Darling

by Gabrielle G

  They all leave.

  Art sits in the chair at the end of the bed and waits. “Want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head. I need to focus on getting out of bed. I need to think happy thoughts. I need to unleash my light to fight my darkness. I push my covers away.

  Art rewards me with a proud smile. “Let’s stand up now, Darling.”

  My brain screams that I’m only the cliché of my time. I tell myself I wouldn’t be on top for over twenty years if I weren’t worthy of my success. I’m worthy of my friends' love. I’m worthy of Anna.

  I hit the shower, repeating the same sentences. I can’t stop wondering if I would have woken up in the same state of mind if Anna had woken up next to me. I cry silently in the shower, letting the thoughts take over.

  I am strong. I am loved. Anna. Thinking of her makes me smile. Anna.

  I’m already exhausted, and my day hasn’t started yet. I might be taking too long in the shower because there’s a knock on the door. I step out and look for my razor, but it’s not there. Lars surely removed it, too afraid of what I’ll do. I can’t blame him. I’ve told him many times I wanted to die. But today I don’t. Not yet. I’m alive. I’m still here, still fighting. I found the strength to get out of bed. I’m not weak, but I know who’s my strength.

  There’s another knock on the door. “Dan, open up.”

  I’m still naked, but I open the door. I look at Lars, trying to find the answer to my request in his eyes. He shrugs. He doesn’t know if she’s coming.

  I wrap a towel around me at the same time Art hands me my clothes. Today is a battle I don’t need to fight alone. They’re here for me.

  My goals for the day are small. I already accomplished most of them. I got out of bed, took my meds, took a shower. Now I need to get dressed, so I do.

  My phone chimes. I hope it’s her.

  Seeing the time is like a punch to my throat. Accomplishing four simple tasks took me two hours. Time is never on my side during an episode. I don’t have enough of it in mania, and I have too much of it in depression. It’s an uneven balance, like the chemicals in my brain. How long it takes me to do a task doesn’t matter. I need to concentrate on just doing it.

  I focus on the message. It’s Crawford. I can’t find the energy to deal with him, so I hand my phone to Lars for him to handle it.

  One of them ordered my favorite breakfast food. I don’t want to eat it. My appetite is gone. My therapist sits at the table while I force food down my throat. Art and Lars disappear, letting us have the session I need more than air.

  One of the perks of my career is having a shrink around while I’m not home. He’s just a few rooms away, always on call. He’s the Amazon Prime of therapists, and I pay the price for it.

  We discuss what happened last night. How seeing my father triggered my guilt and my belief of my own inadequacy. How talking to Anna pushed away the looming depression until it caught up to me this morning. How I can fight my thoughts and accept the truth. How I would love to smoke a joint and get high or lose myself in alcohol, but it’s not recommended. Together, we fight it.

  I talk, he listens. He guides, I navigate my feelings. He’s the compass and I always try to find my north, even if I get lost most of the time. By the end of my mostly untouched breakfast, I breathe a little better.

  Lars and Art come back with guitars. We jam, but my heart isn’t in it. We end up watching the rest of the adventures of Meredith Grey on Netflix for the umpteenth time, and they stay in my room for supper, not chasing pussy for the night. That’s how much they’ll sacrifice for our friendship.

  Our manager reserved the gym, and our security team is in place for us to work out. It’s essential I walk out of my room today, but strolling the streets of London isn’t possible. First, because the weather is shit, but also because it would create a riot. So instead of some fresh air, I take in the feet-infused smell of the gym and I sweat out my misery—or at least I try to.

  When I go back to my room, I shower again. I read, I strum my guitar, I cry a little more. I look at my phone, waiting for Anna to answer the text I sent earlier, asking her to call me. I lose hope and hit my bed, knowing that I didn’t achieve anything today, but I fought the best I could. I survived.

  And sometimes, that’s all you need to do, even if breathing seems impossible when you’re drowning. It’s imperative to reach for the water rings sent to you. Lars is the lifeguard of my depression. I might be adrift for a few days, weeks, months or years but he always makes sure I hold on. The ocean of depression is larger than the Pacific, and it’s current, pulling me down the drain, is stronger than anything. I try to never let go of the ring, even when I think I’m too shattered to hold on.

  Dreadful are the nights and their isolation.

  Lars and Art make their way into my room again. Art takes a seat at the end of the bed, and Lars lies down next to me on top of the covers, still in his jeans. They know when I lie alone at night, my thoughts are unhealthier. They know my pride will prevent me from asking them to sleep in my room. One of the assholes—certainly Art, listening to his perfect pitch—hums a song I know too well, the one my mother used to sing when I was a kid and afraid of the dark. Not much has changed, it seems. The demons are just more convincing these days. Tears fill my eyes and I try to be silent about it, but I fail. Art hums louder, and Lars’s hand ends up on my shoulder. I take on a breath and let go the dread of the day, knowing tomorrow might not be better, knowing tomorrow could be crueler.

  “We got you, brother,” Lars whispers. “We’ve always got you.”

  Drained, I drift into sleep, repeating to myself that I’m not alone, I’m surrounded by people who love me, and if I fall, it’s not the end of the world as long as I can get up again.

  25

  Anna

  “Any person in their right mind would have said no to an all-expense paid trip to London, in first class, to hang out with a depressed rock star.”

  “Right, keep telling yourself that. Any woman I know would have jumped at the opportunity!” Julie sips her glass of champagne. “Which is why Naomi, not wanting to come, proved that she’s insane.”

  I ignore the jab at Naomi. Those two don’t see eye-to-eye most of the time and I think it has to do with my brother, so I keep out of it.

  “Or… something happened with Trouble,” she adds.

  “Are you coming to see Art Sweet?” I smirk.

  “Nah…” She curls her lips. “He’s an ass. Said something about me being a great lay for a woman in her thirties. I was already done before he left Montreal, but I promised myself not to touch him again after he said that.”

  “So why did you want to come with me?”

  “London, all-expenses paid… I told the studio it was an emergency. Hoping it’ll give me the time I need to think about my move to New York. Oliver is—”

  I cut her off, shaking my head. “No, no, and no, Jules. We are not speaking about my brother. If you have a good opportunity in New York, weigh the pros and cons and decide what you want to do, but don’t include Ol in it.”

  “Wouldn’t you be happy if we were together?”

  Loaded question from one of my friends. If only she knew how many times I’ve heard that over the years. The only one who never asked anything of the sort is Naomi, and I believe she would be the perfect match for him. Julie is a nice girl, but she can be quite demanding, and I don’t think my brother is patient enough. Of course I can’t tell her. Not because I’m afraid of how it would strain our friendship, but because our plane doesn’t land for another three hours and I’m stressed enough without adding any Julie headaches to my life.

  “Do I see you with him? Yes. Him with you? Not sure he’s ready for that kind of commitment. So... you move to New York, hoping for something, and then what? He’s still pretty fragile from Elaine’s death, and I’m not sure he’d treat you right.” Let’s blame Oliver. He might not be happy about my comments if she shares what I said with him, but I c
an deal with my little brother. If they decide to be together, it has to be forever, or I’ll lose Julie. She’d never be headstrong enough to uproot her life for my brother, lose him, and stay friends with me. And I love her madness a little too much not to have her in my life.

  Julie sighs. “You’re right. That’s foolish. As foolish as going to London to mend a rock star you barely know.”

  She’s right of course. I almost didn’t get on the plane. It’s just that… since Dan told me he wrote songs for me, I felt… maybe not obligated, but like I owe him something. When Lars explained what was happening while on speaker on Naomi’s phone, Naomi was nodding, giving me the courage to go. I thought for sure she would come with me, but she gave some shit excuse that if I was going, someone needed to hold the fort. Lars sounded disappointed, but I didn’t push her. You can never push Naomi to do anything. She’s even the one who suggested Julie come with me.

  “Maybe the Darlings can introduce you to one of their many friends in Hollywood,” I tease her.

  “Yeah… or maybe I can sleep with Lars.” She smirks, and I cringe. I know Naomi isn’t sleeping with him, but I’m pretty sure that’s the worst idea Julie has ever had. I open my mouth to tell her so when she laughs. “Oh my God, you should see your face! You’re so easy to fool!”

  “Not funny!” I gulp my glass of champagne.

  “Joking aside, I’m proud of you. You haven’t really taken a risk in ages, and it takes balls to jump on a plane to go meet a bipolar rock star.”

  “Thanks, I guess. I’m not sure what pushed me to do so but—”

  “Bullshit. You’re hungry for his dick,” she says way too loudly for a confined space where most of the passengers are trying to sleep.

  Heads turn our way, and I pretend I didn’t hear what she just said.

  “You’re hungry for his dick, you’re hungry for his dick,” she whisper-chants in my ear as if she were a six-year-old telling me I’m in love with a boy.

  I push her face away, laughing. “You’re ridiculous and insane. Just stop it.”

  “Tell me I’m right and I’ll stop. I read what the magazine printed. He was hot with that flight attendant. I’m pretty sure he was even hotter in a bed.”

  “Maybe all that is printed isn’t true,” I say, avoiding her eyes.

  “Yeah, that’s why you’re blushing and over thirty thousand feet in the air when you hate flying.”

  I nod, still trying to avoid the conversation.

  “Okay then, I’ll sleep with Dan instead of Lars. How does that sound?” She gives me her annoying smile.

  I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Go ahead. If he wants you, then clearly, I have nothing to do in London. I’ll take the Chunnel and go see my parents in France.”

  “You’ll go see your parents if I sleep with Dan Darling? Is that a threat to me or a warning to yourself? Because since I’ve known you, I’ve learned we don’t speak about the Spencers’ parents. I don’t mind you going to see your parents, but you might,” she teases.

  “Shut up, Legg!” I put in my ear buds to block her obnoxious laugh.

  Looking around, I wonder how people would react if they knew I was going to see Dan Darling. I’ve been lucky that, except for my first name because of the concert, nobody knows who I am and what happened between Dan and me. I know it’s difficult for him to keep his private life private, and I’m glad I live in a city where nobody gives a crap if a celebrity is in town. But it might be very different in London. I mean, in the city where royals live, I don’t think Dan Darling can expect to fly under the radar.

  “Julie,” I whisper, trying not to disturb anybody.

  “What?”

  “We can’t say his name anymore. People can’t know where we’re going.”

  “You’re paranoid. Nobody cares,” she whispers before turning over to sleep.

  But getting out of Heathrow airport and climbing in a car, my doubts are confirmed. People here are less laid-back and more nosey. Girls have their phones out, taking our picture and screaming Dan’s name. It seems some fans followed the car here because they knew it was the Darling Devils’ car and they hoped to see one of them. If the windows weren’t tinted, they would have recognized Art Sweet waiting for us in the back seat.

  “Anna Spencer? Pleased to officially meet you,” he says with a smirk that could have wet my panties before I met Dan.

  Not one of the Darlings is bad-looking. If Dan is known for his charisma and his looks, and Lars for his angel face and beautiful hair, Art plays the bad boy like nobody else. Heavily tattooed, an eyebrow always raised, burning caramel eyes, and jet-black hair, he’s known to deliver an orgasm before even touching a woman. Rumor has it anyone can come just by him looking at you, and I believe that’s why Julie is squirming in her seat while his eyes roam her body and his tongue wets his lips. So much for Julie being over him.

  “Nice to meet you,” I answer, but Art ignores me.

  “I knew you’d come back for more.” He tells her, his eyes devouring her breasts.

  “Nope, just came for my girl. She would have never gotten on that plane by herself,” Julie answers, looking out the window to avoid his gaze.

  “Right,” he says, readjusting what I believe is a hard-on.

  The rest of the ride is uncomfortably silent. Art fumbles on his phone, Julie continues dodging him, and I close my eyes, trying not to let my anxiety win. I was hoping Art would tell me what I could do when I see Dan, but I’m starting to think he’s more the silent type. That’s not surprising, seeing how Dan is a chatterbox.

  “So,” Art says to prove me wrong, “he barely slept last night. He’s certainly asleep now, or in bed. Not sure if the depression cycle has started. I truly hope not. He might be irritable, which will make him mean and assholish, but it’s good for you to see that part of him. Lars and I want you to have our numbers. If you need anything, you call us. You’re here because we thought you could help, and his shrink agreed to it. But you, coming means that you’re ready to be part of his life. There is no ‘try’ with Dan Darling just because he wrote you a song. It’s all a big deal. Do you understand?”

  “He wrote me seven songs.” I don’t know why I tell him that. I’m sure he knows. But since his eyes bulge out of his head, I’m pretty sure he didn’t know I knew.

  “Okay then. I’m not saying you’re his girlfriend, don’t get ideas, but you’re at least here as a friend. As with any of our friends whom we barely know, we’ll ask you to sign this lovely paper if you haven’t signed one before.” He hands me a stack of paper.

  It’s a nondisclosure agreement. It’s my turn to be surprised, but I nod nonetheless. I understand. They don’t want me to go blabbing to the press like the last girl did. “Can I have a pen?”

  From the front seat, the armoire man I met in Montreal hands a pen to Art, who hands it to me.

  “Julie, I have yours with me. It’s still good, don’t worry, girl.” He smiles at her.

  From the corner of my eyes, I see Julie gag.

  “It goes without saying that this covers the time you had with Dan in Montreal,” Art says. “Him not making you sign anything should have been a good indication he was off his meds. Our bad for missing it.” He shrugs.

  “So romantic.” I snicker while signing the damn NDA.

  “There can’t be romance when there is no privacy, Anna. I thought you were less naïve than other girls.”

  The car stops, and we hear fans screaming to get his attention.

  “Asshole,” Julie coughs into her hand.

  “One last thing,” he says, knocking on the window. “Welcome to London and good luck.”

  The door opens and Art gets out of the car, protected by armoire-guy. Julie and I stay there, wondering what we should do. The open door makes it clear we should get out of the car, but I have no idea if we should follow him inside.

  Julie yanks the door closed and turns to me. “We’re going to ask the driver to drop us a bit farther away and enter this hotel as
if we’re staying here, okay?”

  I nod.

  “Did you hear that, sir?” Julie calls.

  “I believe they’re waiting for you inside,” the driver answers coldly.

  “Yeah, and I believe all these girls will shred my friend into pieces if we walk that way. So please drop us off where we can’t be seen.”

  As ridiculous at it sounds, I feel better about executing Julie’s plan than walking through those girls. The car starts and the screams calm down. By the time he drops us off, we can’t hear anything. With our suitcases, we walk back the few yards and enter the hotel, more or less incognito.

  The armoire-guy is waiting for us and leads us to the elevator. “Miss Legg, your room is on the floor where Lars and Art have a suite. Miss Spencer, the team thought you would occupy the second bedroom in Dan’s suite.”

  I gulp. When the elevator stops on the fifth floor, I want to beg Julie to stay. She squeezes my hand and exits too quickly for my brain to catch up. I continue with armoire-guy, and the elevator opens to a living room with beautiful leather seats and wooden walls. There sit Lars and Art, as gorgeous as the furniture.

  “I thought you chickened out,” Art says with a tight smile.

  “Bathroom?” Lars points at a door.

  Without a word, I mentally flip them the finger and make my way to the indicated door. I understand if my being here can make them nervous—God knows my stomach is cramping.

  After changing into clean but still comfortable clothes, I wash my face, anxious to see how Dan is and how he’ll react to my being here. I push open the second door, hoping it connects to my bedroom.

  Right away, I recognize his scent. I’m in Dan’s room, and he seems to be in bed. Exhausted by the jet lag and attracted to him like a magnet, I enter his bedroom and slip under the blanket to lie next to him. Before he can react, I’m already asleep.

  26

  Dan