And I can only hope it’s true.
6
Riot
I takethe long route back to the hotel, zipping through the backroads on my motorcycle and losing myself to the sensation of the salty coastal breeze whipping against my skin. It tousles my hair and brings tears to my eyes, but the rush is like nothing else, and it reminds me I’m alive.
Once I’m trapped within the four beige walls of my suite, that recollection begins to fade, and I’m left with a bleak kind of emptiness and a need for a strong drink. I reach for the bottle of vodka on my nightstand, flicking the cap to the floor among the others before taking a large swig of the poison within.
“Ahh, fuck,” I hiss, tears rolling down my cheeks as the fire works its way to my stomach. “That’s good.”
Clutching the neck in one hand and my phone in the other, I plop down onto the creaky mattress and pull open my search engine. My thumb moves over the too-small keys, tapping in Eloise’s name before I have the chance to talk myself out of it.
As soon as I press search, a wealth of articles floods my feed, all of them to do with Eloise. I scroll slowly, poring over articles praising her talent, heart, and many philanthropic efforts. Some claim she’s the main reason for the rebirth of the orchestrascene. Others assert she’s a talentless hack—too focused on her appearance to contribute anything meaningful to music.
I scroll quickly past the latter, but it still makes my blood heat to see people spew such hate. When Riot Rush was at the height of our career, we were bombarded with too many journalists looking to make a buck off our outlandish stories, no matter how untrue.
I continue scrolling, smiling whenever I come across a photo of her on the stage, eyes closed and head bent low over the keys, like she’s in a whole other world.
And then, I come across something I wasn’t expecting; an archived article from five years ago.
Breaking News!
Saltbloom’s beloved teen pianist, Eloise Marquette, hospitalized with life-threatening injuries…
Eloise Marquette is in surgery following her admittance for life-threatening injuries at Neon Valley Memorial Hospital.
Paramedics arrived at the Marquette residence in the early hours of August 12th after a distressed call from Marquette's guardian, Dave Blasko. Blasko (54) claims to have discovered the young pianist unresponsive on the floor of her bathroom, with no idea how she sustained her mysterious injuries.
Hospital staff have refused to comment on the severity or nature of Marquette’s injuries. When asked similar questions, Dave Blasko said, “Eloise is a fighter. She’s going to pull through this one way or the other and be stronger for it. Thoughts and prayers are welcome at this time as we try to heal and find peace with the situation.”
I scroll to the bottom of the page and find an equally useless follow-up article. Apparently, she spent a week in an intensivecare unit, followed by a six-month “vacation” that everyone seemed reluctant to look into. No one will sayhowEloise sustained her injuries or what happened to her after she left the hospital.
No matter how deep I search, I can’t find any useful information about Eloise’s “vacation.” Not where she was, what she did, or who she was with. Her socials were all deactivated during that time, and it seems no one could get in touch with her except her manager.
Someone unfamiliar with the lifestyle would think the rising star just… fell off the face of the earth for six months. Not me.I know better.
Something horrible happened to Eloise. Somethingchangedher. The woman I’ve come to know is not the same one who was walking this earth four years ago. She’s colder. More withdrawn. Sad.
So very, very sad.
I’m about to continue my obsessive scrolling when my phone starts buzzing. I answer the call without taking my eyes from the computer screen, far too distracted to look at who is calling.
“This is Riot.”
“I know who this is! I’m old, not an invalid!”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as the familiar voice pours through the line. “Just a habit, Aunt Viola. I meant no offense.”
“Well, none taken,” she says. “Anyway… I called to see how Saltbloom is treatin’ you. See how you’re doin’ out there.”
“I’m doinggreat. Never better.”
“Now I know that’s a lie,” she huffs. “You been by your parents' place yet?”
“No. And I don’t intend to,” I murmur, gazing out the window at the coast side beyond. “There’s nothing for me there.”
She tsks. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be there.”
