Page 25 of Unbound
I stare out the window. It’s easier than looking at them. I can’t look directly at anyone these days. “Nobody asked you to clean up anything.”
“No, you’re right.” Beck snorts, as if he knows my excuses and every fucking word about to come out of my mouth. “Nobody asked us, but that’s what we do. That’s what fucking boys do but no more. Your shit, it’s starting to effect all of us, not just you here. This is Torque. This is us. It’s where we have to draw the line.”
I nod, but don’t look up. My heartbeat remains steady and I stay composed, for now, but it’s only a matter of seconds before that changes. “I had a bad night, I’m sorry.”
Linc takes a step toward me but stops himself before he gets too close. He sweeps his hand through his black hair, which is longer than usual and brushes it to the side so it’s curling up at the ends. “That’s just it, Rawley, it’s not justonebad night, every night is a bad night, and it’s been like this for months.”
“We followed you to Seattle because we thought getting away from Lebanon,” Beck adds, “from Sophie… we thought that’s what it would take for you to get your head out of your ass and focus on the band. You said you wanted this, but all you’ve done since we got here is drink, smoke, snort and fuck.” He’s disgusted with me, spent, and sighing at the sight of me. “Jesus, Rawley, I’ve know you since we were five, and I don’t even fucking recognize this bent motherfucker in front of me!”
Vindictively, I smile and look up with that look on my face. The one they know. The one where I’m close to laying into them. Pulling the cigarette from my mouth, I hold it at bay. “Are you both going to just stand there and fucking criticize me or do you actually have a goddamn point to this?”
This is fucking stupid and they know it. We’ve been through shit together. I’m not even talking about the everyday shit where we were running from the cops because we pulled off small town mischief. I’m talking about the heavy life changing crap. The sobering shit like my father dying and Beck’s sister committing suicide in front of him when we were sixteen. We’ve been through it all, the good, the bad, the fucked up, and I always with the moto of I got your back no matter what. In a sense, everything our friendship’s built on is the ugly we don’t talk about because it’s unspoken. It’s I’ll be there, anytime anywhere, because you’re my boy.
It’s unspoken until now. Now… it’s not wordless. But the thing is, it’s not meaningless. It never was. Only now, it’s accusing, consequential and fucking real.
It’s never easy to know how people truly think of you, but in this case, it’s fucking insulting.
Beck looks down and releases a deep breath. “I found your phone outside next to your drunk ass when we got home last night. When I picked it up, I saw a text from your mom. She wants you home for Red’s wedding in two weeks. I called her this morning to let her know you’d be there.”
“Fuck you.” I laugh, placing the cigarette back between my parted grin. It’s all I can do. “You had no right to talk to my mom.”
“No, fuck you, Rawley!” Beck stands, arms open and wide. I look right through him at the wall. “I hadeveryright to call your mom. She loves you and she wants you to come home. Your brother is getting married. Were you really going to ignore her and skip Red’s wedding?”
“Yes. Yes, I was really going to ignore her and skip Red’s wedding. He doesn’t want me there. Just because my mom wants me at the wedding doesn’t mean anyone else does.” Cold eyes sweep to his, a warning he should fucking listen to. “Mind your own damn business.”
“You’re going home, Rawley. We don’t really give a shit if you go to the wedding. It’s your business, but whatever you decide, go back to Lebanon.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just stand there and tell me what to do.”
Beck cuts me off by stomping toward me, only stopping inches from my face. His blue eyes burn, face puce with anger as the tendons in his neck protest and give his annoyance with me away.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Icantell you what to do.” He pauses, shaking his head and straightens out, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or better yet… Sam can.” My eyes snap to his. The fucker called our manager. “Dylan called him last night after your little performance both on stage and from the floor of the bathroom. You destroyed his fucking bar last night after we left. Throwing bottles around… you’re a fucking mess, and Sam agreed to give you one month to get your shit together. One month to figure outwhoyou want to be, and if you can’t straighten out and get your shit together…. If you can’t do that, we’ll get someone else to be the front man who can actually remember the lyrics to the songs he writes.”
Ignoring the smoke in my head, I smile and put my cigarette out on the table and toss it aside, not giving a shit where it goes. “You’re never going to find someone as good as me. I make this fucking band.”
He knows that. He can’t fucking deny it. “That may be true, but we’re better off trying because we had plans, Rawley. That’s what you’re forgetting. This band isn’t just your dream. It’s ours too and we finally made it, and you’re throwing it away. We can’t let you do that.”
My hands shake, emotion cracks through because I know there’s truth in it and I don’t want to see it. Ican’tsee it. I’m swimming in the shallow end, avoiding the deep end because I know what’s there. Weak and powerless, I’m fucking blind to everything around me. I’m turning, twisting, sinking deeper than ever before. I’m hopeless without a pulse for what’s right or wrong. Everything’s dim and out of focus when I blink. I’m dizzy and it’s not in my head. It’s my body reacting to the way I’ve treated it for years.
Taken by the seamless vision of my boys turning on me, I stand, the chair couch against the wall. “Fuck both of you.”
Neither one of them say anything more to me.
“You fucked up,” I whisper, because this is me. I did this. I can’t blame them for it.
I step inside my room. Tearing the sheets from the bed, I kick the mattress, the wall, anything I can think of that might possibly give me some relief, but it doesn’t. I turn around, scanning the room. I tore the room apart in a state of panic, and I don’t even know why.
Whatever bottom is, I think I’ve officially hit it.
