by Kristi Ayers
Max
“All we need is a drummer, you know. Then we can please all these fans of yours that keep asking when they can see you play next.” Douglas leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.
I shot him a get real look.
“Really, I can put out flyers and we could be back in the thick of drunken frat parties in no time.”
“Right, because that’s where I want to spend my time.”
“You know you miss all those girls with caked on makeup who smell like a combo of beer breath and Eau de Bathroom Toilette.”
I laughed. “Hardly.”
“I’m still going to put out a flyer with your number—” I glared at him. “With my number just so we can see what we get. I think getting back out there will be good for you—”
I growled.
“For us. It shouldn’t be too hard to track down a drummer.” He started typing on the computer.
Arguing would be pointless, so I let him do it. If I were to be honest, I missed music. My guitar sat gathering dust in the corner of our dorm room, and the throat steamer that Holland gave me was even more ignored, shoved under my bed out of sight. My voice was likely rusty from not singing for weeks. The last time I sang anything was with Holland.
That song was never far from my mind. It had been so important that I’d tracked down the high school music teacher I was still friends with, on a holiday no less, to have him compose the song for a violin. He obliged, pleased to help me out and claiming he didn’t have anywhere to be until that evening. I picked it up early the next morning, payment a combination of money and a big slice of pumpkin pie, and secretly framed it in the garage. A white sheet covered it and as far as I knew, it sat untouched in Adam’s coat closet. I planned to give it to Holland for Christmas, but that changed the moment she became Adam’s girlfriend.
~*~
The next week was Christmas, and against my better judgment, my thoughts repeatedly drifted to Holland, wondering if she was going home to see her parents. Selfishly, it made me happy that she could be away from him for an entire holiday break. Juvenile, yes. Every day was a struggle and I wanted a break from picturing them together: kissing, touching, all the things I wanted to be doing with her. Of course, I had to keep all my thoughts hidden or Douglas would try to “rehab” me again. I didn’t want to become the drunk that Adam was, even if Douglas’s intentions were genuine. It worked well enough the first night, but I knew I had to get my shit together and move on. It went on after Callie Rose and it would go on without Holland, only this time, it would go on without Adam as well.
I took Douglas home with me for Christmas. We went by bus and had to pack light, but we were only going to be with my parents for four days. That was for two reasons, really. One being that Mr. Get-It-Done actually found a drummer who lived near the campus in a small house with two other guys. Oddly enough, those two roommates were a keyboardist and a guitarist, both with an interest to join us. Our sound could only get richer.
The other reason was one that had me conflicted. Adam’s father’s birthday was December 28th. Since I’d met him, Adam had always struggled significantly on that day, second to the day he was murdered. The birthday brought out bittersweet memories that turned into a deep depression. The anniversary of his death, though, manifested a deep anger that brought out the absolute worst in Adam. He acted out negatively until he passed out from sheer exhaustion. I always tried to be present, the first time by accident, and more than once saved him from being arrested or killed. One time, the first year, he got into a fight with a street gang, wanting to kill them all because the murderer hadn’t been found yet. The news stated the murder took place where a gang frequented, a-hole-in-the-wall diner on the other side of town, a place Adam drove us to one night. Adam went inside, confrontational, and not at all in his right mind. Hidden from sight in Adam’s car, I called the cops, and everyone scattered when the flashing lights appeared. The second year was when he “fell” on the knife. This last time, just six months ago, he had a “gut feeling” that the man crossing the street was the killer. With me in the passenger seat, he stepped on the gas and tried to barrel over the man. I tried to pull the wheel, but he had a death grip on it, so I did the only thing I could think of. I punched him. He let go in time for me to grab the wheel and dodge the guy. Pissed, he took the wheel back and pulled the van over a few blocks away.
~Six months ago~
“Adam, what the hell? You almost killed that guy!”
Angry and slightly dazed, he bit back, “It was him! I know it! Why did you stop me?”
Incredulously, I regarded his frantic state. “Are you serious? That wasn’t him! Just some random man!” The guy didn’t even fit the ambiguous sketch that had been on the news of a possible man wanted for questioning.
He jerked the van’s door handle open and jumped out, slamming it with a frustrated growl. I got out too, not knowing what stupid thing he was about to do next. For all I knew, he’d walk right into traffic, but instead, he came up to me on the sidewalk and got into my face.
“You need to stay out of my business.” His eyes were dark as coals as he pointed a finger at my chest.
“Oh, you want that?” I raked my hand through my hair, fed up with his attitude. “Me. The one who has repeatedly saved you from yourself countless times.”
With a sneer, he said, “Don’t try to act like the hero.” He started to pace, which only meant he was itching for a drink.
“If it weren’t for me, you’d be in jail, or dead.”
He threw his arms up. “Maybe that’s where I want to be!”
“Yeah? Which one?” I challenged him.
“Dead, preferably.” He scowled into the distance. His fists were clenched, and I knew he was wanting to punch something.
“Go on. Hit me.” I glanced down to his right hand and stepped closer. “It’s what you want—to hurt someone.”
“Stop acting like you’re better than me.”
“I’m not.” I squared my shoulders and set him up for a good hit. “You just want to cause pain to someone. I’ll be that someone. Come on.” I opened my arms, inviting him.
“You’re acting like you’re doing me a favor. I don’t want anything from you.”
I kept my face neutral. “You’re. A. Pussy.”
My intended word choice got the result I intended. He reared back and hit my jaw with an animalistic possession, a bull personified. I stumbled backward and fell to the ground. Blood was oozing from my lip, but he wasn’t finished. He repeated his actions, only this time going for my eye. I fell the rest of the way down, the day’s heat radiating from the pavement through my shirt as I lay there cursing him in my head.
He stood above me, breathing heavy and cursing aloud. It appeared he was mad at himself. Good. I hoped he felt like an ass for punching one of his only friends. Damn, my head was swimming and throbbing and I wanted to vomit on his shoes.
“Max, dammit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
I rubbed my lip with the back of my hand and glared up at him. “I hope you feel better, asshole.”
~*~
Adam’s breakdowns were the second reason why I wanted to be “around” but not necessarily seen. In the event he slipped off the deep end, I still wanted to be there if he needed help. He typically hid the daily inner turmoil that haunted him, only occasionally letting it surface. He saw what wasn’t there, hallucinations of sorts, had realistic nightmares, and drank to numb both issues. He left proof of his ruination like a snail trail, occasionally dragging down those close to him in the process. His mother had to endure the brunt of it when he lived with her, coming home to a son who drunkenly trashed the house when she was at work. He could run from the air of tragedy, but it would always be present within him.
Holland had no idea how damaged he was, and that was what scared me the most.
Chapter 17
Holland
I left my parents’ house earlier than I’d planned dur
ing Christmas break. They weren’t thrilled, but I wanted to get back to Adam, who refused to go home, claiming a phone call to his mother would suffice with the relationship they now shared. He refused to elaborate on that subject, so I let it go.
The quiet winter atmosphere held the promise of snow as I walked the familiar path from my dorm to Adam’s house. The campus, nearly a ghost town, was peaceful in the absence of hustling intellectuals racing to classes. Normally, a few chess players were stationed at small tables in the quad, but all were vacant now.
Adam’s house was still sans decorations, the only Victorian on his street that didn’t have lights, garlands, or inflatable characters. Inside, it was just as bare, the Scrooge that he was. I thought about Max’s mom, Alice, and how she undoubtedly had every square inch of their house decorated. Lights, sparkles, and wonderment in every corner. And Max was there enjoying every moment of it.
I felt a surprising pang of sorrow from missing that family. They each were a gem. I truly hoped Max was doing well, and especially hoped his dad was still enjoying his antiques. I pictured his sisters making Christmas placemats for the table, not doubting they did with loads of glitter.
I wondered if they missed my company as much as I did theirs.
“What are you doing here?” Adam glared at me as he rushed out of his room wearing only boxers and smelling of alcohol.
My eyebrows drew together as I tried to understand his mood. “Excuse me?” I thought he’d be over the moon to see me, considering I wasn’t supposed to be back for another week.
His eyes looked like two dark coals devoid of the soul I craved, empty of the human I thought I knew.
Something was very wrong.
“Adam, what is it? What happened?” Concern gripped me.
His jaw twitched as he looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. “You need to go home.”
I crossed my arms and surveyed the immediate area, noticing how messy it was. Again. “Adam, this can’t keep happening.” I stalked to the kitchen to see, yep, bottles lined across the countertop, some completely empty. “You need help.” I grabbed the empty bottles and threw them forcefully into the trash. “What triggered you this time? What was the stressor?”
He angrily regarded me for a moment before answering. “It doesn’t matter because I’m…” he bit, “…the only one who cares.”
“The only one who cares about what? Tell me. Maybe I happen to care too.”
He barked a scornful laugh and turned away. “Believe me, you don’t.”
“You can’t speak for me!”
He whirled on me. “You’re right. I can’t speak for you. So why don’t you just go.”
“No. I want to help you. Why can’t you just understand that?” I planted my feet where they were on the hardwood floor, and like a child, refused to budge.
“Trust me, you want to go.”
“I don’t.”
His eyes blazed. “Go!” he roared in a voice that shook me to the core.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” It was Max who suddenly was in the house, front door left wide open behind him. He looked like he was ready to slam Adam against the wall for being so hateful toward me. I didn’t know how much he’d heard, or if he even knew what could be wrong with Adam.
Adam had been angry with me, but he almost came unhinged when he saw Max. I’d never seen so much emotion from him as he pointed at Max’s chest. “None of your goddamned business! Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Adam,” Max said gently.
“What? You’re here to save me again? That’s very heroic of you, but I don’t need a damn thing. That was your choice to sever our friendship.” His eyes were dark and wild. Finally, he blinked and shook his head warily, now looking exhausted as he fell back against the wall, muttering swear words under his breath.
Max looked between us then settled on me. “Are you okay?” Before I could answer, I heard a voice from the direction of the bedroom.
“Adam?” A female. The jarring shock of realization quickly transformed into despair as I knew exactly what it meant, and what was to come.
We were over.
Adam knew it too. He was on a ledge this entire time, and one female voice was enough to make him jump off. We were now his past; I saw it in his eyes. His walls were already built back up, stone-faced and stoic. The light that had shone every time he looked at me was extinguished, now cold and detached.
Of course, the little liar of hope that resided in my heart made me pause. Maybe it wasn’t a random girl that he was hooking up with behind my back. Maybe it was someone he hired to clean his house.
But when he raised his eyebrows as if to say what are you waiting for, I knew, and my heart cracked the rest of the way. I stumbled a few steps back, my throat closing as tears pricked my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt constricted and my legs felt weak. I bumped into a wall and then bolted out the front door, not even sparing Max a glance.
I was a few yards down the sidewalk when I heard Max calling my name. I ignored him until he caught up with me, then I swung around, arms outstretched, face wet with tears. “What, Max? There’s nothing you can say to help fix any of this.”
He regarded me with knowing empathy. He must have seen a version of me race away from Adam a thousand times. I didn’t want to be “another girl” Adam destroyed, so I turned, angrily continuing my route back to my room.
“Holland, please wait. You deserve an explanation—”
I stopped abruptly, nearly causing him to topple into me. “You’re making excuses for him now?” I took a step back because he was too close.
“What? No, of course not. He doesn’t deserve—” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s complicated with him. Don’t get me wrong, our friendship is nonexistent.”
“Then why were you at his house?”
He sighed through his nose and closed his eyes, as if what he wanted to tell me was a monumental task. Blue eyes met mine again, hopeful now. “Can we go somewhere, maybe the coffee shop?”
I debated for a few moments. On one hand, I just wanted to be done with it all and go crawl in my bed and fully immerse myself with introvert activities for the next few months. Avoid and be avoided. On the other hand, I was curious about all the things Adam never told me. He was never one to open up much, always using deflection like an intrinsic skill. “Okay,” I conceded. “Sure.”
We walked in silence all the way there. I wanted to ask him why he wasn’t at his parents’ house for the break, but figured it wasn’t my business. We weren’t really friends anymore.
We sat down in a quiet corner or the coffee shop after we got our orders, a macchiato for me and tea with honey and lemon for him. I couldn’t help the small smile as I remembered it was with my insistence that he use honey and lemon for his throat.
Our eyes met and he knew exactly what I’d been thinking. “Best advice I ever received.” He seemed to want to say more, his eyes softer as his mind went somewhere else, but he blinked and closed his mouth.
I let out a long sigh. “Talking about Adam is going to be difficult since I literally just found out he was cheating. And this feels weird because you’re his ex-best friend.”
“Is that all I am?” he asked softly. I remained quiet, unsure how to answer. “I didn’t stop being your friend, Holland.”
I looked out the window. Friend. That seemed like such a far jump after everything we’d been through.
“Hey, you and I,” he motioned between us, “are good. We always have been, even if we weren’t talking. Okay?”
That made the nervous tension melt away a bit. “Okay.” I nodded. “Okay.”
He inhaled. “Now, as for Adam,” he said on a slow exhale. “I’m going to tell you everything, and I hope it will not only help you understand him, but also understand me a little more as well. The combination of it will explain the dynamics of our friendship, and how when I say I’m no longer his friend is actually a lie. I’ll always be his friend,
but for now, it’s better that he not know that.”
“That is the most convoluted thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Just stick with me and it will make sense.”
He told me the entire history of Adam from the moment he stepped onto their high school’s steps to now. The murder of his father changed his life in ways that took Adam to the darkest depths, all while outwardly appearing like he spun the world on the tip of his finger.
“I was going over there to check on him since today is his father’s birthday.”
I sat back, stunned. Everything made sense. It was his characteristic breakdown for this time of year. It wasn’t my fault. It was simply something deeply predisposed to occur with him, and I had the unfortunate liberty to witness it.
The self-destruction of Adam. Of us. “I guess it’s good he wasn’t being violent this time, except maybe to my heart.”
Max’s hand reached for mine on the table, but he paused, unsure. “I’m so sorry you got caught up in his mess. If I would have warned you, it would’ve just looked like I was being a prick,” he stated gently.
“I get it.” I did. “It’s okay.” I blinked back tears. “Well, it will be eventually, in time.”
He decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I have a new band now. Of course, Douglas is still the bassist.”
I sat up straighter. “You do? That’s great, Max.” This was wonderful news. He and Douglas were both too talented to let it go to waste.
He smiled, careful not to seem too overjoyed since I did just get dumped in the worst way. “Yeah, we’ve only gotten together to practice a couple times, but I think we sound pretty good. I still use the steamer you got me, because, of course we couldn’t find another singer. A drummer, keyboardist, and another guitarist—no problem.” He let out a short, airy laugh, looking down.
I smiled at his reluctance to own how well he really could sing. “I’m glad you didn’t replace yourself. Your voice needs to be heard.”