by A. R. Breck
The moment Neil pushes through the pale white doors, I break down and cry, bending at the waist and burying my face in my skirt.
I can hear Trish crying beside me, and then Willie's hand pushes me off to the side, shoving the both of us into the waiting room chairs. The plastic bangs against my spine, and it only makes me cry harder. "It's not going to do us any good to sit here and cry. Let's just wait and hope for the best," Willie says.
"I want to go home," I cry, wiping the tears from my face. "I feel so lost. That could be me right now. But Neil saved me. He pushed me out of Crow's way. That could be me, and my family would never know!" A sob rips from my chest, and I feel so incredibly desperate. "I just want to go home."
"Let's just sit here and wait. We can talk about it when we get some news from Neil, okay?" Willie says, his voice a little uncertain, a little possessive. It makes me feel uneasy, and I grind my teeth together with unease.
"Luna, will you go to the bathroom with me?" Trish asks, standing up from her chair. She wipes her red face, her skin discolored and blotchy from tears.
I nod, standing up and wiping my own face. We look for the sign and find it right away, holding each other's hands as we walk into the bathroom. Pushing open the heavy door, I walk straight toward a pale blue stall when Trish's fingers wrap around my arm. Her hand is shaky, tremors so heavy that my arm twitches. "Luna."
I look at her, confusion in my eyes, "What? What is it?"
She looks around for a few seconds, like someone, maybe Willie, will walk in here any moment. She sticks her finger into her bra, pulling out a wad of cash. She looks uncertain, but so damn sure of herself as she stares me in the eyes. "Take this. I saw you eyeing the airport. This is your time. Willie will never let you leave. Did you see the look in his eyes? He'll never let you go."
I feel her words in the depths of my heart. I know he won’t. There's been a look in his eyes since San Diego, a possessiveness that has no right to be there. Our relationship was never that serious, yet the look in his eyes is one that says he'll never let me leave him.
Never.
"But… where'd you get this?" I stare down at the money, eyes wide.
She winces, looking a little sheepish, "I left home with it. It's always on me." She rolls the money out, some of it faded, crumpled from being wet. "It's not in the best shape, and it's not much, but it should get you home. You want to go home, right?"
I nod, tears springing to my eyes. I don't know what waits for me, but I know I want to leave California. This place, it doesn't feel right.
But neither does taking Trish’s money.
"I can't take your money." I push the money toward her chest, and she pushes right back.
"Yes, you can, and you will." She grabs my hand, forcing my fingers around the crunchy bills. "I'm going to take care of Neil, and then I'm going home. I can call my parents and they can send me some money to get me home.” She takes a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears. “I know your family isn’t as wealthy. So, please, go home, and don't come back."
My fingers squeeze, clutching the bills. I shove the money into my bra, my cheeks damp with tears and my fingers shaky. I look at her, the words forming around my tongue, yet I’m unable to say them. I'll be forever grateful to her, and for some reason, I don't think I'll ever see her again.
"Thank you," I whisper.
She smiles, tears springing to her eyes. "It was fun, wasn't it? We had fun?"
"We had so much fun." I wrap her in my arms, pulling her against me. She comes willingly, her arms cinching around my ribs and squeezing tight.
"I wish Shauna would've made it home," she cries.
I step back and wipe my face, feeling my heart in my throat. Shauna was a good girl. She didn't deserve what happened to her.
"Me too."
"Well, I guess this is it." She turns around, pressing her hands against the sink. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, at our skin that feels permanently peppered with flakes of sand. Both of our hair is braided down our backs, since there isn't much else to do. Our clothes are faded and threadbare from the sun, and our eyes look like they've lived one million lives.
I have lived one million lives.
"This is it." I clench my hands at my sides, feeling like there's so much to say, but not sure how to say it. I don't know how to tell her how much her friendship has meant to me during some of my darkest days, how much I'm going to miss her. Saying what's written in my heart feels like an injustice in the emergency room bathroom, so I decide to say nothing at all.
"Goodbye, Luna." Her eyes lift to my face, watery as she glances at me.
"Goodbye." I turn on my feet, leaving her in the bathroom and walking back through the door. I stop, peaking around the corner, glancing out at the waiting room. I see the Willie's back turned, his blond hair dirty and messy as it falls along the back of his chair. His head is tilted toward the nurse’s station, as if he is sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for any type of news.
I take this as my cue, rushing in the opposite direction toward the doors. They automatically slide open as I walk up to them, and I run out, across the grass and away from the hospital. I end up back where the sign was and stop on the corner, bending down with my hands on my knees as I take in gasping breaths.
This is it. I'm going home.
I start running again, the soles of my bare feet slapping across the hot pavement as I make my way to the airport. People stop and stare at me, wondering why a girl is running barefoot through the city. I pay them no attention, excitement coursing through my veins at the thought of finally going home.
A part of me is glad I started this journey, but another part of me wishes I never would've left in the first place.
I get to the airport, cars and taxis and so many people walking about. Suitcases roll on the ground, and tears spring to my eyes as reality hits me.
There's no turning back now.
I walk into the airport, my skirt whooshing between my legs. The air conditioner blasts through the vents, and goosebumps break out along my arms. I rub my hands up and down my biceps, warming my skin as I get in line.
Slipping the money from my bra, I flatten it all out the best I can, just as the person in front of me walks away with a ticket.
"Next," the lady behind the desk says, barely looking up from her computer.
I take a step forward, placing my money on the counter and sliding it toward her. "I'd like a ticket home."
She looks up, staring at me.
Oh, right. "To Wisconsin. I'd like to buy a ticket to Wisconsin."
She blinks at me. "Which airport, ma'am? There are multiple airports in Wisconsin."
"Anyone. The soonest one you have available." I push the money toward her further, and she looks up at me this time, taking me in.
Her eyes travel from my dark, messy hair, all the way down to my bare stomach. It's like she can read my story in my appearance, and her face softens. "Let me see what I can do."
She clicks on her keyboard, her fingernails making the keys clack extra loudly. It feels like it takes her forever, her alternating between clicking with her mouse and clicking with her keyboard.
"Ah, here we go. There's a plane taking off to central Wisconsin in about four hours. Does that work?"
I nod my head, a smile breaking out on my face so wide my cheeks hurt. "That's perfect."
She takes my money, counting out what she needs and handing me back a much smaller stack. The small printer below her starts whirring to life, and a small ticket pops out. The lady tears it off and holds it out to me. "Do you have any bags you need to check?"
I shake my head. "No, nothing."
Her face frowns in confusion, but she nods. "Have a safe flight."
I take the ticket, sliding it from between her fingers and looking down at it. "Thank you." All I can read is the word Wisconsin.
I walk off, heading through the airport and looking for my concourse. There are small shops, restaurants, an
d gift stores. I curve left toward a small convenience shop, realizing I haven't drank anything in I don't know how long.
I grab a water, and a small bag of peanuts, slipping a twenty-dollar bill from the stack and setting my things on the counter. A younger guy behind the cash register gives me a smile, staring a little too long at my stomach. I wrap my arms around my midsection, drifting my eyes away from his and toward the magazine stand.
And everything stops.
Everything.
My hand reaches out automatically, almost in slow motion as I grab the magazine closest to me. Pulling it free, I bring it to my face and read the headline.
ROMAN HALL FROM CATACLYSM HAS MELTDOWN ON STAGE. TREATMENT? GIRLFRIEND TELLS ALL.
Girlfriend?
Roman has a girlfriend?
It shows a picture of him, looking so different, yet so much the same. He looks older, but I suppose he would after not seeing him in years. He has a pair of sunglasses on his face as he sings. It looks like this picture was taken during a concert. I don't need to look into his eyes, I already know what I'll see.
He's changed. Just as I've changed.
I drag my finger over the curve of his face, over the sharp edges that have formed over the years. Over his tan skin, and his dark brown hair. It’s like I can really touch him as my finger glides over this piece of smooth paper.
Except I’m not, and I can’t.
There's a heaviness in him that I can feel through the pages. A sadness and an anger that bleeds in the way he holds himself.
The pages crumple in my fingers as I pull it to my chest, lowering my head and letting out a quiet sob.
He met someone.
He's moved on.
"Miss, are you okay?"
I don't pay attention to him, taking this moment to grieve the loss that I know is gone forever. I thought we were soulmates. In the back of my heart, I always hoped one day we'd end up together again. I didn't even give it a second thought, just assuming that our hearts were one. I didn't anticipate him meeting someone else. Finding someone to give his heart to.
Maybe I shouldn't read too much into it, but if the media knows, it must be serious, right?
Another sob racks my spine, and I want to fall to my knees and wail. I don't do that, though. I just sniffle into the magazine and wish for the pages to swallow me whole.
"Um, do you need me to get someone?" the man behind the counter asks.
I shake my head, pulling my face out of the pages. I straighten it the best I can, sliding it back onto the rack. It’s crumpled and wet, but I don’t want it. I turn around, keeping my back to the counter as I walk out.
I know what I have to do.
"Wait, do you want your things?"
I don't pay attention to him, continuing my walk back toward the front desk. My eyes water, tears leaking down my cheeks. Someone comes up and asks if I'm okay, and I ignore them. My mind feels blank, zombie-like. I don't feel the cool air anymore. I don't feel the cold tiles against my bare feet.
I feel nothing.
I wait back in line, the tears seeming endless as they leak from my eyes. I don't wipe them away, feeling like they deserve their justice. They deserve to grieve, too. This will be the last time I cry over Roman Hall. I'm going to take this time.
The lady behind the front desk cocks her head to the side when she sees me again. Her eyes widen when she sees my tearstained face. "Are you okay?" She stands from her seat, leaning over the desk as if she can help me.
No one can help me.
I slide my ticket back across the desk, pushing it toward her. "I'd like to exchange my ticket."
She frowns. "Where would you like to go?"
"Hawaii."
She stares at me a moment, then sits back down, starting her clicking and clacking all over again.
"I have a flight that leaves for Maui in one hour."
"I'll take it." I feel dead inside as the words leave my mouth. It's not even something I'm sure I want to do anymore, but I do know one thing.
Home used to be wherever Roman was.
Now that he gave his love, his heart, his soul to someone else, I don't have a home anymore.
And I feel more lost than I ever have in my entire life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ROMAN
1999
"We'll miss you, Roman. Don't be a stranger," my therapist, Mr. Hyde, says to me as he grabs my hand. His shake is firm, while his other hand goes up to my arm, giving my bicep a firm squeeze. His blond hair looks yellow in the Florida sun, swept and combed so perfectly to the side, not a hair out of place. He’s a perfectionist, probably needs his own therapy, honestly. But him getting me to where I am now, I can’t complain.
The last six months spent in treatment was the best thing I've ever done. Not something that I wanted to do in the slightest. But I came here with a chip on my shoulder and a hole in my heart. Treatment was something that was coordinated between my manager, my parents, and my boys. They thought I needed it, even if I denied I had a problem at every turn. But walking out of here, I have to say it’s probably the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.
Six months ago, I was at the darkest point in my life. The only sustenance I had was drugs and sex. The high life of rock and roll and being famous gave me the fuel to keep going. But I realize that wasn't healthy, because I was sick on the inside.
"I won't," I say, sliding inside the taxi.
He taps on the roof of the cab, and I’m off.
Next stop? New York.
The taxi drives through the city, nothing but blue skies, palm trees, and green grass in every direction I look. I crack the window, and humidity and salty air slap me in the face. Florida is awesome, but this isn’t my home.
My parents ask why I don’t just come home to Wisconsin. Why I decide to continue being away from family, friends, and everything that I know and love. They’re worried that moving out to somewhere I don’t know anyone or anything is going to lead me down the same path I’ve been on the past four years.
They don’t understand that I’m not just moving anywhere. I’m moving to where I was always meant to go. I’m going to the place where I was supposed to build my life with Luna. We were supposed to grow there, chase our dreams. She wanted it so bad.
I’m doing it.
For her. For us.
She might not be here with me now. I might not know where she is, or what she’s doing, but she’ll come back. Because she’s mine. She always has been. She’ll be mine before she’ll ever be anyone else’s.
I’ll be ready, and I’ll be waiting.
It hasn’t been an easy road to get here, but here I fucking am. First, I had to come down from the drugs. That was terrible. Living off coke for years, you don't really realize how bad your addiction is. It takes a toll on you mentally and physically. I took it like coffee, because it kept me going when my life was always on the move. When I was broken and empty inside. Everyone on the road did it, and no one seemed like they were fucked up. We all seemed normal, just hopped up.
But coming down, I realized just how deep my addiction ran. I lost weight; I lost my color. My eyes lost their life. Coming back from that was hard, and treatment was something that I wanted to give up on multiple times. Say fuck it and walk out. But they wouldn't let me. Not the therapists, not my parents, not my friends.
They say this place is voluntary, but it wasn't. At least for me.
By far the hardest part was after I came down from the drugs. That's when I met my therapist, Mr. Hyde. He wanted to dive right into me. But not just into my thoughts, he wanted to delve deep into my soul. He wanted to figure out what made me tick. He wanted to know about each and every detail of my life.
My life isn't my life without Luna. I just didn't want to talk about her.
At that point, I hated Luna more than I hated myself. I was so angry at her for tearing apart the best part of me, of herself, of us. She threw us away without a second thought, and that made me so
damn angry.
I didn’t want to talk about her, I didn’t even want to think about her. I was sober for the first time in years and my mind ran a thousand miles a minute. My soul hurt for the first time in I don’t know how long, the ache so deep I felt it in my toes. I’ve been numb, and now I could feel every inch of pain I’ve been in, and my fucking God that shit hurt like a bitch.
But Mr. Hyde got it out of me, and it hurt worse than chopping my body into pieces. Figuratively, he made me bleed all over his ugly sofa. He learned about Luna, so much so that he grew fond of her. Of her ability to dance, of her love for me.
He ended up loving Luna nearly as much as I do. He told me he wants to meet her someday. I don't know how that would ever happen, and I even told him that. All he did was look at me and say, "I know true love when I see it. You'll meet again someday."
I fucking hope so, but every day that goes by is another day I don't get to be with her. It's another day wasted away. I think about her, it's something I can't stop doing no matter how hard I try. She's engrained in me, a part of me. There's no denying that. I don't even want to change it.
Mr. Hyde just wanted to find a way for me to learn how to live separately from her.
Isn't that what I've been doing for over four years now?
Living without her. Living my own life and letting her live hers.
He tells me no; I've done the exact opposite. Every song, every lyric, every fucking second of my life was spent drowning in her. I needed to learn how to live in the good, not in the bad.
He told me if I never learned how to be whole without her, I’d never be able to be whole with her.
I've been living in pieces for a long time.
Maybe longer than I know. All I’ve ever known was living on the road. Contact being fleeting. It's how I grew up with my dad being on tour most of the time. Luna was my rock when everything else was uncertain. She grounded me, she stuck by me, she loved every fucking piece of me. And I left her the first chance I got.
