by K. S. Adkins
And with that, they backed up allowing us room to drive off. Shaking my head, I had to admit there were times her bravado scared the shit out of me and this was one of them. Pulling up in the yard, I explain who she was and why she was in town. I also let the cop know, “She has anxiety issues, you’ve got to be patient with her.”
“Noted,” was all he said, but she was given a full escort service which meant, for now, I could breathe. But we were booked separately, kept apart, and as the hours passed my own panic was building. I was not offered a phone call or an attorney yet. When a cop walked by I begged for news of her. “She’s fine,” he said quietly. “Had a rough go at first, but she’s been singing. Her cellmates won’t let anything happen to her, I promise you that. I’d worry about you at this point.”
He didn't understand I would always worry for the woman I loved.

The first attack sent me straight into the corner on a timeout and that happened within seconds of being pushed into a fucking cell. As in, I was in a cage with four other women. All, I will add, scared the ever loving shit out of me. Being behind bars did not suit me, and I wondered if anyone would care if I sucked my thumb. I don’t know how Chevy handled it as many times as he had, but I did know he had my respect. I was not cut out for prison—holding or otherwise.
It takes a lot to get me to the point of violence and my trigger is Chevy. Outside of defending him, I’m kind of a wimp. I didn’t seek trouble out or get in people’s faces. I was used to hearing the lies spread about me, but I never could tolerate anyone talking shit about him.
So when I saw red and went for it, I wasn’t thinking, only feeling. Only wanting to hurt the person responsible. Whether I did or didn’t is unclear to me because I honestly don’t remember anything until Chevy called my name.
Thank God I didn’t get my ass kicked while I fought for breath, scratched my arms up, and was at my most vulnerable. During attacks, I had no means of defending myself, and I hated it. Sensing my distress, a woman approached, knelt down, assessed me then told the rest to back the fuck up.
Rubbing my back and shoulders, she explained her son has anxiety and that it would be over soon. Unfortunately, it lasted a while and to help me, she never stopped talking. Focusing on the sound of her voice helped and when no one stepped up to make fun of me, I managed to level out.
But it left me exhausted.
They all took turns comforting me once I was in the clear and when I was asked, “Are you Tempest?”
I simply said, “Yes.”
None of them fangirled or pressed me for anything. If they had I’d have gone straight back into the corner, and I think they knew it. I used my call to contact Guy, who knew what to do. I assured him I was fine and that my concern was Chevy.
“Get him out, Guy,” I demanded. “We have to make sure his case gets tossed.”
“What about yours?”
“I don’t have any priors and no judge will find me guilty for defending myself. Just take care of Chevy first, please.” He disagreed, but promised it would be done.
That’s when the second attack hit.
Thinking of him in jail, not just a visit but long term. Losing him a second time, this time because he was protecting me when I wasn’t able to protect myself. I literally couldn’t handle it.
“Shh,” the woman said, pulling me into her arms again. “You’re alright, child, your man will be just fine, too. Tell us what happened.”
Through tears, anger, and debilitating fear I spilled my guts. Even though talking about it helped, nothing was helping with the guilt. Each of Chevy’s offenses were because of me. Had I not needed a babysitter, he wouldn’t be in this mess.
“Fucker deserved it,” said one.
“Don’t put me down for famous,” said another.
“What’s it like?” the youngest one asked.
“Once I make it on stage I feel invincible,” I explain. “When I’m not, I mostly feel hunted and scared.”
“You’re a bad bitch,” said one which was sweet but inaccurate.
“Only sometimes,” I shrugged.
“Nuh uh,” said another. “To do what you do you have to be a bad bitch. No way it’s easy, and no one likes motherfuckers in their shit. You did the right thing.”
“I’m not worried about me,” I whispered. “I’m worried about him.”
“He got priors?” I was asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well shit.”
“Tempest,” I heard from the desk across from the cell. “Chevy needs to know you’re okay, you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I said quickly. “Is he okay?”
“He’s worried about you, but you won’t be held long. Your attorney is on his way, sit tight.”
Good because another attack was coming, and coming fast, I looked up at my new clique and warned them, “If you don’t like opera cover your ears, I have to purge and it’s going to be loud.”
And so I did, for a really long fucking time while the girls held me. Winded, semi-relaxed, and currently inside of a huddle of possible felons, I felt as safe as I could without Chevy. But when they finally released me and told me they had to keep him, I didn’t suffer another attack. I lost my temper and when that happens I continue to lose it until I get my way.
Oh, and having money helps.

“She can sing,” the cop standing next to my cell listening to her purge said. The thing about her voice is, unless she’s in a sound proof room it travelled. And now we could add prison to the list of venues. “She signed a napkin for my wife, promised us tickets too. Totally getting laid tonight.”
“Lucky you,” I deadpanned.
“Paparazzi said he’s pressing charges against you both,” he offered, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure he’s just looking for his cut. Tempest called her attorney an hour ago and he’s on his way. I heard she’s being released, but you’re being held.”
“Figured as much.”
“Hold up,” he said while answering his desk phone. He nodded, said ‘uh huh’ a bunch of times, and ended with a ‘No shit?’ before coming back to me. “Looks like you’re free to go.”
“How’s that?”
“You’d have to ask her,” he laughed, shaking his head as if this shit were funny. “But I’d haul ass out front first, your woman’s about to give a press conference, and word is she’s pissed.”
“Hurry it up,” I growled, needing out of here. The second the key hit the lock I flew out, signed my name, collected my shit, and ran down the steps.
Rounding the corner to hit the next set, I came to stand next to her, but she gave me nothing. Her face was blank of emotion; proof she was pissed. But she was also tired, I saw the circles under her eyes that were there because of the attacks.
Holding her hand out to me, I move forward taking it. Looking off to her right she nodded and announced, “Now we can begin.”
The crowd’s eagerness made my skin itch. No one here cared about what happened today. They cared about getting paid. All these motherfuckers wanted a story, a piece of her and I was tired of it.
“My name is Tempest and today I have a few things to say.” At this declaration, you could hear a pin drop. “I suffer from severe anxiety that you, the media, exacerbate every time you yell at me, spread lies, and back me into a corner. Because of the actions of a few, the rest of you will also be punished.
“I had this crazy idea to come home to Detroit for the last leg of my tour. Unfortunately, the welcome I have received from some of you has been less than pleasant. Today, one of you went too far. I won’t tolerate my fans being in harm’s way, or my privacy being destroyed for the sake of a story. Music is my livelihood, gossip is yours.
“I’m here to make it known to anyone who thinks to intrude on my privacy that you’ve caused me distress for the last time. For every one of you who thinks to meet me with aggression, know that you’ll be met with aggression in return. It is no longer open season
on my private life. It’s now open season on yours. I’m disgusted by the lines some will cross for a story that doesn’t exist.
“Until further notice, all of my interviews will be cancelled. It’s because I love my fans, my city, that I’ll continue with the scheduled shows, but nothing more. You owed it to me to treat me fairly, but you have not done that. This is your only warning. Approach me again and you’ll be the gossip. Mark my words, I will bury you.”
When she said ‘thank you’ the crowd went into an uproar. Through it all, she stood there squeezing my hand, and I had never been more proud or more terrified. Tempest had just lowered the gauntlet against the very people who could help or harm her career. And when they reached a fevered pitch, she tuned them out, stood up on her toes, and… kissed me. In front of the world she claimed me again.
After the police escorted us back to our RV, I fell into the drivers seat ready to move. When it didn’t start, she shrugs and said, “Figures.”
“Rest,” I told her. “I’ll fix it.”
“Chevy,” she sighed, falling onto the couch. “It’s new which means it was tampered with. Trust me, this isn’t the first time.”
“Guy never told me any of this shit.”
“Since I was unaware you kept in touch with Guy, I can’t say why that is.”
“You spoiling for a fight, Pest?” Because I was.
“Hardly,” she actually snorted. “Guy’s got four voicemails from that idiot’s attorney, already. Shocker, he wants to talk settlement. Practice in the morning, I smell like a felony, and I never got my kabobs. Let’s not forget snuggling with possible murderesses, who I'll admit were sweet and would come in handy if I ever do need security. Oh, and keeping you out of prison long term. So no Chevy, I’m not spoiling for a fight because the fight never ends.”
“Because of me?” I accused, getting geared up. “Just fucking say it, Pest. You got these problems because of me.”
“As long as I’m in the business, I’ll have these problems regardless, Chevy.”
“In the year I’ve been gone you haven’t.”
“Only because Guy doesn’t engage anyone and when I get fed up enough to do something foolish, he pays them off so I don’t get the attention. But mostly, it’s because I avoid it by not going outside!”
“The fuck do you want me to say, Pest? That I’m sorry? Jesus Christ, I’m fucking sorry!”
“I’m not asking you to be!” she screamed and got in my face. “It’s me! Not you, me!”
“Are we really doing this again?” I asked her, throwing my hands up in defeat. “You don’t like some shit about yourself, fix it. While you do that, I’m fixing this goddamn tin can.”
Then moving her aside, I went outside alone. She didn’t follow, and for that I was glad. One, I didn’t want her to see it if it had been tampered with, and two, for when I called Guy.
“What now?”
“You see the conference?”
“Of course I did,” he snapped. “That’s what she needs, more fucking drama. She gets enough of that from you.”
“The rig was tampered with,” I told him.
“Fuck.”
“She said it’s happened before.”
“Fuck.”
“You tried keeping it from her?”
“Of course, I tried. But she’s nosey as hell.”
“Any leads?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“Taking her to a hotel,” I told him. “I have no tools here to fix the fucking thing, so I’ll get it towed and let a garage worry about it. She’s got practice in the morning and today wore her out, she needs a good night’s sleep.”
“What wore her out was worrying about you.”
“You still think I’m bad for her?”
“She lives for worrying about you,” he said, losing the attitude. “Always has.” When I stayed quiet, he asked, “Is she coping without the meds?”
“Hasn’t asked for them yet,” I stated proudly.
“Christ,” he whispered. “That’s good news I wasn’t expecting. Text me your location when you have it so I can keep everyone in the loop. In the meantime, I’ve got eyes on our boy Rick.”
“What’s he doing?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Yeah,” I bit. “I do.”
“He’s getting blown by a hooker. After that? Who the fuck knows.”
Hanging up with him, I headed back in to pack her up, but stop long enough to watch her vibe out to her headphones. It was moments like this she was at peace. It was moments like this I used to dream about forever with her.
Until she told me about the baby, I hadn’t considered kids. We were young, we wanted life on the road, we had time. So yeah, kids were a given someday. But now it was all I could fucking think about. Tiny Tempest with a round belly. Food cravings, hearing its heartbeat, painting his room, all of it. Not once did I ever think of myself as father material, then I saw the grainy photo. I saw his head, fingers, and toes. Now I wanted a house full. Hell, two house full.
I could understand her not wanting kids with me right now. My being back was a constant reminder of her loss. Our loss. But if that changed and she wanted a family, I’d be a lucky bastard. Fuck, she was everything to me. I just didn’t know what it would take to be everything again to her, too. If it meant changing, I wasn’t sure I had what it took, but I do know I’d try.

I loathed hotels.
Five star or one star, I could never get comfortable in a place where countless strangers slept, fucked, and God knows what else. I liked my own space and my own privacy, which is why I went with the RV after he left. Okay, fine, so I bought it because I was terrified of flying, too. The point is, I was uncomfortable being in this room and wasn’t a fan of change. So when I wrung my hands out in frustration while sitting on the edge of the bed, he picked up on it.
He was pissed at me, as usual, but I was pretty pissed at him, too.
Unfortunately, we were pissed at each other for different reasons. His would be because I put myself in danger and then in the clink. I was pissed because I didn’t know what in the hell he wanted from me. Because the fact remains, a year ago he walked away. No explanation, no call, no goodbye, nothing. To him it was simple; he’s back so I should just accept it. Only I couldn’t do that, not yet.
To Chevy, the world was black and white. My anxiety issues are a flaw and a wedge between us. He could never understand why mind over matter didn’t cure me. He doesn’t suffer from it, so to be fair, I can’t expect him to grasp it, but I wasn’t doing it for attention. I didn’t enjoy it. I was tired of feeling weak and scared all the time.
I tried therapy, meditation, and obviously, pills. For whatever reason he was the medicine that worked best, and I was forced to rely on him as much as I hated having to. And until he left, I never considered a life without him in it. Then he left me no choice and I spiraled. No one was more disappointed about that then I was. I failed at taking caring of myself.
“I tried,” I told him while he unpacks. Truth? I could watch him unpack for hours. Except, he hadn’t brought much which was another reminder that this was likely temporary. “I tried being strong. I didn’t want to lean on Guy, but you know what? I didn’t have a choice, I needed help. I’m tired of Guy having to take care of me. I’m sick of being sheltered because I’m afraid. And I’m real fucking tired of you making my fears sound like something I made up to keep you two around. I wasn’t always like this and you know it. I know you don’t like it, you think I can snap my fingers and make it go away. Don’t you think if it were that easy I would have?”
“You are strong,” he said, folding his jeans refusing to look at me. “But you also use it as an excuse. Not always, but when it suits, you do. You’re right we don’t know what it’s like for you; but the Tempest I know wouldn’t give into this shit, she’d fight it and she’d win. Me leaving didn’t make your problems worse, you did.”
At this I had nothing e
lse to say. Because the Tempest he knew was long gone. The new and improved version was afraid of crowds, panicked easily, and was waiting for him to get fed up and bolt again.
Chevy was smart, gorgeous, and lived for life on the road. What the three of us did worked, until it didn’t. I was so blinded by living my dream that I didn’t ask them if they were living theirs. The guilt I felt about that was off the charts.
Standing up, I gather my bag and a towel in favor of hiding in the bathtub. The only plus of this hotel was the huge tub that filled quickly and the endless supply of hot water. Sinking down and closing my eyes, I wondered if I should just sleep in here too.
“I took shit too far. I’m sorry, Pest.”
Cracking one eye open, I look at Chevy leaning against the jamb in nothing but a pair of loose fitting jeans with the top button undone. I could count on my hands how many times he’s ever apologized, and since he’s been back he’s said I’m sorry almost as much as he’s said fuck.
“I can’t help who I am any more than you can help how you feel.”
“I don’t like seeing you suffer,” he said taking a seat on the side of the tub. “Watching you struggle sucks because I can’t fix it for you.”
“I don’t need you to fix it for me.”
“The shit you go through just to get out there on that stage for two hours… is it still worth it?”
Well, no time like the present, I guess. “Yes and no,” I admitted, moving the bubbles around. “For those two hours, I don’t think about what it took to walk out there, or what happens when the set ends. For two hours I’m free. I like how freedom feels. But the stage isn’t the only way to be free. Which is why when the tour ends, I’m done.”
Chevy went silent on me which was fine. Making Detroit my last stop seemed like a good idea. Ending on a high note, in my hometown, one last time. I didn’t want to be famous, was not even remotely cut out for it. Denying I was famous wasn’t going to make it go away. Taking myself out of the public eye would.
