by Amity Cross
I glanced at my phone one more time, hoping that there was a message waiting from Blair, but the screen was blank just as it had been five minutes ago. I'd only sent her two texts and she'd replied to neither of them. What was I expecting? Powering it off with a sigh, I dumped it back into my jacket pocket.
"Welcome, Jake," the reporter began, cradling a tablet in her lap, no doubt packed with the million questions everyone was dying to ask.
I nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't say anything, just waiting for the inquisition.
"There's been some fairly horrendous allegations thrown at you by the media the last few days. Drugs, alcohol, women, extortion, bribes and the biggest one…suicide and self harm. The world is waiting to hear your side of the story with bated breath. You started out as this fresh faced, talented young man with the world at his feet...so, what went so wrong?"
"That's the million dollar question," I replied with a sigh. "I don't know. I can't picture the point where it turned around, I can't pinpoint the event that changed me…I just don't know. All that I'm certain of, is that it happened."
"There's so many questions the world want to know the answers to, but the biggest one is the allegations of what happened that night in Florida almost eight months ago."
"I know the one you're referring to."
"So, what happened? Did you overdose?"
"I didn't mean to. I wasn't in my right mind at the time."
"Why was that?"
"Being who I am, the bad boy rock star, everyone wants a piece. Whether it's my time, my money, my fame - everyone wants something, so what's left for me? Nothing was private anymore, nobody saw past those things. When you're young, it's easy to become embroiled in the lifestyle. People are throwing money at you…drugs. Women are offering themselves, so what are you supposed to do? Society told me I was a bad boy rocker, so that's what I gave them."
"But that would mean that's what you wanted?"
"Who knows what they really want at twenty? Some money, a high and a fuck was everything to a kid with a raging libido. Before I knew it, there were rabid fans, groupies, stalkers… Yeah, we paid off a lot of women to leave me alone and shut up about the things they saw. I'm not proud of it, it makes me feel sick thinking about the shit I did to hurt people. It's not why I started Affliction, it's not what I wanted, but I dug my own hole."
"Then why did you start Affliction if not for the fame and the money?"
I shifted in my seat and grimaced. "Joe and I, we lived out in the Australian country. We didn't want to stick around. I didn't want to. I wanted bigger things and music to me was the one thing I wanted to do forever. I never took no for an answer, I fought to get us slots and contracts and press coverage in the early days. I wanted to play music. That's all."
"It seems like the lifestyle took you over-"
"It was too much for me at that age, I understand that now. It just got worse and worse and I didn't say anything to anyone. I let it get to breaking point."
"So, the night you overdosed was an accident? You were just trying to escape the pressure?"
I stared her down, my gut churning. Truth time. "It wasn't an accident."
"You wanted to commit suicide?"
Shit, when she put it like that… "At the time I wasn't in control, but afterwards I realized that that's what I was trying to do. I was dead inside and I wanted an out. I was alone and spiraling out of control."
"Why are you coming out about this now? Is it because of the bad press or is it because of your latest single?"
I sighed, looking down at my hands. Steeling myself, I looked up into the eyes of the hard-ass reporter and said, "Because someone in my position, who acts as a role model for so many people…I can't lie to the world. I did a lot of screwed up things to a lot of people." I paused, not sure how to word how I was feeling. "Mental illness and addiction are not to be treated lightly. I can't buy people's silence and expect others to look up to me. Truth is an important part in the recovery process, and hearing my story…it just might help someone else see that the people you love are worth fighting for. Every life is precious, even your own."
"That's a very noble sentiment, Jake."
"I'm not sure about being noble." I shrugged. "I just don't want to let this get out of hand. The kind of sensationalism that has been flung around in the media about me in the past few days has been nothing short of disgusting. All shoot first and ask questions later. It goes to show how much society has to learn about the real world problems of addiction and mental illness. People shouldn't have to hide in shame. They should feel safe enough to ask for help and not live in constant fear of what might happen if someone finds out."
"Did you go to rehab? Did you try and get help afterward?"
"I went to rehab as soon as I got out of the hospital, but I was only there for two weeks."
"Was two weeks enough to combat your symptoms?"
"No."
"Then why didn't you stay?"
"Because I believed I was okay at the time. It wasn't my place to make that call or to know how well adjusted I was. I let our manager at the time, Dean Furlough, call the shots. We had touring contracts that if broken, could've put the future of the band in jeopardy. I'd screwed up their lives enough. I believed I felt well enough to go on with the tour as long as Furlough looked out for me. He made me a promise to save me from myself. In hindsight, I should've stayed in rehab."
"So, you're saying Dean Furlough made the wrong call?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Sounds like there's a lot of bad blood there."
"Who do you think leaked the stories to the papers after I fired his sorry ass? As soon as we started to gain traction with our new single… He was the only one who knew what happened and has motive. It's all a little to coincidental to be anyone else."
"Would you consider pressing charges against him? Sue for defamation?"
"Why would I bother?" I scoffed. "It was all true. Apart from forcing my hand to come clean myself, I've got nothing on him. Even if I did, I wouldn't give a fuck. Money is nothing compared to people you care about."
"Why did the band fire him? What did he do that was so bad to warrant instant dismissal on his behalf?"
"Furlough knew that I was still on a knife's edge. One little thing could've pushed me over the edge and he filled me with false hope and support to line his pockets. We paid him well, too well if you ask me. He had his fingers in a lot of pies and he got comfortable with his greedy little money grabbing scheme."
"This coincides with the photographs that were in various tabloids in Australia, and later, the rest of the world. You know which photo's I'm referring to?"
"Yes." That night back in Melbourne, the night I was on that balcony with Blair…my wildcat.
"There's a lot of speculation that Dean Furlough's departure has to do with the woman in those pictures. Affliction's single, Wildcat (I'm in Love), the music video in which you hold up a sign that reads, I love you, B-"
I nodded my agreement. "I loved her, I didn't know at the time, not until she left, but-" I choked on my words and straightened in my seat. "I love her and always will. Furlough was fired because of what he did to her and the lengths he went to take her out of the picture."
"Why would he want to get rid of her? How was she a threat to him?"
"He believed she was taking focus away from the band. She and I…we were in all the papers, attention was being shifted from the tour, from Affliction-"
"So, he felt threatened?"
"Apparently."
"What did he do then?"
I thought about the argument I'd had with Blair and the moment she ran out. The part where I called Evie, the drugs, the oblivion I'd tried to chase with a bottle of Jack. Blair walking in and finding another woman trying to suck me to orgasm. The look of utter anguish on her face. I'd broken her heart and I'd broken her. I was a complete fuck up.
"One night, Blair and I had an argument and she ran out on me.
He manipulated her into thinking she should take a night away from me to think things over. Then he called one of the groupies that I'd had an arrangement with in the past."
"What kind of arrangement?"
"Before I almost died, she was one of the women who used to follow us on tour. If I wanted to get high or wanted to have sex, she would supply me with both. Furlough had kept her around, out of sight out of mind, until he needed her. That night, I called her looking for drugs and she was waiting because of him. With Blair gone, everything was too much and I couldn't handle it. I believed she'd left me for good. I fell off the wagon and got high, so fucking high I didn't realize the woman who was trying to suck me off wasn't the love of my pathetic life. Furlough knew what I was going to do and didn't do anything to stop it. He didn't stop it when Blair walked in and found me with another woman, even though I was too fucked to stop it from happening. He gambled with my recovery, my life and that of the woman I love and firing him was the least I could do to repay that kindness. That, and telling the world what a scumbag he is."
"The way I'm interpreting this is that Furlough understood that by being with you, Blair was enabling your addictions?"
"Yeah. All I ever wanted was for somebody to see me. The real me underneath all the bullshit. I was getting better since that night in Florida, but not in the ways I should've. Regardless, I was still changing." I looked away and rubbed my eyes. "I was a selfish fucking bastard and it was only after that I realized that I was with her for all the wrong reasons, even though I truly love her. It wasn't fair on her and I don't blame her for running away from me. I don't blame her for staying away now."
"Blair was in the press a lot throughout July, but then she just disappeared. You went to great lengths to keep her name private, why was that?"
"I wanted to save her the heartbreak of seeing that crap. Having her life dissected and analyzed by vultures. You know what it did to me and I wanted to save her from going through the same thing."
"So, you care for her?"
"Yes. A great deal."
"A great deal? You've said over and over that you love her. Are you sure that's what you feel?"
"Yes. I love her."
"Where is she now?"
"Hopefully watching this, because I didn't have the guts to tell her the truth. I didn't trust her and I should have. I should've done a lot of things."
"Wildcat, the whole poster campaign, the video…it was all an apology?"
"It was more than an apology. I never got to tell her how much I cared about her, not really. The only way I could voice my feelings was through the one thing that meant anything to me. Music."
"You're trying to win her back?"
"I'd do anything to get her back, but it wouldn't mean anything unless she knows the whole truth. I'd just be hurting her more by withholding it. If she loves me...if she could love me, then I would like for it to be real. She has to see all of me."
The interviewer looked at me with misty eyes and I knew Sasha had been right about the romance angle. Fucking hell.
"I lied, cheated, manipulated, treated women like trash…I know I was a bad person. I never started out that way and I certainly didn't intend to end up like that. I know that I'll be fighting my addictions my entire life, that it'll never go away, but if I can't be honest with the world and the woman I love…how the fuck can I be honest with myself? I'm getting better, I'm acknowledging my mistakes and trying to make amends. I can hide in the shadows and let people make up crap about me, or I can be a fucking man and tell it like it is. Tell the truth for once in my life." The interviewer just stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, so I just kept going. "People can say whatever the fuck they want about me. Everything I've said in this interview is the truth. Every ugly piece. I've got nothing else to say on the matter."
I was up and out of my chair and across the room before the interviewer had the chance to thank me and even before they'd turned the camera off. Out in the hall, everyone was waiting and I didn't have anything left in the tank to even acknowledge them. I was exhausted and relieved all at the same time.
"I want them out now," I muttered to anyone who'd listen. The film crew had to go, so I could bury myself away until this whole thing was over.
All I wanted was Blair. I wanted to hold her, breathe in her familiar scent - wild berry shampoo, wild like the wildcat she was. I wanted to hold her against me and fall asleep with her, I wanted to taste her lips against mine, I wanted to make love to her like she deserved. I didn't know if she'd ever come back. Not after hearing the truth about how fucked up I was. Everything I'd been through in the past three months, everything that had just happened in that room, would mean absolutely nothing unless she was with me. Unless she was mine again.
At seven fifty Sunday night, I found myself switching on the idiot box. More out of curiosity than anything. Okay, scratch that. Total lie. I was dying to hear West's reasoning behind the stories in the papers, mainly the one about that night in Florida. He hadn't told me the entire truth and something inside my gut told me that I needed to hear this one if I ever wanted to move on from this whole fucked up she-bang.
"Hey, Blair." Rosanna, one of my flatmates, stuck her head into the kitchen where I was sitting in a fetal position in the only chair that would fit. "We're going down to Big Red, wanna come?"
Big Red was the name of the alternative themed pub down the street and on a good day I'd already be there downing a couple of shots to soothe my worn out soul, but tonight I had other plans. Namely, getting some answers.
"Na," I said, hugging my knees tighter. "There's this thing on tellie I wanna catch."
"Okay. We'll be there a while if you want to come after." She gave me a shrug and a moment later, the front door opened and closed as they left me in peace.
I pulled my oversized cardigan around me and stuck my feet against the radiator. God, I felt like throwing up. When the program finally started, I felt like covering my eyes. I used to cover my eyes and curl up into a ball when the fighting got too much. When my Dad would hit my Mum. I'd cover my ears with my pillow and wish it'd all go away. I wished he'd go away. Ten years old and powerless.
When the intro ended and West's face appeared on screen, I wasn't prepared to see how utterly defeated he looked. The world had taken one huge dump on him and it showed. The slow burn of tears began to well in my eyes and I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth to steel myself. Fuck, and he hadn't even answered one question yet.
The answers started coming thick and fast, no ad breaks, no cut scenes, no editing. Every shame he'd tried to hide from me and the world was laid out in all its ugly glory.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the screen as I watched every single emotion in the book play out on his handsome as fuck face. Anger, sadness, despair, loneliness, anguish…love. I saw it now, the way he felt about me, and that was the truth. The only one who seemed to have a problem with it was me, but at the end of the day you couldn't choose who you loved. Nobody could, and I still didn't know what I felt. Maybe it was love, but I hadn't experienced it before, so how did I know the difference? I didn't.
West told the reporter, the world, all the things he couldn't bring himself to tell me. The endless line of women, getting fucked up on drugs, paying people to keep quiet…and the big kahuna - admitting that his overdose wasn't an accident. He wanted to end it all and I couldn't help it when the tears started falling from my eyes. The first fucking tears I'd allowed myself to cry over him.
I sat there, hugging my knees to my chest, as the next show started, but I couldn't hear it. I couldn't hear anything but the one line that resonated with my own heart.
All I ever wanted was for somebody to see me.
In a way, we both wanted the same thing and through all the shit, we'd done just that. He hadn't told me about his suicide attempt, but I understood why. It didn't make it hurt any less, but I got it.
Fuck, he had guts to lay his brokenness out there for
the world to feed on. They'd pick apart his life like vultures until there was nothing left. Dark and Dangerous.
I knew he didn't do it just for me. Maybe I was a part of it, but this was about West and West alone. It had more to do with his recovery, the band, his family, than little old me. If he didn't come out and tell the truth, then the spiteful stories in the papers would follow him forever. Deep down, I knew who'd done this to him. Dean Furlough.
If I ever came face to face with that man again, I'd tear him a new asshole. I'd make him wish he was never born. He ruined West's life, but he was also the cause of my broken heart…a heart that was probably irreparable. If that wasn't reason enough to hate someone, I didn't know what was.
Flicking off the television, I shuffled into my room and closed the door. Sinking down onto the bed, I curled up into a ball. He wanted to end it. He mightn't have understood at the time, but deep down, he wanted it all to end. My Dad had wanted the same thing the night he picked up that shotgun. Was he in his right mind? Was he that fucked up on alcohol that he didn't know what he was doing when he cocked it at my Mum? When he pulled the trigger? I'd never know, but how the fuck could I compare that to West? He wasn't my father. I wasn't my mother.
West had his own brand of demons and he believed I was the one who could chase them away forever. But what about mine?
I slipped into sleep before I knew it, a single thought on the wavelengths of my troubled mind. Who was going to chase away my demons?
I tossed and turned all night, my mind a tumble dryer filled with pieces of Jake West and his tornado of a life. The man he'd described in the interview wasn't the same man I'd met or the same one I'd spent so much time with. He definitely wasn't the man I'd let fuck me within an inch of my life. The Jake West I knew was caring, dominating and powerful. He could speak to the darkest, most hidden places inside of me with a mere glance.