by Jay, Libby
The problem is I really have no intention on telling Lyndsay my secret. It’s in the past, along with all the other crap. Telling her would only open old wounds and ultimately hurt Lyndsay. The last thing I want is to see Lyndsay hurt. Then again, this secret will eventually come out. It’s a ticking time bomb. But whether I tell her now, or whether she finds out later, the effects will be the same.
Either way, I am going to break Lyndsay’s heart all over again. But this time, I’ll be prepared for it. I’ll be there to pick up the pieces for her.
The suite is quiet when I open the door. I know Mikey is in bed, he sent me a brief “goodnight” video about an hour and a half ago. I imagine Lyndsay is going to be tired too. I’m half expecting her to be in bed also.
But she’s not. She’s lying on the couch, fast asleep.
She’s taken off her wig and she’s not wearing a bandana to cover her head. She said last night that her head get’s pretty itchy by the end of the day, having it covered all the time, so she likes to go “commando” as often as she can.
I love that she feels comfortable enough to let me see her bald head. It shows a level of trust. She knows I’m not going to stare or make any snide remarks, even though she makes fun of herself.
As much as I want to pick her up and carry her to her bed, I know that’d disturb her sleep, so instead, I decide to go to her bedroom and get the blanket from her bed. What is it about wanting to cover someone you love when they’re asleep? I do it to Mikey all the time. Every night, before I go to bed, I cover him up and tuck him in. Is it a subconscious way of wanting to keep them safe, by covering their vulnerability? No one is as vulnerable as they are when they’re asleep.
Right now, as I look down at Lyndsay sleeping, she looks just as vulnerable as Mikey does when he’s sleeping. And I’ll be damned if I don’t want to keep her just as safe.
I open up the blanket and gently lower it down over her, starting at her legs and working up to her body.
When the blanket hits the bare skin of her arms, her eyes open and her hand darts out, grabbing onto my arm. I can see the moment of panic in her eyes before she registers who I am.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Her eyes are still wide, but slowly, as she relaxes, they become smaller until they close again.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she says. She still has a firm hold on my arm.
“You’ve had a big day. You need to sleep. Do you want to go to bed? You’ll sleep better there than on the couch.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “I should go to bed.” She makes absolutely no effort to move from the couch.
“Do I need to carry you to bed?” I ask, keeping my voice light but secretly hoping she says yes.
“No. I can walk. Just give me a minute.” She lifts her head from the cushion and slowly sits up. Then she opens her eyes. “You look tired,” she says.
“I look tired?” I say. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Her hand is still on my arm and I’m wondering if she realises or if she’s still half asleep.
“I avoid mirrors at all costs these days, unless I’m checking that I haven’t put my wig on the wrong way.”
That makes me laugh.
“Don’t laugh. I actually did it once. I went to the grocery shop with my wig on backwards. I didn’t notice until I got home.” She smiles. “Meredith got me the wig. I didn’t want one but she said I needed one. I said that if she was going to get me a wig, it needed to be similar to how my hair used to be, white stripe and all. She got me ‘the pixie’ in ten shades lighter than my natural colour. It’s short all over and I really struggle to figure out which way it goes on.” She covers her mouth as she yawns. “Anyway, I’m glad she got it for me because I could hardly go on tour with Blue Saturn with a bald head, not with all the paparazzi that follow you around.” She suddenly realises she’s holding my arm and she quickly releases it. “Sorry,” she adds.
“Don’t be sorry. I kinda enjoy your touch.” I smile and sit next to her on the couch. “Did you see any photographers today?”
“Yes,” she said. “They were waiting for us when we got off the cruise. They kept their distance, as you said they would, but they definitely got our photo.”
Last night, during dinner, she brought up the subject of photographers. Sydney was where she had her first run in with the paparazzi and I knew that day was on her mind. I reassured her that she wouldn’t be bothered, and that if she did happen to see any photographers, just to let them take their pictures. But, if they got too close to her and Mikey she was to let me know straight away.
The reason I knew that they’d keep their distance is because I’d had Anton ring every single known celebrity photographer and threaten them with legal action if they so much as made eye contact with either Lyndsay or my son. They were allowed to get their photos but they were not to get close enough that Mikey would know.
That’s the deal. I don’t have a problem with the paparazzi; they’re just trying to make a living. But disrespect me or those I love and heads will roll.
Lyndsay yawns again, but still makes no move to leave the couch. “Tell me about your afternoon,” she says as she lowers herself down again. She tugs the blanket up over her and blinks slowly.
“Lyndsay, are you hoping that hearing about my day will put you to sleep?”
She smiles a lazy smile and her eyes slowly close and open again. “I’m hoping hearing about your day will keep me awake.”
“I doubt a full scale Blue Saturn live concert could keep you awake right now Lynd’s.”
She laughs quietly and closes her eyes.
“Hey Lyndsay, if you think it would be easier to look after Mikey at home, I mean, if it’s too tiring being out all the time, I’d be more than happy to send you and Mikey home.”
“No,” she says slowly. “Mikey needs you. He misses you. You’ve had enough time apart. You should be together now.”
“We get lots of time together…”
“No,” she says firmly. “I agreed to tour with you. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll just need a lot of early nights.” Her eyes are still closed and I can tell she’s fighting that urge to fall asleep.
“If it’s early nights you need, that’s what you’ll get. Now are you going to walk to bed, or do I need to carry you?”
She sits up slowly, pulling the blanket around her. “I can walk.”
I’m not sure if she opens her eyes or not, but she manages to walk to her bedroom. Minutes later, I check in on her. She’s lying across the bed, on her side, as she always slept. That desire to keep her safe hits me again and I pull the spare blanket down from the cupboard in my bedroom and cover her.
“Goodnight Lyndsay,” I say before I kiss her forehead. “Sleep tight.”
Walking away from her is the hardest thing I’ve had to do all day.
29.
I wake up in a pool of sweat. My heart is beating at a hundred miles an hour and I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. It’s not the first time I’ve woken up feeling like this, but every time it hits me like a freight train and I know I’m going to have to work to get through it.
Before I got sober, my morning routine was always the same. Wake up, light up - most mornings before I even got out of bed - and reach for something a little stronger. Cocaine was my drug of choice because it was easy; I could rub some into my gums or inhale it. I smoked a lot of pot too. I’d wash that down with some top shelf spirit and I’d be ready to face the day.
I didn’t use cocaine every day. I didn’t seem to need it; but it was something I did at least three or four times a week. When I was touring, I used before every show, all but one. (That one show got shocking reviews).
Now, my body is begging for that numbing hit that comes with using cocaine. This fight is going to be hard.
I try my relaxation methods first. I get out of bed, and go out onto the balcony, hoping the cool air will shock my body into forge
tting about what it really wants. I hold onto the railing and try to take a deep breath, but my lungs won’t relax for long enough to fill up completely.
Well if it’s short shallow breaths my body wants, that’s what I’ll give it. I drop to the floor and start on the push-ups. I count them out.
Ten...Twenty...Thirty…
From the corner of my eye I see a set of feet appear, or more precisely a set of bright pink toenails. The last thing I want Lyndsay to see right now is me falling to bits over a craving to an addiction that disgusted her. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop because the alternative to push ups would take her away from me again.
Forty...Fifty...Sixty…
“Mike, are you okay?” she asks.
“Fine,” I answer before I continue counting. Seventy...Eighty...Ninety.
My pace is slowing now. Lyndsay has lowered onto her knees. I can see them pressed against the cold hard surface of the tiled balcony.
“What do you need me to do for you Mike?” she asks. Her voice is so small, she sounds like a frightened child.
One hundred...one hundred and one...one hundred and two…
I fall onto my knees as my arms refuse to take any more weight. I curl up into a ball, my head resting against my clenched fists. I try to breath, but the pain in my chest prevents me from doing anything but pant.
I need to take a deep breath.
“Mike.” Lyndsay’s voice is accompanied by a soft touch to my shoulder. “Should I call Gavin or…”
“No,” I say only it comes out more like a moan.
“Okay,” she says and moves her hand from my shoulder.
I look out at her from under my arm. She’s frowning, looking down at me. Her bottom lip is pulled back between her teeth. She’s worried about me. And even though I’m the one in pain, I feel the need to try to ease her concern.
“It happens sometimes,” I start. “I get the...withdrawals.” I try to sit up but the pain in my chest makes me curl into a tight ball again.
“Even after all this time?” she asks. She sounds shocked and scared.
I nod my head. “Even after all this time.”
“But you never had withdrawals...I mean, when we were together, I never saw you like this back then.”
I wrap my arms around my middle and force myself to sit up. I look at her and when I see the look on her face I realise that any hope of reconciliation is gone. She’s appalled by what she’s seeing. In my state of despair and desperation, I do the only thing I can think to do. I reach out to her and pull her to me in the hope that I can make her forget what it is she’s seeing now.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tightly against my body. I know I’m covered in sweat. I know this is probably the last thing she wants me to do. But this isn’t about what Lyndsay wants. This is about what I need.
I need Lyndsay.
“It hurts so much, Lyndsay,” I whisper into her chest. I’m sitting up on my knees and I’ve pulled her against me so that she’s sitting astride me on my thighs. It’s an intimate position, but I need her close to me. I take her hand and press it against my lower chest, where my rib cage ends. “Right here. Here is where I feel the pain.” My forehead is resting against her chest, just below her chin. My eyes are closed. I can smell her sweet scent. I can hear her heavy breathing. I can feel her heartbeat.
What I wouldn’t give to taste her.
I’m still panting for breath when she pushes her hand against my chest, flattening her palm against me. With her other hand, she puts her fingers under my chin and forces my head up so that she can look at me. I keep my eyes shut. I don’t want to see that look of disappointment.
“Mike, open your eyes,” she says.
I do as she asks. That’s when I notice her eyes are wet.
Then she takes my hand in hers and presses it against her own chest. My fingers open and my hand lies flat against her. Then she breathes in slowly. “Can you feel me breathing?” she asks.
I nod slowly.
“I want you to breathe with me,” she says. She breathes out slowly before taking another slow breath in. “Breathe with me.”
I try, I try to take a breath but I can’t. I can’t breathe. My lungs won’t co-operate.
“Mike,” she says quietly. “Just breathe.” She inhales again and I inhale with her, not a full breath, but deeper than my shallow pants for air. She smiles down at me. “That’s it. Nice and slowly,” she says and she takes another breath in. Again, I breathe with her, this time taking in more air.
Minutes pass and we don’t move, other than to breathe together. Our eyes stay locked together as Lyndsay helps me through this episode.
If there is one thing I am certain of now it’s how badly I need Lyndsay. She is my saving grace.
I feel my body cool down. The pain in my mid-section ebbs away. I can breathe. My heart rate is back to normal. And Lyndsay is still sitting on my lap.
“Are you okay?” she asks me.
I look down to where her hand is still against my chest and then where my hand is against her. “Yeah, I’m good,” I answer. I am better than good. I look up at her, into those beautiful green eyes. “Thank you, Lyndsay,” I say.
She smiles at me and plants a soft kiss on forehead. “Any time Mike. That’s what friends are for.”
Friends? Call me crazy, but I have the distinct feeling Lyndsay feels more than just friendship for me. I might even go so far as to say she loves me.
I rest my head back against her chest. My knees are starting to protest now that the pain in my chest has gone, but I will sit here like this forever if it means having Lyndsay this close to me.
She runs her hands through my hair. I wrap my arms around her back and hold her to me. I savour this moment, this feeling; the feeling of her being so close to me. I can’t let this go any further without telling her. I have to tell her. She’s smart and I know she’ll soon figure it out, after seeing what she’s seen this morning.
“Lyndsay,” I say quietly. “I lied to you.”
“What did you lie to me about?”
I lift my head and look up at her. “My sobriety.”
Her eyes dart to the left and right before settling on me. “You’re not sober?” she asks.
“I am. I am now. But I wasn’t before.”
Her hands loosen around my neck and she pulls them away. “What do you mean, Mike?” She stands up and my hands fall from where I was holding her. My body chills at the sudden loss of her.
I take a deep breath and explain. “I failed at my first attempt to get sober. I failed miserably. The day I left the rehab facility in the UK, I went straight back to the hotel and got blind drunk.”
Lyndsay takes a step back, her hands knotting together in front of her. “Was it just that once? Or were there other times?”
“I drank vodka every day after I came back from rehab.”
Tears form in her eyes and she nods her head. “Vodka, so I wouldn’t be able to smell it.”
I nod my head.
“Was it just alcohol or…” she stops as tears fall from her eyes. She doesn’t try to brush them away.
“No. I used cocaine as well, three or four times a week. The only thing I truly gave up was the cigarettes because there was no way I could smoke and hide it from you.” I stand up and take a step toward her but she is quick to hold up her hands and step back again. “Lyndsay, can I explain to you why I did what I did?”
She shakes her head. “No Mike, you can’t. Because there is no valid excuse for outright lying to me. I fell in love with you despite all your flaws but there was one condition to us being together. I wanted you to be sober because of what I’d been through during my teens. You lied to me so you could have the best of both worlds.” Tears fall continuously down her cheeks. If it weren’t for those tears, I wouldn’t know how she was feeling. Her voice is calm, her stance is relaxed and her thoughts are coherent.
I am neither calm nor relaxed nor coherent. She is saying to
me exactly what I knew she was going to say which means I know how this is going to end.
I’m going to lose her.
She takes a step around me and heads toward the balcony door.
“Where are you going?” I ask her.
“I’m going to pack my things and move to Gavin’s room. I’ll be back soon to look after Mikey, but once we get back to Melbourne, I never want to see or hear from you again. Do you understand?”
I understand perfectly. “Lyndsay, for what it’s worth, I did love you and I still do. And I’m sorry that I lied to you. I never planned for it to happen like that.”
“But it did happen Mike. You let it happen.” She steps into the apartment before coming outside again. “Tell me why you did it. Why did you lie to me, Mike?”
She walks past me and sits down heavily on outside lounge. This is a good sign, if she’s willing to hear me out, she can’t be all that angry at me.
I approach her slowly and sit down next to her, leaving enough of a distance so as not to encroach on her personal space but close enough that I can have her full attention.
“I was a fool Lyndsay. I thought that spending twenty-eight days in a rehab facility would be the end to all my problems. But it turned out that drugs and alcohol weren’t my problem to begin with. I was my problem. I constantly doubted myself. I never believed I could be a good person or a great musician while sober. It had been such a long time since I had been sober that I forgot who I really was. I told myself that no one would like the straight me and that people were only interested in the fun wild version of me. I wanted this album to be the best one yet but I didn’t believe that I could write good music while sober.
“At first I told myself that I could just drink a little bit, or just use a little bit of cocaine, enough to give me that edge while I was writing. I convinced myself that once I’d written this record, I’d give it all up again. But I couldn’t. Do you know why?”
She shakes her head, which is a relief because it means she’s listening to me.