been in a high profile accident is that it takes all of four calls for me to get an appointment with an actual psychiatrist who will see me same day. I’m paying through the nose and agreeing not to bill it through my insurance, but I don’t care.
I need to do this now, before I lose the conviction.
JT follows me out to my car, but he sits in the back seat and sulks. He sulks all the way out to the doctor’s office, and he slumps in the corner while I tell the doctor what’s happening, that I’m seeing my dead best friend following me around. I fill out twenty pages of questionnaires rating everything from my stress level to my desire to die to my sex drive, and when I’m done, I expect to hear the word schizophrenia come out of the doctor’s mouth. Instead I’m given a diagnosis of post-traumatic psychosis, a prescription to fill, and a return appointment in two weeks.
When I’m done at the doctor, JT still won’t look at me. I fill the prescription, but I don’t take the pills. I set them on my dresser and hole up in my bedroom again, not sleeping, not eating, not taking the damn medicine. But I do read through the entire information brochure that came with them. The drugs are supposed to help with everything from severe psychological distress to delusions and hallucinations.
“Why don’t you just take them already,” JT says. “That’s what you got them for, isn’t it?”
He’s still sulking, though, slumped on the corner of my cou
ch with his arms hugged around himself. It’s clear from his tone that he wants me to do anything but.
I imagine this is what I sound like, a lot of the time, which makes sense, I suppose. He’s not JT at all. He’s just a hallucination.
He’s me.
My phone beeps again. I have three texts from Allison.
Where are you?
Are you even coming to rehearsal?
And finally: Are you okay?
Rehearsal is going to go for several more hours yet, and I should get off my ass and go in. I should also take these damn pills, instead of just reading about them, even though apparently they may cause headaches, which I already have, and erectile dysfunction, which I don’t.
I also have another text from Kevin: Dude, don’t ignore me.
Because I feel better about talking to Kevin right now than about getting simultaneously fired and dumped, I text him back and ask if he wants to meet me for a late lunch, to which he immediately agrees.
I take deep breaths, grab my sunglasses, and head out again. Look at me, accomplishing so many of the things Allison put on that list.
Too bad it’s almost certainly too little, too late.
Kevin is already at the restaurant when I arrive. I see his car in the front, and when I mention him to the waitress, she takes me around to the back, where Kevin is sitting wearing a pair of sunglasses inside, even though there’s no one seated around him. Good to know I’m not the only one tired of getting recognized in public and asked about the accident, even if I am the only one of the two of us with a serious concussion.
I’m glad to be in the back of the restaurant, because today the questions would be about more than the accident.
“Hey,” Kevin says. He takes off his sunglasses and looks at me with concern. I slide into the booth across from him and leave mine on.
“Hey,” I say back. “I’m really sorry to drag you into all this. Is the press bugging you?”
“I don’t care about that,” Kevin says, which confirms that yes, they are. “Dude. Is it true what they said? About JT?”
I’m glad he’s just coming out and asking me. I don’t know that I have the will to explain it all for a third time. “Yeah, it’s true. I saw a doctor about it this morning. Post-traumatic psychosis, apparently.”
Kevin lets out a breath. “That’s rough. You’re really seeing him?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Although, oddly, not right now.”
“I keep having dreams about him,” Kevin says. “Like, where we’re kids, and he’s telling me all about this accident we’re going to be in when we grow up.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I have nightmares. I can’t sleep.” The drugs are supposed to help with that, too, and if they don’t, there are other things the doctor can prescribe. “I have a prescription. Drug me up and then my problems are supposed to go away.”
“Do you think that’ll work?”
I’m at once afraid it won’t and afraid it will. “I don’t know. I haven’t taken them yet.”
Kevin nods. He doesn’t tell me that I should. Kevin rarely tells me what to do, because he knows from copious experience that I don’t listen.
“I wish you’d told me,” Kevin says. “That sucks that you’ve been going through that alone.”
And while I know this isn’t true, I have to say it anyway, just to hear him deny it. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear about it.”
Kevin shakes his head at me. “I wanted you to shut up about keeping the band going. We can’t, and we both know it, and you couldn’t admit it. But I never wanted you to stop being my friend.” Kevin plays with his sunglasses and looks like he might be thinking about putting them back on.
I take mine off. The light is dim enough in here I should be okay for a little while.
And I need to stop hiding from Kevin. He’s obviously hurting too. I knew that he was, I just couldn’t get past my own hurt to admit it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have harassed you about that so much. I think I was just trying to hold on to something—anything—when everything was slipping away.”
Kevin looks surprised that I’m willing to admit that, which I guess is fair.
“I didn’t want you to go away,” Kevin says. “You’re my best friend, you know? I was always closer to you than JT. And I miss him, too.”
“I know you do,” I say. “Maybe that’s part of why I shut you out. Because I didn’t want to deal with it.”
“Not dealing with it seems to be going great for you.”
I glare at him across the table, and he smirks at me. Stupid Kevin. He has a really nasty habit of being right, and I don’t like it any better now than I used to.
“So tell me about this girl,” Kevin says. “Allison?”
I roll my eyes. “We had a fight this morning. It’s probably over.”
Kevin looks skeptical. “Because you had one fight? Dude, it sounded from that article like you guys were pretty serious.”
The article said I was in love with her, but I’m guessing Kevin has taken that with a grain of salt, as we’ve both been accused in the press of being in love with various people over the years, and it’s only been true for each of us once.
“It was pretty serious,” I say. “For me, anyway.”
“Did you break up?”
“Not yet.”
Kevin raises an eyebrow. “Did you think you were going to get serious with someone and not fight with them? Shane, it’s you.”
“I know, okay?” I’m sounding more defensive than I want to, but this is Kevin. He’s used to it. “I know I’m not capable of long-term relationships. Trust me. I haven’t forgotten how bad things were with Anna-Marie.”
I remember what I said to Allison this morning—that Anna-Marie was probably the one who talked to the press. Another thing to feel fucking guilty about. I know it wasn’t her. She ran off before I said most of those things, and even if she hadn’t, she’s not the type to call up the press and spill it all, even if it would make for the perfect revenge.
“That’s not what I meant,” Kevin says. “Dude, we were in high school. Everyone sucks at relationships in high school.”
Kevin didn’t. But he also didn’t date, or speak to girls. “Is that the voice of experience?”
“Fuck you,” Kevin says, but he’s grinning.
“Look,” I say. “Even if it isn’t over yet, it’s not like it’s going to last much longer. It’s me, right? No woman is going to put up with me for long, and Allison’s too self-respecting and mature to get caught up in this shit storm.”
The waitress brings us drinks and asks us if we’re ready to order, even though neither of us has looked at the menu. Kevin orders a burger, and I order the same, mostly so I don’t have to make any more decisions. All the while, Kevin is looking at me like he wants to say something. When the waitress leaves and he still doesn’t spill it, I imagine it’s because he’s worried about how I’ll react.
Probably wisely.
“You might as well just say it,” I say.
Kevin presses his lips together. “You’re really that into this girl?”
He doesn’t relax, so I know this isn’t the actual question.
“Yeah,” I say. “She’s kind of amazing. And she’s put up with my sorry ass so far, even if it isn’t going to last.”
Kevin sighs. “Shane,” he says finally. “She’s not your mom.”
“Fuck you,” I say, less good-naturedly than he did. “I’m aware of that, thanks.”
“Are you?” Kevin says. “Because you seem pretty fixated on this idea that one fight means she’s going to leave you.”
“What is that, some Freudian shit? I didn’t fight with my mom before she left. I was four fucking years old.”
“I know. And you’ve been terrified ever since that everyon
e is going to walk out on you.”
“To be fair,” I say, “everyone has.”
“Not me. And not JT. He had no fucking choice in that, so it’s not fair for you to blame it on him.”
That’s true. I know it is. “The end result is the same. Maybe it doesn’t matter what the cause is. Everyone disappears eventually.”
“Not me,” Kevin says again.
I meet his eyes, and I know he’s doing this on purpose. He wants me to go ahead and say that he chose Maya over me, that this constitutes leaving me, so that he can go ahead and deny it, and tell me that’s not fair.
But deep down, probably thanks to Allison, I already know.
“You’re right,” I say. “Not you.”
Shock registers on Kevin’s face, and it takes him a moment to recover. “Really? You actually feel that way.”
“I was pissed, okay? I was terrified when you met Maya that she was going to take you away from the band, but she didn’t. And after the accident, I was pissed that you had her, and I didn’t have anyone. But yeah, I get that you need to put her first, because she’s your girlfriend, and you love her. I get it.”
“You get it,” Kevin says slowly. “Because you feel the same way about Allison?”
That leap takes me by surprise, true though it is. “Why would you think that? I haven’t been dating her long.”
“Because you haven’t been dating anyone in fucking years,” Kevin says. “Because I haven’t heard you worry about any girl leaving you like this since Anna-Marie, and maybe not even then.”
“Because I was too much of a snot to admit it back then.”
“Probably. But seriously, if you’re that into this girl, I need to meet her.”
I smile. “I want you to. If we’re still together.”
Kevin shakes his head. “That’s what I need to see. What kind of woman can put up with your sorry ass.”
I kick at him under the table, and Kevin grins again, then grows serious. “I’ve thought about that a lot, since the accident,” Kevin says. “About how when I met Maya, I kind of grew out of the lifestyle, you know?”
I know. It terrified me at the time, like Kevin was leaving me behind.
