Annoying Pest...

by K. S. Adkins

  This was the only solution because my style of music was best served live. You can’t take what I do and record it in a studio. So when I quit, my career would end and honestly? I was looking forward to it. Guy and Chevy sacrificed a lot for me to get here.

  What did I ever sacrifice for them?

  Nothing.

  I fed off them, I took, I used them to get ahead. So walking away would be my sacrifice to my family. They could both move on to whatever life had in store for them without worrying about me. I hadn’t made it so far as to make plans for myself yet, but wherever I ended up, I would make sure I was alone and drunk.

  Life would be easier for me that way.

  “I don’t fucking believe you,” he said, pushing away from the tub. “Guy know about this?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Fucking selfish,” he said and slamming his fist into the wall. “This isn’t just about you, Tempest. This is our dream, too! You don’t get to make the decision for us!”

  “Sure I do,” I laughed. “Just like you did when you left. I don't remember you asking us how we felt about it. You are just as selfish as I am. The difference here is you ran to escape me. I just want peace!”

  “You’re not doing this,” he growled.

  Smiling wide, I countered, “Watch me.”

  And then he slammed the door on his way out.

  As for me, I closed my eyes, wishing I could be the woman he needed me to be, but knowing I never could. I sang songs and wrote music. Making miracles happen wasn’t in my arsenal. And I also wasn’t a damn bank who was paying for the damage to this fucking room either.

  

  Pick up the goddamn phone.

  “What now?”

  “When the tour ends, she’s done,” I grated into the phone. “Just thought you should know she plans to fucking quit.”

  “I saw it coming,” he said easily, but then again nothing rattled the asshole.

  “You’re just gonna let her?”

  “Let her?” he laughed. “How do you suppose I stop her? Before you answer that—which you will because you seem to think you know everything—she’s tired. Not just of the stress and her anxiety, but of leaning on us. After you left, she had the accountant divvy up her personal earnings three ways. If you ask me, it’s her way of letting us go.”

  “Go?” I yelled to the hallway ceiling. “Go where?”

  “I caught her looking at cabins online.”

  “She wants to buy a house?” Or a cabin, whatever. The point is, she lived for the road, we all did.

  “I didn’t call her out on it, but I think so.”

  “I was gone a year not a decade. How the fuck did it go to shit so fast? Better yet, why did you let it?”

  “You know what, Chevy? She found out she was pregnant right after she had been dumped. Seeing her like that was not easy for me; especially when I still talked to you and kept it from her.

  “For months she screamed for you in her sleep. It took her hours to get up the nerve to walk out on stage and that’s before the media crawled all over her about your disappearance. Even the thought of those vultures finding out she was pregnant kept her inside.

  “Do you know she never said a bad word about you to me, even after you bailed? You didn’t see her sitting by the window looking for you, waiting for you to come back. She probably wasn’t even aware she was doing it, but she did. I fucking watched her wait for your ass. But you didn’t just leave her, asshole, you left me, too. You left us. And in case you care, your leaving hurt me, too.

  “Tempest has real issues, whether you think she does or not, and the only fucking person who has ever been able to help her deal with them left her to deal with them alone.”

  “Fuck.”

  “So to answer your question, I didn’t let anything happen. When you left, she checked out, simple.”

  “I didn’t want to leave,” I mumbled in shame.

  “But you did,” he countered. “Over some stupid bullshit, too. We were a team, Chevy, we made decisions together, until you took matters into your own hands and cut off ours.”

  “She could have lost her contract.” I argued weakly.

  “No,” he argued finally losing his cool. “She wouldn’t have because she did them a favor by signing on in the first place. But even if she did, it was her choice to make and she chose you over her music, but you didn’t stick around long enough to hear it. You see her anxiety as a burden and used that contract shit to bail out. Then you realized you fucked up and still didn’t come back. You weren’t back a day when you pitched her pills. Because you like that she needs you. Then you turn around and burn her for making her own decisions.

  “Chevy,” he sighed. “Tempest loves every little thing about you, even the shit you can’t help. Can you say the same about her?”

  When I was quiet, he continued to dig the knife in. “She will always choose you,” he said as fact because it was. “Until another man comes along giving her reason not to, and if you don’t see that as a real possibility she’ll disappear right out from under your pierced nose.”

  “What man?”

  “You are a fucking waste of time,” he grunted then hangs up.

  Standing out in the hall, I rest my head on the door wondering what the last year would have been like had I stayed. I wanted to think that we’d be as strong as ever but the truth was, we wouldn’t have been. I loved her, always had, always would, but I’d be lying if I said taking care of her didn’t get old.

  Her fame grew, the anxiety grew.

  She required a lot of attention and patience.

  I began resenting her. I pulled away from her without explaining why. Then I saw an out and I took it, plain and simple. Then realizing what I lost, I wanted it back. Not having her was worse than dealing with her anxiety and the public’s intrusion into our lives and I knew that. But deep down, I feared if I came back too soon, I’d come to resent her again. I was asshole enough to admit I loved that she needed me, but that I also got sick of it too. If she could just get a handle on her anxiety we could figure this out, I know we could.

  Which gave me an idea.

  

  What an odd time to stroll down memory lane. Here I had pre-gig things to do, but all I could seem to think about was the duplex. How small it was, how we were all but tripping over each other on a daily basis. But knowing I wouldn’t have it any other way, that I never wanted it to change. Which got me thinking that I never understood why women complained about socks on the floor, dishes in the sink, or the toilet lid being left up. I loved those things. The tiny reminders of my life with Chevy. I never minded them because I had a man that loved me, cared for me, and blended his things with my own.

  Until he left, I never knew how much I’d miss the lid being left up. How much I’d miss the simple annoyance. But I did. Terribly. Not having those reminders meant he was gone. For three hundred and sixty-five days, I’d have given anything for those annoyances. I missed them, him. Three hundred and sixty-five chances to tell him I loved, appreciated him—gone.

  I went live in twenty minutes, I think.

  The crowd was amped, every seat was full, and I could hear the hum of anticipation from the auditorium even back here. The orchestra was in the pit tuning up, which made me smile because they sounded amazing. My choir was in place behind the curtain and all loose ends were tied. The only thing left for me to do was walk on stage and play.

  The problem was I was struggling to finish my makeup. Makeup I could have done in my sleep. My hands were sluggish, my thoughts were all over the place, and my eyes were unfocused. Honestly, I kept peeking at the sofa wondering if I could squeeze a nap in. Seriously, a nap sounded glorious, and I wasn’t even a napper.

  Guy also sent my new agent over to introduce herself, and aside from catching her name, I didn’t much care about the rest. What I did know was her name was Claire, and she was outside my door chatting Chevy up. I mean she was pretty, taller than me, and clearly had no
issues with crowds, so bonus for her.

  She was also a flirt, a handsy one. She touched him when she smiled, and he didn’t push her hands away. The few times I caught her in the act, she actually faced me and winked. Women responded to him without fail, and I always hated it. This one was my employee and throwing it in my face. So why wasn’t I clawing hers off?

  Oh right, makeup…

  When the liquid liner fell through my fingers, I got down on my knees to pick it up only to fumble it again. Since I was already here, maybe I could just sleep on the floor…

  Coming back to my seat, I heard my door open and heels clicking on the tile, but ignored it. Leaning toward the mirror, I hold one lid open but can’t seem to get the lines right. I swear I was forgetting something. Did I do my vocal exercises? Did I eat dinner? What song was I opening with?

  “Is she high or something?” Oh she’s here, perfect. I don’t bother looking up because I’m staring at her heels wondering if all four of her feet feel squished. Combat boots are where it’s at. High heeled combat boots are God’s gift to women. You know what sounds delicious? A Whopper. With extra cheese and onion rings.

  “Leave,” he snapped which breaks my BK craving. Claire leaving was silly. Chevy seemed to like her hands on him.

  “But…”

  “Now.”

  “You can’t let her go out on stage like that!”

  “Do I need to make you leave?” he threatened, but I still didn’t care because I was searching for my phone to see if I could get Whoppers delivered. Then I had a revelation! Fuck Whoppers, I wanted White Castle! I was working out my order when the door slammed behind her. Then Chevy knelt down taking my face in his hands. God, he was pretty. No wonder she couldn't keep her hands to herself.

  “Fuck,” he said, searching my eyes with concern in his. Seriously, he worried too much.

  “I’m good,” I think I promised him. “So, how amazing does White Castle sound right now? Seriously, they got the slogan right.”

  “Tempest,” he said angrily. “I fucked up.”

  “You can flirt with Claire,” I whispered because I was getting sluggish. “You can flirt with whoever you want you don’t belong to me anymore.”

  “I wasn’t flirt—Tempest, you can’t go out there like this.”

  “I’d rather take a nap anyway,” I said, closing my eyes. “Wake me when it’s over and bring me a sack of ten.”

  “Shit,” he said letting me rest a moment on his shoulder. Then I hear him talking, his voice was vibrating through my skin making me even drowsier. When he was done he started shaking me which seemed rather rude. I certainly wouldn’t shake him if he wanted a nap. Fuck, he was annoying. No White Castle for Chevy.

  “Pest,” he said urgently tapping my cheek. “Did you take ‘em all?”

  Oh right, the pills. “I took what you told me to take.”

  “Oh God,” he moaned, picked me up and set me on the sofa. When he started pacing, I watch him because he is so cute when he’s worked up. Why he was worked up, I did not know, but for once I was relaxed. The most relaxed I’ve been in memory. Now he was in the adjoining room yelling at someone. By someone, I assume it was my tall, hot, anxiety-free manager who smelled like cinnamon, wore high heels, and wanted to suck his cock. Tomorrow, I would hate her. For now, I wanted to ride the wave of not giving a fuck.

  When word came it was time for me to go on, I sat up and slid my high heeled boots on. On autopilot, I fluffed my hair, pushed my tits up, adjusted my ear piece and grabbed my violin. Licking my dry lips, I headed for the door, hooked a right and when someone told me I went the wrong way, I turned around going left. Standing at the edge of the stage, I peeked out into the crowd and sighed. I had no fears, no anxiety…nada. I was drifting on a void of nothingness, and I liked it. I had forgotten what it felt like to be normal and wanted the feeling to last forever. Maybe then, Chevy could love all of me? When the crowd started chanting my name and the pit began to play, I was so ready, I almost cried.

  They came here for me, to hear my voice.

  And how did I repay them?

  By collapsing on stage.

  

  She was released from the hospital this morning, and the hotel has been flooded with nosey motherfuckers who refuse to leave ever since. Her manager Claire, who I disliked immediately because she was devious and rude to Pest, demanded to know what happened. When I was too chicken shit to tell her, Tempest let her know it was none of her goddamn business and kicked her out.

  It’s not every day you see your favorite artist face-plant on stage. I keep waiting for her to ride my ass about what I’d done but she hasn’t brought it up. Instead, she’s been handling calls, already rescheduled the date, offering her fans a full refund with an extended show. Financially, she was taking a big fucking hit by doing this; however, contractually speaking, she didn’t have much choice.

  So this morning, Guy showed up to check on Tempest, and when he saw she was fine, he went downstairs to attempt to appease the media. They finally have a story and it’s all because of me.

  I mis-dosed Tempest.

  Guy and I were both points-of-contact with her personal physician, and I used that pull to have her scripts refilled. My plan was to have them on hand in case she needed them. The second she started to dress, I saw the change. Her darting eyes, sweaty hands.

  I couldn’t handle watching her chest rise and fall so fast. I was stupid to think the drugs could do what I couldn’t. But we’d gotten there late, were short on time and couldn’t afford to have her delay the show. Thinking it would make both our lives easier and keep her from tweaking, I mentioned having the pills. When she resisted, I urged her to take them, promising her it was okay to make an exception. And because she trusted me, she did.

  Because of me she had been totally blitzed out.

  When I came back and she wasn’t there, I got a taste of the fear she lives with. Running toward the stage intending to stop her, I knew I was too late when I saw her cherished violin fall from her fingers.

  In slow motion her knees buckled and she pitched forward. She'd hadn't even had the strength to bring her hands up to shield her face. When I got to her, turned her over, I lost my breath. Blood had been pouring from her nose and mouth. Tempest had been unconscious. Tempest had been limp in my arms.

  As the place erupted in chaos, medics closed in, asking a million questions. It was up to me to voice the answers and was fucking humiliated when I handed over the bottles backstage.

  It took the guy a split second to point out my error. I gave Pest sleeping pills. Two tablets, not one. It was a fucking testament to her determination that she could speak let alone make it on stage. According to one medic that particular pill was the strongest brand on the market. According to Guy, she had never taken a sleeping pill. The doctors prescribed them in case of insomnia, but she always tossed them out. Confident she didn’t do any permanent damage, they still took her in for observation and to see if she had a concussion. Miraculously, outside of a split lip and a headache, she was fine, was still fine.

  I, on the other hand, was not fine.

  Now she was curled into a ball watching Across the Universe with her headphones on. Tempest has seen that movie at least a thousand times, and I’d suffered through it at least nine hundred of those times.

  The TV was muted so she couldn’t hear it which was a blessing since the media was in kill mode. Especially after the fuck you she gave them following our release from lockup. Finally getting the story they’ve been waiting for, they wasted no time spinning a tale. And of course, they deduced that she pulled the conference to mask her addiction to pills.

  Tempest.

  An addict.

  Because of my mistake.

  So lost in her own world, she didn’t even look up when Claire barged back in. The woman did not take a hint and seemed to think she had a right to give Tempest grief.

  Considering Tempest employed her, you’d think she’d at least pretend to be
grateful, but no. The bitch went out of her way to cling to me and to piss Pest off.

  However, she stopped ignoring Claire when she attempted to take her headphones off. Grabbing Claire’s wrists, she threatened to chop her into tiny pieces if she ever came into her space unannounced ever again. This didn’t stop Claire from coming to my side and touching me as if she had the right. It’s like she wanted Tempest to lose it. For the media? Revenge? A bitch being a bitch? I didn’t fuck get it. I also didn’t fucking like it.

  Showing her the door, I made it clear if she touched me again I’d give Tempest the knife and permission to start cutting while I held the garbage bags. Tempest was territorial and I didn’t want her to have any cause for worry. Not over any woman, but especially over this bitch and at such a vulnerable time in our relationship.

  Guy showed up and removed Claire, which was lucky for her. Because swear to God, if I had to do it, I’d probably end up back in jail.

  Once Claire left, pouting, he motioned me out into the hall and I went. I didn’t even have the door closed before he punched me in the jaw. Closing my eyes and keeping my arms loose at my sides, I let him have a go. I deserved every blow he landed and welcomed the pain. Only when he ran out of steam did I back away to regroup because the fucker could throw a haymaker. Proof? At the moment, I saw three of Guy.

  “How?” Was all he said, but it said everything.

  “I got the meds confused.”

  “No,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “How could I have trusted you with her? How could I have ever thought you’d do right by her? One time, Chevy. I needed you to man up one time. Forget the PR bullshit. You told me she was off the meds. That she hadn’t asked for them. Did she ask last night?”

  “No.”

  “No,” he roared, clenching his fists for round two. “But you gave them to her anyway! And you gave her goddamn sleeping pills!”