Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  “Why… why didn’t you tell us?” Derek asks still in a daze.

  “I tried to pull her out of it. I overheard Memphis telling her the depression was part of the process of getting clean and that it would pass. I tried to keep an eye on her, and she seemed to be doing so well while in the studio.”

  “She wants to die?” Kip asks still confused although I’ve offered an explanation.

  He stands and looks at me like he’s a bit disoriented, “She wants to die?”

  I realize the look on his face is not disorientation, but rather, heartbreak. His best friend is the only person he feels like understands him in this big wide world. His father is ex-military and couldn’t give two shits about his son. He was always in another country, and when he was around, he lashed out at Kip because he couldn’t function in the civilian world. His mother coped with his father’s absence by drinking too much each night. She’s a happy drunk, but Kip spent nights cooking them dinner, paying bills, and cleaning up after her. He held her hair while she puked and put her to bed most nights. Henley is the one who intervened at thirteen-years-old and told his parents what they were doing to him. His father retired, and his mother got her shit together, but they merely cohabitate. There is no love in that home, and Kip stayed with Hen and Koi more nights that not. He had his own room in her parent’s house by the time he was fourteen.

  Henley has always been his rock. He admires her strength, talent, and kind heart. Hearing that she wants to die hurts like hell. I understand the feeling.

  Chapter 2

  Henley

  Apparently my heart gave out, and I snorted entirely too much coke at the house in Hollywood. I should’ve been more careful. I feel like I’ve been hit by an eighteen-wheeler. A nurse is moving me to a private room where I’m sure I will be questioned by the people I love. Good times.

  The nurse wheels me into a hospital room and smiles when she leaves. A man with patches of grey hair enters the room with a tight smile. I know that look. Poor Henley. He introduces himself as Dr. Patterson and examines me. He takes lots of vitals and then sits on the edge of my bed.

  “You gave us quite a scare,” he says.

  I nod, not sure what he wants me to say.

  “Did you mean to do it?” he asks.

  I sigh, “No, subconsciously yes. I don’t know.”

  “Well at least you are honest. Here’s the thing, your heart will be less likely to make it through another one of these. It is one of the least forgiving organs in your body, and drugs take a toll on all of them. Do you want help?”

  “I didn’t really mean to. I just have all this shit going on inside my head, in my life, and sometimes I just need an escape. It’s no excuse, but life’s been tough lately,” I answer.

  “I understand. I was an alcoholic for ten years. I lost my wife, and my daughter. I lost my medical license, which caused me to sober up for a time, but once I got the license back, I was right back where I started. My daughter was graduating from high school and asked that I not attend. She didn’t want me falling down drunk and embarrassing her in front of her peers, friends, and family. I couldn’t miss one of the biggest days of her life, so I begged and pleaded and she gave me the choice. I could come sober, or I didn’t come at all. The choice was mine. She didn’t give me an ultimatum, just a choice. We all have choices in life, and I had to make the right one. I entered into a rehab program for thirty days and attended her graduation one week later. I lived with a sober living companion for a time and worked the twelve steps. I salvaged my relationship with my daughter, and eventually I walked her down the aisle, a privilege only a father can understand. I now have two beautiful grandchildren.”

  “Do you miss it?” I ask.

  “The alcohol or the escape?”

  “Both?”

  “I don’t miss the alcohol, or the mornings I spent puking with a splitting headache. Sometimes I miss the escape, but the key is finding something healthy to replace the addiction with. I work out when I need an escape. I also work in a clinic for underprivileged children. If I ever think my life is bad, I look at children who have no health care, horrible living situations, and sometimes no one to love them at all. I smile and try to do something good for them. I try to make them laugh each time I see them, because doing something good for someone makes me feel good, and that’s a high I could never get from alcohol.”

  “That makes sense,” I offer a small smile.

  “The point is you have to be ready to get clean. From what I understand, you haven’t been using long. It will be easier to get clean now than years down the road. You have a great deal of people in the waiting room who love and adore you. I don’t know your story, except from the press, and I think you suffer from depression. It would be good for you to find someone to talk to, and even medications can help,” he offers.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Don’t give up the fight, Henley. You will leave behind people who cannot cope with your death. Keep them in mind when you make decisions. Guilt is the best deterrent at times,” he offers. “Your family would like to see you when you are ready.”

  “I need to see whoever found me first if that’s okay?” I ask.

  “I will talk with your family and relay your request. I will be back to check on you later.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jagger enters the room. He looks overwhelmed and exhausted. He pulls a chair up to the bed, and grabs my hand, kissing the top of it and holding it against his lips. He sighs and joins my hand in his on the bed.

  “You scared me,” he softly whispers.

  “Were you there?” I ask.

  “Yes. Kip called when you came home because I’d been looking for you all day. You ran off this morning, and I wanted to apologize. When I got to your house, Kip had just found you having a seizure. Henley, your heart stopped! You stopped breathing on me. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” I apologize.

  “You don’t get it do you?”

  “Get what?”

  “If something ever happened to you, I couldn’t live. I don’t even know where to begin telling you how much it would wreck me, totally and irrevocably wreck me. I love you, Henley. I love you so much it hurts. I’ve fucked up and been an ass, but no more. From here on out, I spend my life making it up to you. I spend my life loving you, and being the man you deserve,” he breaks down on his last word and lowers his head to our joined hands and weeps.

  I weep with him. I’m sorry he saw me in that shape. He stays with me for twenty minutes, and silence stretches between us for most of it.

  “I should let Kip come back,” he finally says.

  “Okay.”

  He touches my cheek, and looks my face over, “I love you more than life itself. Please don’t ever doubt that.” He kisses my forehead and leaves.

  A few moments later Kip enters the room, and once his eyes meet mine, he stops in his tracks. He looks at me like a ghost.

  “You died,” he deadpans.

  “I’m so sorry, Kip.”

  “You wanted to die.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “When I was a kid, my home life was shit, and you took me in. Not your parents, not your brother, you took me in. You have this way of seeing the hurt in people, and you’ve always fixed it. I’ve spent my adult life trying to make you smile because that’s the only way I can ever repay you. I know you hurt, and shit keeps piling up, but you don’t get to choose death. You left me behind. Caleb was difficult enough for all of us,” he says.

  “Kip…” I begin and he interrupts.

  “No. You don’t get to Kip me. You fucking died, Henley! You fucking died!” he yells.

  I shed tears at his anger. He has every right to be angry, but in all of our years as friends, he’s never been angry with me.

  “You don’t get to choose death! That’s not our choice to make. I’m not sure who or what is in
charge of it, but isn’t you!” he continues.

  “I’m so sorry, Kip,” I cry.

  “For what, Henley? For wanting to die, or actually fucking doing it?”

  “Both.”

  “I won’t stand by and watch you kill yourself. I can’t do it. I won’t be there when you get home. I won’t be your friend until you are sober and want to live. I can’t be around you until you are the girl who saved my life. I won’t watch you die,” he sobs.

  I nod my head with a steady rush of tears down my cheeks, “It’s best that way. You won’t miss me as much when I’m gone.”

  “You are so fucking selfish. Not once have you thought about what your loss would mean to the rest of us. Not fucking once! Get your shit together, Hen!” he yells and turns on his heel and walks out of my life.

  I end up with those cries that make you almost hiccup. I concentrate on evening out my breathing and trying to keep from having a panic attack. Kip just walked out on me. What the fuck did I do? Why did I do this to myself? Kip is my best friend, and he left me. I pushed him to that. This is on me. How is my world supposed to be less miserable without him in it? Fuck.

  I press the nurse button and request that no further visitors be allowed in my room. I suppose I need to decide if I want to live or die and formulate a plan to see it through. Neither decision will be easy to execute.

  I hear the sound of a guitar as someone nearby quietly strums it. I recognize the song, and as I walk down a long corridor the volume gets louder. The man sings “Walking Back to Georgia” by Jim Croce. I reach the end of the corridor and find a door slightly ajar. A glowing light filters into the entrance hall. I place my hand on the old wooden door and listen to it softly creak as I push it open.

  Caleb sits in an empty room with sunlight filtering through ancient, floor length, Victorian windows. A steady stream of smoke rises from a cigarette resting in nearby ashtray. He looks up at me from the stool he’s perched on and smiles, continuing to sing.

  I sit in the small opening at the floor of the window and peer out into a beautiful yard covered by glowing orange leaves. The autumn air has filtered into the home and wraps around me easing my mind. Candles blaze all over the room, dripping wax down their pillars. The room is colossal and vacant, yet I feel cozy, snug, and relaxed.

  “What did you think?” Caleb asks when he finishes the song.

  “It’s a great song. It’s always been my favorite Croce song,” I answer.

  “Mine too.”

  “Why were you singing it just now?”

  “Hoping you will listen,” he says.

  “I listened.”

  “Did you? You know what it feels like to lose a dream and dream alone?”

  “Were you this cryptic while you were alive? I swear I don’t remember you being so.”

  “Avoidance is unhealthy,” he states.

  “Hmmm,” I muse.

  “If I were there, you wouldn’t have gotten this bad,” he says.

  “Yeah, maybe not. I’m not sure how much more I was expected to take before I cracked. It was bound to happen whether you were alive or not.”

  “Perhaps. You’ve been through a lot.”

  I look away from him out the window at the expansive yard, and after a beat I find his handsome face again, “Yeah? What the fuck do you know? I lost a baby. Did you know that? Can you tell me why? Or don’t you have all the knowledge of the Great Beyond?”

  “I know what you’ve lost, Henley, and it’s a hell of a lot more than just your baby. I felt everything you felt while that was occurring, so I know how difficult it was. The baby wasn’t the beginning or end of what you lost.”

  “What do you know about my loss? You’ve been dead this entire time. You haven’t lost shit.”

  “No? I lost my fucking life! I have to stand on the sidelines and watch it all happen. I can’t stop Jagger from fucking up the one thing he loves and has always wanted most. I can’t stop you from putting blow up your nose or pulling a disappearing act. I can’t throw my arms around you for comfort. I can’t hold you when you scream out for me at night or stop you from having those horrible dreams. I’m just a fucking bystander, Hen. Jesus Christ. I don’t know why you lost your baby, but I can tell you it is safe and well.”

  We stare each other down as he struggles to reign in his emotions. I’m such a selfish bitch. Yeah, he lost his life, but I wish I could change the hands of time and get behind the wheel of that Porsche. I’d be the one on the sidelines. I’m not sure which fate is worse; perhaps the pain is just as extreme in both situations.

  I break the stare first and glance out the window. I take in the gorgeous landscape.

  “Where are we?” I ask out of pure curiosity.

  “I don’t know. Where did you take us?”

  “I didn’t take us anywhere.”

  “It’s your dream.”

  “Dreams are a hell of a thing… in consciousness and otherwise. I’ve chased down every dream I’ve had except saving you. I’ve played music with some of the most legendary people this world offers, and some would even say at my young age I’m a legend myself. I had an amazing childhood with the most amazing parents, grandparents, brothers, and friends. I’ve seen the world and met some of the most amazing human beings to walk it. Dreams took me there, and look where my dreams take me now,” I consider.

  “Your dreams brought you back to me, Hen. Don’t you see? You dream of me when you need direction, love, support, and comfort. You dream of me when you don’t know where else to go. I’m still here,” he says.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my life anymore,” I confess.

  “Then go back to where it all started.”

  “Where?”

  “Georgia.”

  “Walking back to Georgia, yeah?” I smile thinking of the song.

  “Or run back?”

  “Kip’s pissed at me. I can deal with almost anyone’s anger, but his is new and different and so unexpected. It hurts as much as losing you.”

  “I imagine. You’ve always been Kip’s anchor, and tonight you were human, a mere mortal. While he has every right to be pissed off at your decisions and mistakes, he doesn’t have the right to walk away from you. Do the right thing by him, but stand your ground. I think the thought of you dying just unhinged him a bit too much. You remember what it was like for him growing up, so take it easy on him and don’t forget who you are to him. You made yourself that person in his life, so you don’t get to take it away from him.”

  “Will he forgive me?” I ask afraid of the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “So… Georgia?” I ponder.

  “It’s where the dream began. It’s where we decided what to do with our lives, so it makes sense to find your new purpose there. Georgia will always be home, Hen. Your heart will always be in Georgia.”

  Chapter 3

  Henley

  Two Weeks Later

  I lift the machete in front of me and bring it down onto the brush, clearing the growth as I progress forward. Summer in Georgia is hot as hell, and sweat pours from my sober body. I’ve wondered over the past two weeks if I’m sweating any of the pain out. It doesn’t feel like it. Each day still seems like a struggle.

  “Favorite Otis Redding song?” Red asks as he and Cash follow behind me on his golf cart.

  “That’s a hard one. You remember my theory on Otis, yeah?” I ask.

  “That Otis has been the encouragement for child conception for half a century?”

  I chuckle, “That’s the theory. I’ve Been Loving You Too Long, These Arms of Mine, My Precious Love, and Stand by Me. I can’t pick just one.”

  “These Arms of Mine is the one that gets me,” Red confesses.

  “Why am I clearing this brush again?”

  “Well… I’m bored and don’t have my full strength back yet, so I needed to feel like I was doing something. Watching you clear the brush makes me feel l
ike I’m doing something. Also, you need to keep busy,” he ends quietly.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not blind little girl, or deaf, or dumb, or dead.”

  “No. You most certainly are not,” I reply.

  “Gets the best of us.”

  “What does?”

  “Numb.”

  “Numb?”

  “Been in this industry a long time. People had drug and liquor problems long before our society publicized everyone’s addiction. We all running from something. We all trying to hide something. We sure as hell all trying to numb something. Over the years, I seen amazing people fall in that trap because their daddy didn’t support or love them. Some didn’t have a daddy at all and they was angry about it. Some didn’t have it easy because they was black. Others had been hurt by somebody and was trying to run as fast as they could from that pain. And a select few lost someone they couldn’t live without, and drown the memory as best they could,” he explains.

  “How’d you know?”

  “With you? You was getting in trouble a lot, fighting and such, but it is written all over your face and heart. You hurt, and you fight the urge to run. Looks like you're runnin’ brought you back to Georgia this time though. That’s a start.”

  “You don’t want to ask me a million questions? Don’t you want me to tell you what I was using or how much or any of the other questions people want to know?” I ask.

  “Nope. Ain’t my fight. You want to tell me, tell me. Maybe you need to get it off your chest, or maybe you just need to sweat it out. You do what’s best for you, not for others.”

  “I didn’t necessarily like being high,” I confess.

  “Doll, it isn’t the high we chase. We chase the relief.”

  “We?”

  “I was angry at one time in my life. I was just a little Injun boy for a lot of my years and got tired of being shit on because of it. Hit the bottle too heavy for a time. Met your grandma, and she straightened my ass out. Don’t have a problem with a little nip here and there, cause I don’t feel the need to drown that anger. Anger ain’t there anymore.”