by Sadie Grubor
"I suggest you leave." Mia's voice comes from right behind me.
I tense, unsure whether she's talking to Kristy or me.
"I'm his girlfriend," Kristy counters.
"Ex-girlfriend," Laney corrects, causing Kristy's face to redden.
"We all saw your interview," Kat adds, satisfaction all over her face.
"Yes, bravo by the way." Mia accentuates her sarcasm with slow claps.
"You don't know anything," Kristy hisses. "She's damn proof of the way he's treated me." She points a long, manicured finger in my face. "He's a cheating bastard."
Lack of sleep, stress, and the current situation causes something inside me to snap. I slap her hand out of my face, causing her to gasp.
"Then why are you here?" I ask, my voice cold and lashing. I step forward and she retreats, stumbling on her heels.
"If he is so awful and things were so terrible, why are you even here?"
"I…I love him," she responds, too quickly.
I snort.
"You love yourself and the attention. He broke it off and you don't like losing a toy before you're ready to toss it aside."
Her mouth parts, but my head is swimming and exhaustion washes over me.
"I'm so over this." I put my hands up, palms out, turn from Kristy, and walk to the room door. Reaching for the handle, I look back and lock eyes with Mia. "Take care of him."
Then, I leave. Every step to the elevator feels like a knife in my heart.
I focus my thoughts on Lucas, Kel, and Sean. And then I figure out what the hell I'm going to tell Sid when I get home.
Jackson
"Liz-ah?" My throat is so dry, my voice cracks.
Swallowing burns. I grab my neck.
"She's gone."
My mother's voice pulls me completely out of sleep and into a sitting position.
"Careful." She puts out a hand. "You'll rip out the IV."
She sits in a chair next to the bed. Following her eyes, I see the tube attached to the back of my hand.
"What—"
"Happened?" My mother finishes my question.
I look back to her face.
"You almost killed yourself," she says, her face a mixture of sadness and angry.
"Mom, I didn't—”
"Yes, Jackson, you did." She stands from the chair, looking down at me. "What is this?" She waves her hands over me and across my destroyed hotel bedroom.
Shit. Randall and those fucking people he brought with him.
"Mom, listen, it's nothing, really." I scoot back, leaning against the headboard.
"Nothing?" she repeats, her voice almost shrieking. I flinch.
I haven't heard her this mad since the time I went to jail for a bar fight while on tour.
"Is that your goal, to be nothing?"
"What the fu…uh…heck are you talking about?"
"You almost ended up as nothing." She drops back into the chair, desperation on her face. "The doctors found cocaine, ecstasy, and traces of LSD in your system. And let's not forget the amount of alcohol in your blood."
I open my mouth, but she puts her hand up, stopping me.
"You had a fever of one-hundred and six, Jackson. And that was after the doctor found you in an ice bath." Large tears trail over her cheeks. "If it weren't for Liza, you would’ve probably had a stroke or heart attack. You could be in a coma right now!" Her shriek makes me wince, but it's her tears that hurt most. "You could still have permanent damage to your heart or kidneys. Do you realize that? You still have to go get more tests to make sure you don't."
I bring my hand to my chest, trying to rub the ache away. Tears burn behind my eyes. I've fucked up so much. The drugs, lies…Liza. Fuck, where is Liza?
"You aren't my son."
I stiffen, a tear escaping the corner of my eye.
"You aren't my Jackson," she hiccups. "You're a rock star cliché and it's pathetic," she says, the last word spoken with pure disgust.
"Why, Jackson?" Her question is a plea to understand.
"Why did you hide your illness?" My voice is sharp in defense.
Her body tenses, just a bit, before a heavy sigh leaves her.
"I already explained this to you," she says, her voice quiet, tired.
"Because you're selfish." Even I hear the spoiled child in my tone.
"If that's how you see it, then fine, I'm selfish. I found out I have breast cancer. The doctors ran through the tests, treatments, possible outcomes, and all the variables surrounding my life."
"You're a part of my life, too." Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision.
"I'm sorry it hurt you. That was never my intention." She takes a deep breath, capturing my hand with both of hers. "Jackson, my treatment and surgery will take so much from me. I know it's hard for you to understand, but, as a woman, to have my breasts taken because of this…" She sniffs, and I squeeze her hand. "No matter the choice I made, it is life altering, but the decision I've made now feels like a loss of my femininity, my identity."
She pauses once more, taking stuttering breaths.
"The mastectomy will remove a part of my body, but it's also a part that defines me as a woman. The chemo will ravage the inside of my body, including the parts that make me a woman. Obviously, I wasn't planning on more children and my body already started the process of taking away that possibility, but for it to be taken like this…" she hiccups. "This feels cruel and unfair. I needed to take my diagnosis on without sympathy and fear from others. I hope you can someday understand, but even if you don't, Jackson, I wouldn't change my actions if I could."
The silence isn't uncomfortable. In fact, my thoughts are anything but silent. My mom is going through something I couldn't possibly understand—not completely. I would never know what it's like to be a woman or to have pieces of that stripped away so severely.
"Why would you do this to yourself?" Mom breaks the silence and my thoughts.
"I…" I try to think of an answer. First, one that will satisfy her. Second, the truthful one. All I can come up with is: "It hurt too much. I needed to escape."
She sighs heavily.
"Relationships end. It's not a reason to do this." Her hand slips into mine and grips tight. "You're too smart for this."
Tears flow over both our cheeks.
"It got out of hand," I choke out.
"I know, baby."
She moves from the chair to the bed and embraces me like she did when I was young, her arms tightening around my shoulders.
"I've fucked up."
"Language," she scolds quietly.
"You sure as hell did," Christopher says, announcing his presence.
Mom releases me and sits back, staying next to me, her hand back in mine.
"Go ahead, Chris, get your I told you so out of the way." I drop my head back against the wall above the headboard. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and wait.
"Are you done with this shit?" His simple question brings my head up and our eyes meet.
He stands at the foot of the bed, arms over his chest, and a serious expression on his face.
"What shit?" I sneer.
My mother tenses, in part from our cursing and because she knows how we fight.
"Don't give me your fucking attitude. I'm not the asshole who almost killed himself because he needed to get high. I'm not the asshole who scared off the one woman who is probably truly it for him."
Clenching my jaw, I glare at him.
"You don't know a fucking thing about Liza and—”
"I know." He cuts me off with two words, retrieving my worn, folded up notebook from his back pocket. He throws it on the bed. "I fucking know, Jackson."
"Stop going through my shit," I sneer.
"Then start talking to me," Chris demands. "You haven't written like this since…Christ, Jackson, I've never seen you write like this." He points to the notebook.
"We don't talk," I scoff.
"That's bullshit and you know it!" He rounds the bed, sta
nding on my right. "We don't chat over tea and fucking cookies, but our music is our conversation. You and me in the studio, that's our talking."
Dropping my head, I focus on the fibers in the blanket covering my lap.
He's right.
"You haven't really been in there with me for over a year. Even before you and Laney split."
I close my eyes and bite my tongue in an attempt to stop the sob wanting free.
"So, are you done with this shit?" The plea in his question surprises me.
Looking up, I see the watery glaze of his eyes.
"Yeah," I respond, feeling my mom squeeze my hand.
Christopher's shoulders relax.
"The drugs?" he pushes.
"Done," I whisper.
"You'll get help," my mother interjects, and I nod.
"We talk?" Chris continues.
"Yeah." My eyes meet his.
Chris gives a hard nod.
"Good." He inhales deep before releasing the large puff of breath. "Now, we've got to talk about Kristy."
My eyes narrow. "Is she here?"
"She was, but after the girls, and Liza," he gives a pointed look, "got ahold of her, she left making a lot of threats."
"I'll take care of Kristy." Una steps into the room. "She won't be posting or talking about Jackson anytime soon."
"Are you sure about that?" Chris turns the pointed look on her.
"Christopher, can I just tell you how much your confidence in me over the past couple years makes me feel warm and fuzzy?" Una tilts her head.
Mom muffles a quiet snort.
"It should," Chris states, turning back to me. "I'll be sitting in for you at Hidden Talent."
"What?" I furrow my brow.
"You are going straight into rehab. You will need at least a week to detox," Una informs me.
"I have things to take care of," I protest.
"You need to give her time." Laney's voice is the last thing I want to hear.
"Great, Laney, you really think you're the best person to come in here?" Chris snaps.
"Christopher," Mom warns.
She releases my hand, slips from the bed, and walks toward the door.
"I believe these two need to talk." Mom takes Chris' arm.
"No, we don't," I state, causing everyone to look at me.
"Jackson—”
I stop Laney before she can say anything else.
"There isn't anything left to say." I shrug.
"Come on." Mom pulls Chris out of the room and Una follows them, closing the door behind her.
Dropping my head back against the wall, I close my eyes and sigh.
"I'm so sorry," she says, her emotions already affecting her speech.
"Don't, Laney."
"I didn't know it would become this." A sob escapes her. "It's my fault and I'm so sorry."
Sorry is just a word. Liza's words come back to me. Liza. She's the one I want here with me. I need to make her see how sorry I am, but ‘sorry’ is just a word.
Epiphanies happen and this time, it feels like a slap to the forehead with a brick. I need to fix my shit and show her she means more than I ever planned.
Laney's sobbing pulls my attention back to her.
"Laney, stop crying."
She hiccups, wiping her face and watching me.
"This isn't your fault." I shake my head. "Yeah, you broke us, but you aren't responsible for breaking me."
Her eyes widen.
"I made my choices. Even before we split, I thought everything was perfect. Chris had a baby and got engaged. Elliott is fucking married, adopted Ryan, and has a baby on the way. Fuck, even Jimmy got married. I thought it was next for us, but I didn't take the time to think about what was right for us."
Laney sits in the chair my mom previously occupied.
"I never meant to hurt you," she whispers.
"I know." I nod. "But you did."
"I know," she mimics.
"And it's okay."
Our eyes meet. Hers are unsure and apprehensive.
"I never would've found Liza if you hadn't." I smile.
The worry lines melt from Laney's face.
"She's the one, huh?" Her question is a mix of happiness for me and sorrow for what we lost.
"Yeah, she is." I grin wide.
"Well, she has Kat's approval after the way she handled Kristy." Laney laughs, wiping tears from her face.
"I think I need to hear more about this." I reach a hand out to her.
She leans forward and takes it, careful not to touch the IV.
"Then, dude, sit back and let me tell you about the catfight you missed." Elliott pushes through the door, striding right to the bed and plopping on the end.
Slowly, Serena waddles in, with the rest of the group in tow. My chest warms, surrounded by my family. There's only one thing missing.
Liza.
Liza
Without Julia arranging my ride back to the apartment, I don't know how I would've managed. Having left my cell phone, bag, and shoes behind, I don't think any taxi driver would've let me in their car without verification of funds.
Taking a deep breath, I knock on my own apartment door. It flings open and Sid stands in her black, I Make Boys Cry t-shirt and cotton capris.
Our eyes meet and my chin wobbles.
"Come here," she orders without giving me time to move. She reaches out, pulling me into her arms. We stand, embracing, for a few very long moments. It feels nice, but not as great as it usually does.
"You okay?" she asks in a whisper.
I begin to nod, but realizing the lie, I shake my head and bury my face in her shoulder.
One hand rubs my back while the other releases me to close the open door before guiding me to the fold-out bed. She sits us on the edge and I lay my head on hers.
"Is he okay?"
"I think so." My voice is low, matching hers.
"What do you need me to do?" she asks. I lift my head, looking at her in confusion.
"There isn't anything to be done." I shrug. "He's got some serious problems to handle." Sniffing, I rub my tingling nose.
"You're right. He does," she agrees, letting her arm fall away. "And you can't fix his problems either."
"I didn't say I could." Defensiveness sharpens my words.
"But you're thinking it." She raises her brows and continues before I can say anything else. "I know you. You're a fixer. You've been trying to fix my shit for years, but each person has things no one else can fix."
I straighten my spine, square my shoulders, and open my mouth, but close it, knowing she's right. I've spent years trying to make Sid realize she's better than she treats herself. She's better than her hump-him and dump-him one-nighters, a habit she's created to avoid being hurt again.
"No one could tell you what to do when you had your mind set to move out here with a toddler. You can't make him straighten his shit out. No matter how much you want him to."
I let my shoulders sag. I've gotten too attached.
"I know," I say weakly, my voice having lost its edge.
"He's lost, Liza."
My eyes meet Sid's once more.
"He's famous, known, and…Christ, the size of him alone makes him hard to miss, but…"
"But what?" My throat tightens and my eyes burn with unshed tears.
"He's lost himself in the sea of celebrities, drugs, alcohol, and fame. It's up to him to find himself and get his shit together." Reaching out, she takes my face between her hands. "You can't fix him."
I nod and she releases my face.
"Okay?"
With a deep breath, I nod in agreement.
"I'm gonna need to hear you say the words," Sid presses.
"Okay. I can't fix him." The verbal confirmation satisfies her, but a deep finalization and fear resonates within me. I honest to God understand there isn't anything I can do to fix Jackson, but what if I've just been a part of the high?
What else do you think you are? This isn't a d
amn movie. Time to let it go and walk away. He has family to help him.
"Everything okay?" Kel's voice surprises me.
"Yeah." I wipe my face.
"Is he alright?" Kel's question panics me.
He knows. What if Lucas saw what happened?
"Calm down," he soothes. "I woke up when you guys were trying to get him out the door. I checked on Lucas and Sean. They were out cold and don't know anything about it."
"Know about what?" Lucas yawns the question.
"That we are going out to breakfast!" Sid jumps up and flails her arms over her head. "So, go get your buddy up and let's hit IHOP. Aunt Sid's got a need to stuff her face with pancakes and pig."
Kel's face lights up and he rushes off to get dressed.
"Thank you." I stand and touch her shoulder.
"Don't thank me yet. You're paying." She grins. "And you better hope they have the never-ending pancake deal. Big girls like to eat."
I roll my eyes at her self-deprecation but finally smile. It's not a complete smile, though. The accepting of this loss is still too raw.
Chapter Fourteen
Liza
"So, what's the song plan for this week?" Sid asks, fiddling with the neon rainbow photography portfolio on her lap. Before I can answer, she complains, "I hate carrying this thing. Tell me again why I couldn't just bring my Surface to go through the pictures?"
"The song is chosen and I'm all ready to record it tomorrow. As for the portfolio," I adjust a corner from poking my leg, "he wasn't specific on what he wanted to see, so it's best to have them both. He may prefer physical photographs to digital." I shrug.
With a heavy sigh, she sits back in the uncomfortable bus seat.
"What song did you choose?" she asks, brushing lint away from a black tee with Got Milk? in bold, white lettering across her double Ds.
"Shape of My Heart," I respond.
"By Sting?" She studies my face.
I nod.
"I hate how sad you are." Her lips purse and brow furrows.
"I'm fine." I give a small but sincere smile.
"Mmhmm." Keeping the pursed lips, she cocks one brow, disbelievingly.
"Look, it's our stop," I announce, changing the subject.
Her attention turns once more to the portfolio she put together on my apartment floor after a trip to Kinkos and a supply store. Taking a deep breath, I do my best not to wonder how he is.
