by Carian Cole
“I’m so sorry, Piper,” Ditra says when we get in the car. “I know this isn’t how you wanted things to go.”
“That’s a massive understatement,” I reply, digging a small pack of tissues out of her glove box.
“So he wouldn’t even see you or talk to you? Nothing?”
“Nope. The only person he’ll talk to is Reece.”
She pulls out of the airport and cuts off a driver in a blue truck, who flips us off. Dee is totally oblivious, and just keeps talking.
“What are you going to do?”
“What can I do? My hands are tied. He doesn’t want to talk to me, and now he’s been transferred to a full-time psychiatric treatment facility for the rich and famous.”
“I don’t know…maybe it’s time to just let this go,” she says hesitatingly.
I turn to look at her, but her eyes are glued on the road. “Let go of what?”
“Him. The relationship. All of it.”
“What?”
“Piper, you’ve been up and down with this guy for like fifteen years. Every time you think things are good, it all comes crashing down. But this? This is really just…beyond comprehension.” I open my mouth to interrupt her but she just keeps on talking. “He threw himself off a freakin’ roof. You said they found drugs in his bloodwork and in his room.”
“Not drug drugs, Ditra. They were prescriptions. That’s totally different!”
She gives me the wicked side-eye. “Okay, Piper, but he’s not supposed to be mixing them all up into a cocktail. I know you love him, but this guy has got some serious issues that can’t be ignored anymore. It’s worse than we even thought. He’s not just some random homeless guy turned rock star who has a drug and alcohol problem. Now we find out he’s got a lifelong history of some kind of mental illness.”
“Don’t say it like that!” I sob. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“You have to hear it. This is the father of your child. You have to think about her.”
“Of course I’m thinking about her!”
“Do you really want someone like that near your daughter? Or in your life? Is this honestly the type of guy you want to marry and have kids with? When the hell does it end with him? I’m not even involved with him and I’m exhausted and just done with it all. I can’t even imagine what you must feel like. And now he won’t even see you or talk to you? He just lays this epic bomb on you and then hides? Fuck that!”
I want to throttle her for her harsh comments but I know she loves me and is genuinely worried about me so I refrain from smacking her upside the head. Reece and I talked about this before I left. We knew most people wouldn’t be supportive or understanding. I just wasn’t expecting to have to deal with this kind of reaction so soon.
After I give myself a moment to calm down, I fix my runny eyeliner with a tissue and then attempt to talk to her without screaming and crying.
“First of all, he didn’t do any of this on purpose, Dee. He’s not trying to hurt me. I believe that with every part of myself. And he’s not hiding, he’s sick. Now he can be properly evaluated and diagnosed—for the first time in his life, I might add. The doctors are very optimistic that with the right medication and treatment, he’ll get better and hopefully won’t have these episodes anymore. I mean, even without treatment, he’s led a pretty productive and functional life. So with treatment, he should be okay.”
“Well, Jesus, I really hope so, but what if he’s not?”
“Please try to understand how hard this is for me. You’re right—I’m exhausted. I’m confused out of my mind. I feel betrayed; I feel like I failed him. I’m upset he won’t see me but I also understand that he feels awful and he needs time to come to grips with what he’s feeling before he can deal with what I’m feeling. This is about him right now. He’s sick, and he needs to get better. I have to deal with my feelings about it separate from him.”
“But how is that fair for you? Isn’t this almost abusive? You get your heart broken and now what? What happens to your wedding plans? You’re just in limbo now? Left to be an emotional mess all by yourself? I’m sorry, Piper, but I don’t like this at all. I feel bad he’s sick but damn, you do not need or deserve this at all, and neither does Lyric. What are you going to tell her now that he’s going to be out of her life for who knows how long while he’s at some glorified spa?”
That’s another hurdle that I’ve sat up at night thinking about.
“I’m going to tell her he’s touring with the band and it’s taken longer than we thought. I’ll have to take it one day at a time with her. The last thing I want to do is turn her against him in any way. Reece thinks that when Blue is feeling better that hopefully he’ll call her and keep their communication and relationship going. She doesn’t have to know where he really is.”
“Hello? She’s not a baby anymore. She reads. She goes online. She’s going to find out what happened eventually. Some web sites are already speculating and spreading rumors.”
My breath catches in my throat. “What? Already? Are you serious?”
She nods. “Yeah. Billy has been watching to see if anything popped up and a few of the rock music forums have some threads started. I think he said right now they’re saying he’s in rehab and had a meltdown after announcing the break-up of the band, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they dig up the truth. They always do.”
“Shit.” I lean my head into my palm. “I can’t believe this.”
“This is what I’m saying. Is all this really worth it? Do you really want this to be your life? Don’t you want nice and calm and….” She pauses and struggles for words. “Normal? No insanity? Like me and Billy have? You guys aren’t married. You can still leave him and no one would blame you at all. You’re allowed to walk away, Piper.”
My blood is close to boiling from her hammering. She will never understand that leaving Blue is not even an option in my mind.
The buildings and trees outside blur by as we drive past, and I stare at them in a daze. That’s how my life feels right now, like a dizzy blur, everything just fading into each other with no clear beginning or end. Ditra is right that I’m in a limbo. I hate it, and I wish I could change it, but I also have come to terms with it.
This is my life—the life I share with Blue.
“I love him, Ditra. That’s all there is to it. I don’t need to say the vows, they’ve been in my heart forever. Better or worse, sickness and in health—whatever life throws at us. I’m in it one thousand percent.”
“I think you’re totally crazy….” She shakes her head and glances over at me. “But I also respect the hell out of you, too. I just hope you’re okay through all this. I kinda love you, ya know.”
“Then just be here for me, Dee,” I almost beg. “Don’t bash Blue, or my feelings for him. Just be my friend, please. That’s what I need.”
She reaches across the car and grabs my hand, squeezing it hard in hers. She lets out a long sigh as she stares out at the road in front of us.
“Fine. If that’s what you want, you got it. I don’t want to lose you,” she says softly. “But I have one request. I want you to see a therapist. I’ll go with you if you want. I just think we have to take care of you, too, because it’s not just about him. You matter just as much. He’s not the only one messed up here, Piper. You are, too, and it’s been building up for a long time. Lyric needs at least one of her parents to be mentally stable.”
I nod in agreement, afraid to speak because a flood of tears is threatening to come pouring out.
Chapter Sixty
Every time my cell phone rings, I jump and grab it, hoping it’s Blue. Today marks eight weeks since I left California, so when my phone rings I’m hoping all kinds of hope that it’s him, but it’s Reece’s number on my screen.
“Hi,” I say as my stomach twists into knots of anxiety.
“Hey. How are you guys doing?”
I get up from the couch and move to my bedroom so Lyric can’t hear my conversation. “We
’re good. Nothing new, just doing our usual stuff.” The usual being crying most of the night while hugging Blue’s pillow, seeing a therapist twice per week, and eating my weight in ice cream and lattes.
“Good.”
“How are you doing?”
“Eh. Feeling kinda overwhelmed and being pulled in a shit ton of directions. I’m okay, though.”
Do I detect a hint of sadness in his voice? Or do I just analyze everyone now, afraid they might be having a mental break? I’ve searched the internet for signs of depression and suicidal thoughts in others, and this could very well be a red flag.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
I don’t pry into Reece’s life, even though a part of me wants to. He knows everything about Blue and me. We’ve talked for hours, but always about me and Blue. It’s usually me rambling on and on. Most of the time I wonder why he even takes the time to call me because I’m sure he’s tired of hearing my voice and having to pacify me. I know something is going on with him and the mother of his child, and I wish he would open up to me and tell me what’s going on. Who does Reece talk to about his problems? Blue? Someone else? No one?
“I’m fine,” he says. “I talked to Blue on the phone this morning.”
My heart beats faster just at the mention of his name. “How is he?” My voice strains over the lump in my throat.
“He sounded really good. Before I say anything else, he said to tell you he loves you. And he said to tell you he loves Lyric, and Mickey, and Archie, too.”
“Did he really?” A mix of happy and sad tears fall down my cheeks.
“No lie. You’re the first thing he asked me about. I told him you’re doing good. I’m supposed to keep the conversation upbeat for him.”
I frown slightly with jealousy and frustration. Reece has been to several therapy sessions with Blue at the treatment facility. He gets to see him, and hear his thoughts. He gets to ask questions and be involved and understand.
I get a black hole of questions.
“Doesn’t he want to talk to me himself?” I don’t want to ask this question, but I can’t stop myself either. I have little self-control lately.
“He says he’s not ready yet.”
The happiness I just felt is sucked out of me like a vacuum. “But why?”
He breathes into the phone. “It’s really not for me to say to you, Piper. And believe me, I hate being in the middle like this, but I care about you both. I’m trying to keep a bridge between you two. He talks about you a lot—more than he talks about anything else. He’s petrified. He’s not ready to face you and how he’s made you feel. He’s afraid it’s going to send him over the edge. He doesn’t know what to say to you to make things better. He feels like nothing is enough and he can never make this up to you. He’s afraid you might never feel the same way about him.”
The ache in my chest grows heavier. “He doesn’t have to say anything or make anything up to me. Please make him understand that. He doesn’t have to apologize. We don’t have to talk about any of it at all. I just want to hear his voice and tell him how much I love him and miss him. I want to tell him how Mickey learned how to sit up like a gopher and how Lyric is playing Pink Floyd songs on her harp and I want to hear if he’s seen any rainbows lately and—” A sob catches in my throat and I can’t say anymore.
“The doctor is working on all of that with him.”
“I just miss him so much.”
“I know you do. Don’t give up, sweetheart, okay?”
“I’m not. And I won’t. It’s just really hard because I feel so alone in this.”
“I get that you feel like he’s given up, but he hasn’t.”
I collect those words and wrap them up in a nice pretty virtual bow so I can unwrap them and hear them again later when I need them.
“Thank you…for saying that. It means a lot….”
“There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he states. “Blue wants to come clean.”
“Clean?” I open one of the bedroom windows for fresh air and stand in front of it, looking out at the dragon statue Blue put in the rock garden. “About what?”
“About the suicide attempt, his mental illness, the drug use. Everything. He wants to let Vic release a new statement. He might do an exclusive interview when he feels up to it.”
This is unexpected news, especially after the band’s management and PR team went through so much to cover it all up.
“He really wants to do that?”
“It was his idea. He thinks people should be made aware of depression and mental illness, instead of hiding it like it’s some big-ass taboo thing. There’re other musicians in the facility, and they’re thinking of starting like a non-profit to help others. I think he wants to try to get some sort of good out of this, Piper. He’s got a massive fan base, he’s in a good position to spread the word, so to speak. I think it’ll get him a lot of respect. And if it makes him feel better, he should do it. I told him I’d do whatever I can to help him. The whole band’s behind him on this.”
I’m filled with pride for Blue—for wanting to face this and let the world know, and to try to help others. It shows he’s getting stronger. I just wish he could also face me.
“I think that’s great,” I finally say. “He’s right, it shouldn’t just be hidden away and swept under the rug. Maybe if it was talked about more, people suffering wouldn’t feel so alone. They’d be more open to talking about it, right?”
“Some might. That’s what he’s hoping.”
“Do the doctors have any idea when he might go home?” As the words leave my mouth I wonder where Blue considers home now. In Seattle? Here in New Hampshire with me? In California where the fancy facility and doctors are?
“Not yet. He’s not being kept there. Right now he wants to be there until he feels ready. It’s a good place. You’d be surprised how many musicians, actors, and actresses are there.”
I wish I could somehow get more answers. My therapist keeps telling me to just be patient and supportive with Blue, but to also live my life, and focus on what I need and what makes me happy. Much easier said than done, though. I’ve gone through so many stages of emotions—denial, anger, betrayal, abandonment, devastation. I’ve worked hard with my therapist to not let this all drag me under, but it’s hard.
“Well, I should get going. Lyric is waiting for her lunch,” I lie. “Thanks so much for calling, Reece. When you talk to Blue, please tell him I love him with all my heart.” I swallow and wet my lips. “And please tell him I’m not going anywhere.”
I end the call and stare out the window at the light drizzle falling, hoping a rainbow will appear to touch the sky with color. I’ll never be able to see gray clouds and rain without thinking of Blue.
I’ve become one of those women who deals with her problems by doing insane amounts of housework. As soon as I hung up the phone, I cleaned all the bathrooms, vacuumed the entire house, cleaned the cat box, and came close to re-painting the front door. I decided to save it for another day when I’m feeling emotionally neurotic.
And then, just to make sure I obliterate the past two hours of keeping my mind busy and in a healthy place, I put on the recording of Blue’s last performance—the live TV show he did. I haven’t been able to watch it before today, but now I suddenly feel like I can’t go another second without watching it. Maybe there was something I missed when I watched it live that night—like a sign that he was struggling. I sit on my bedroom floor with my face approximately two feet from the screen and watch the man I love come alive.
Seeing him so vivid, looking so confident and in control on the stage is a blow to my heart and only makes me miss him a hundred times more than I already do. Glued to the screen, I watch his every movement and look for a glint of sadness or mania in his eyes, but I don’t see anything out of the norm for him. Blue always has a darkish, sort of sensual and brooding aura on stage and this night was no different.
His voice does what it always does to me—ca
resses me like a warm breeze, leaving tiny goosebumps over my skin. But this time I listen to the lyrics of the new song more closely….
If I could stay, I think I would
If I could’ve saved you, I think I would
If I could bring you with me, God knows I would
But I’m on this road alone, doing nothing that I should
I wish I didn’t love you
I wish you didn’t love me, too
I wish I could change the things I do
I wish none of this was true.
A chill slides up my spine. Blue always expels his feelings through his lyrics. Were these words a cry for help? A surrender? A goodbye? Or just the words to a mellow love song that was suitable for a television audience?
And then there’s Acorn’s collar. Why didn’t I question him that night on the phone about the faded collar and tags that were wound around his wrist? I just assumed it was a tribute of some sort to his dog. Was he trying to say something?
I touch his image on the TV screen as the cameraman zooms to his face, and Blue gives a quick smile, then looks down, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
At the time, I thought his smile at the camera for me was sexy, but watching it with the knowledge I now have, his expression changes as the camera pans out. The smile fades, his eyes darken as they lower toward the floor, and he looks completely overcome with sorrow.
The camera moves to Reece, then Koler, and when it swings back to Blue, he looks normal again. But I saw it—that desperate, grief-stricken look.
I wish I had seen it that night, but would it have changed anything? What would I have done, other than ask him if he’s okay? And if I did, what would his answer have been?
“I’m just tired,” as he always says, or “I’m thinking of hurling myself off the roof”?
I’m sure the latter never would have come out of his mouth.
“Mom?”
I tear my eyes away from the screen to see Lyric standing in the bedroom doorway. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?”
