Tears spill over my cheeks. “So that’s why she used drugs? Because she wasn’t happy?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, it seems that way.”
I know my mother always loved my birth father in the way she didn’t love my dad.
“Do you think if she were with him, she would have used drugs?” My mind flashes to my time with Jeremy after the questioning in the DA’s office. “Let me make you my life…”
“That’s hard to say, sweetheart. You know what I think? I think there are people who don’t know what will make them happy. I think there are people who have good things and don’t realize what they have and so they focus on everything they don’t. I think there are people who feel that they can never be happy. Can you imagine what that must be like?” He looks meaningfully into my eyes. I know he’s referring to not only my mother, but himself. And maybe even Jeremy. My dad is a smart man and he knows what sparked this conversation. Is that what Jeremy thinks? That he can never be happy?
He continues. “So, they use things to make themselves happy. Like alcohol, drugs, sex, money, even other people. But those things are so meaningless and temporary. They’re quick fixes, but not solutions. Your mother learned that, I’ve learned that, and I hope you’ve learned that through watching people like us. What’s important in life is stability, love, and devotion. That’s what’s going to make your life complete.”
I spend hours that night lying in bed thinking about our conversation. I can’t decide what kind of person I am. Am I the person who won’t ever be happy, because I’ll be busy focusing on what I can’t have with Scott because he’s not Jeremy? Am I the person who won’t be happy because I left the love of my life- a good, talented, genius man- because of some faults that he had? Could I be happy going back to him even though I may be constantly suspicious because of his past and lifestyle?
All of the thoughts turning around in my head just make me more confused. Not knowing what to do or who to turn to makes me panic. The panic consumes me so much that twice during the night I have to run to the bathroom to vomit. On top of it, I have to do it quietly as to not wake up Scott. The poor guy doesn’t get more than four hours of sleep now. The nausea doesn’t go away, even when morning arrives and I haul myself out of bed. Scott has already left for his internship, but I should at least pretend to be productive. Maybe eating something will help the nausea subside enough that I can get out of bed.
I grab my cell phone off the charger and stick it in my pocket without looking at it. I enter the kitchen and decide that the only thing I’ll be able to handle is a bowl full of cheerios, sans milk. I pour myself a small bowl and head over to the couch. I place one of the cheerios in my mouth while I pick up the remote and flick on the TV.
I begin to look through the guide to find the nine o’clock news. As soon as I change the channel, I feel my phone vibrating. I reach in my pocket and pull it out. It’s a text from Mr. Schuster. In fact, I have seventeen texts from Mr. Schuster and Theresa. Just before I’m about to read them, I hear Jeremy’s name spoken through the television.
My head bolts up. The news anchor is on the screen with a picture of Jeremy in the upper right corner. “Jeremy Mason is expected to be brought in any day now that the new report has been filed. Our source tells us that the report specifically mentions that the two identifiable sets of fingerprints on the bag of drugs found lying by the victim matches both the victim’s and Mr. Mason’s prints…”
My head is pounding so hard the reporter’s voice fades into the background. I stand up from the couch. This can’t be true, can it? Two sets of identifiable fingerprints on the bag. Only her fingerprints and his. That must mean Jeremy touched the bag just before she died. But to the prosecution and probably the jury, it’s going to mean so much more. It’s going to mean that he gave her the bag.
My initial reaction is to deny that this could be true. Of course he didn’t give her the bag. It’s not something he would do. What reason would he have to give a girl a drug that he’s not even using? But…is he using? Damn it.
The conversation I had with Dr. Spritz plays again in my head. “Don’t let yourself be blinded by your feelings. It’s important to differentiate emotions and logic sometimes.”
I know in this moment, that more likely than not, he is guilty.
Guilty.
Of manslaughter.
There’s just too much evidence to deny otherwise: between the lying about having sex with her, to the drug dealer describing the mixture that came up on the toxicology report, to the fingerprints on the bag. This latest report is exactly what the prosecution was looking for. They have enough evidence now to basically prove, without a reasonable doubt, that he gave the bag of heroin to that young girl.
And that motherfucker lied to me. Even after I told him I loved him. That I believed in him. I’ve been sitting around feeling terrible. Thinking about him, ignoring the people who actually care about me, and the whole time he was lying to me.”
Before I know what I’m doing, I have my keys in my hand and I’m running down the stairs outside of my house. The nausea in my stomach is almost unbearable, but I don’t care. That asshole is going to answer for what he did. To that girl. To me. I want to see his face when he admits to me what he did before he’s thrown in jail. I deserve at least that much.
I turn on the radio that’s set to a news station before I begin to drive. I hear my tires squeal as I make my way down Massachusetts Avenue and towards Jeremy’s apartment. His name blares over my speakers. “Rock star Jeremy Mason has been dropped from his label. Label representatives said in a news conference earlier today they felt it was necessarily to part with Mr. Mason due to his impending arrest…”
Good.
I’m so bitter I can almost taste it in my mouth. I smile wickedly as I pull into the parking lot outside of the run down building. I spot his car in the lot and eagerly open the car door and run into the building. I can’t wait until the fucker sees me. I can’t wait until he knows that he can’t play me as a fool anymore. I know what he did. I know what he’s been doing this whole time. He’s a manipulating, murdering, drug addicted liar. I’m so done with this.
I finally reach his big, wooden door at the top of the steps. With my heart pounding, I reach quickly for the doorknob. I’m planning to just bust my way in there. But when I lay my hand on the knob, I pause. Because above the pounding in my ears I can hear guitar chords…a melody playing softly through the thick door. Not just any melody, but the most beautiful and heartbreaking melody I’ve ever heard. It’s a simple song, slow and beautiful, a ballad. The sound makes my heart hum and my mind clear. My blood pressure returns to normal again instantly.
The melody continues and it’s so beautiful that I’m compelled to stand in silence and listen. I desperately need to hear it more clearly. I’m scared to go in; afraid the melody will stop when he sees me. I carefully and quietly turn the doorknob, cracking the door just a slight bit. I stop breathing for a moment, praying he hasn’t noticed. When the melody continues, I put my ear up to the crack.
The song fills my head like a dream, each note breaking my heart with the emotion it coveys. Tears spring to my eyes, and I’m not even sure why other than that the haunting tune.
“In my heart’s sequestered chambers lies truth stripped of poets gloss…” I hear Jeremy’s voice begin with the melody. His voice, yet not his voice. His voice because it’s still bluesy and rock and roll, but soft and extremely sad. Devastatingly sad. Beautiful…
“Words alone are vain and vacant and my heart is mute…” His voice breaks on the end of the sentence, but the song continues. “In response to aching silence memory summons half heard voices. And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in song…” Tears fall down my cheeks, his singing changing and warming as if he is actually wrapping me in the music he plays. His voice becomes more beautiful as he continues, pained and tortured.
“Wraps me…in song…If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby. If you wo
uld win my heart, sing me a love song. If you would mourn me and bring me to God, sing me a requiem. Sing me to heaven!” His voice crescendos as he sings the lyrics, ending in a wounded plea, as if he’s begging for relief from pain.
I’m sobbing loudly now, and I can’t wait anymore to be in his presence. I push the door open and see his shocked expression from the couch in the living room where he sits. He’s holding his glimmering silver guitar in his hand, and I spot where my name is written in green cursive along the bottom of it.
He looks surprised at first, his eyes wide and breathing rapid. We lock eyes with each other and tears roll down both our cheeks. His fingers move along the neck of the guitar again, not looking away from me. “Sing me a lullaby. A love song. A requiem. Love me, comfort me. Bring me to God.”
I put a hand up to my mouth. He takes a shaky breath and continues. “Sing me a love song. Sing me to Heaven…” He finishes, the last note lingering in the air, soft and sweet and agonizing.
My knees give out under the weight of my stress and pain. My emotions have been all over the place. Here I was, coming to scream at him and tell him that I thought he was a piece of shit. Now I find myself sobbing on the floor of his apartment because of the crushing way that I love him. That I can’t live without him. That he needs to tell me it’s not true.
I put my forehead down on his cold floor and my hands in my hair. I cry into the floor, my wails hysterical and frightening. I hear Jeremy sit the guitar down on the floor and step over to me. He kneels on the floor next to me, scooping me up in his arms. I wrap my hands around his neck.
“Shhh,” he comforts me. “It’s okay.”
“It’ nn-not o-o-kay,” I weep. “Y-y-you lied to me! Y-y-y-you k-killed that poor girl!”
He silent as he runs his hands through my hair. “Do you honestly believe that?” he whispers in my ear.
I squeeze my fists in his hair, my frustration unbearable. “Nn-no! But I sss-should! I want to believe it! It doesn’t make s-sense that you’re innocent!” I scream.
My breath is coming is hiccups. Jeremy’s shoulder where I rest my head is soaked in my tears. I’m just now realizing he’s shirtless.
He pulls me back to look into my eyes. His blue eyes are dark and not sparkling with life like they used to. “Dylan, I’m going to go turn myself in.”
My breath catches. My sobs quiet in shock. “What?”
He gives me a half-hearted smile. “It’s okay. This is what’s right.”
I shake my head. “B-b-but you said you didn’t do it.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Not intentionally…”
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. “What does that mean?”
He releases me to run his hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. There’s enough evidence to convict me and I’d rather not go through a trial. I’m going to go turn myself in and that will be that.”
My breathing increases and I feel like there’s a vice on my chest, squeezing my lungs. “No! No, you can’t. You can’t, Jeremy. You’ll go to jail!”
He looks at me sympathetically. “I know. But it really doesn’t matter anyway. I have…nothing…” He looks down at the floor.
Lost in thought, I begin to look around the room. I see for the first time what a mess it is. There are clothes thrown around, and papers strewn on the floors and counters. A newspaper, showing a picture of Scott and me during his proposal, is lying on the floor close to the couch. I bite my lip, hard.
I don’t notice him looking up at me until his head turns to follow my line of sight. He looks at the picture on the floor and then back at me. “Hey,” he whispers, using his finger to pry my lip from my teeth. “It’s okay, Dylan. It’s alright. I just want you to be happy and safe. And you are.”
I glare at him, my sobs starting again. “D-d-do I look fff-fucking happy?!” I yell.
He gives me a sad smile. “No, but you will be. You were before I came back into your life and you will be again. I’m just…not right for you.”
I put my hands back in his hair and grip him tightly. “I was miserable before you came back in my life. I was a shell of a person. You were right, I am naïve and I was pretending. I need you to stay with me.” His eyes are pained as he stares at me. “Jeremy,” I plead. “I nnn-need you to stay! Please! Please don’t l-leave me!”
I hear knocking on the open wooden door. “Mr. M?” I hear Rich’s deep voice ask. Jeremy looks towards him and nods, and then back at me again. “I have to go,” he says, stroking my cheek. He stands up and grabs a shirt off the couch before stretching his hand out to help me from the floor.
I jump up and toss my arms around his neck, my full weight thrown on him. “No!” I scream hysterically. “No! No don’t go!”
“Dylan,” he says, trying to walk towards the door. He reaches up and tries to unclasp my arms.
“No!” I scream. I pull my head from his shoulder and see his eyes are tearing. I’ll do anything to make him stay. I won’t let him leave me. I begin to kiss him. I kiss him all over. His mouth, his cheeks, his chin. I take his ear in my mouth and bite it.
“Damn it,” he whispers. “Rich, a few minutes, okay?” He walks a few steps until he reaches the door and shoves it closed. I put my mouth on his lips, and this time, he kisses back.
We kiss passionately for a while, his hands resting on my lower back. I’m so overcome with desire that I can’t take it anymore. I jump and throw my legs around him, wrapping them around his waist. I’m rewarded by his low groan.
“Dylan,” he almost pleads between kisses. “I’m nothing. Nothing worthy of you. Nothing worthy of life.”
“I l-l-love you!” I yell, and continue to kiss him. Tears fall from my face onto his. I can’t imagine how I must look right now. A sobbing, whining child- throwing myself all over him. But that’s what Jeremy can do to me. I can’t help it. The thought of him in jail and away from me makes me crazy. “Make love to me. Make love to me and don’t go.”
“Dylan…” Jeremy croons. He sets me down on my legs again. My arms are still wrapped around his neck. I’m using him to hold myself up. I can barely stand.
I cry into his shoulder as he runs his hands through my hair. “Don’t cry for me,” he whispers in my ear. I shiver, his voice sending chills down my spine. He releases his hand from my hair and peels one of my arms from around his neck. I feel his hand trail up my inner arm until he reaches my hand and he grabs it.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Shhh…” he says as he starts to slowly twirl me.
My lips manage to rise in a small smile. “Are you…dancing with me?”
He sighs. “Yes.”
I shake my head. It reminds me of when we used to dance in my kitchen after he detoxed. Our happiest time. “But, there’s no music,” I say. We continue to twirl slowly around to a silent tempo. We’re silent for so long I think he didn’t hear me.
“Maybe I didn’t treat you, quite as good as I should have,” Jeremy sings softly into my ear. I grab the back of his neck. “Maybe I didn’t love you, quite as often as I could have.”
“Oh, Jeremy,” I breathe, tears sliding down my face.
“Little things I should have said and done, I just never took the time. You were always on my mind.” Jeremy inhales a shaky breath. We stop dancing and I pull away to look at him. He’s smiling at me, but I see the pain behind his smile. He stares deep into my eyes, locked into our world together.
“If I made you feel second best, I’m so sorry I was blind. You were always on my mind. You were always on my mind.”
“Did you write that, too?” I ask him breathlessly. His places his forehead on mine and lets out a soft laugh.
“No. That would be the great Willie Nelson. I borrowed it.”
We begin to move again in a circle as he hums the melody of the first song. So beautiful and lovely and painful. “What about that song?” I ask.
“Yes, I wrote this song. When I was young…for my brother’s funeral.
”
“It’s very beautiful,” I complement. Beautiful doesn’t describe it accurately enough.
“It used to remind me of him. But I was singing it just now for you. I was thinking how nothing would be better than to have you here with me one more time. To comfort me. I guess someone heard me. My one last song…” He releases my hand to trail his hand down my cheek. “And here you are, comforting me.”
Good. That means he’s staying. I feel myself relax, as if a weight has been lifted from me. I smile and run my hands through his hair. In this moment, I feel so complete. So right. He leans in and places a soft, sweet kiss on my lips. I let him because, what does it matter now? The damage has been done. I’m Jeremy’s again, not just in my heart but now in my head. As I should have been always. As I have been always.
I drop my hands from his hair and he takes them in his own.
I look down at my engagement ring as I hold Jeremy’s hand. The big heavy square glistens up at me, as if it’s laughing. As if it knows.
“You’re going to be so well taken care of. You won’t have to worry about anything.” I smile at him, looking up from our entwined hands. I always knew you’d take care of me, Jeremy.
“He really loves you, too. And he’s a good man,” Jeremy says, looking up at me.
Huh?
My face must convey my confusion. “Scott…” he says, as if it should be obvious. “Your husband?” he continues when I still look at him as if he’s lost his mind.
“He’s not my husband!” I snap. “What are you trying to pull?”
He drops my hands and shakes his head. “Nothing, Dylan. Nothing. Listen, I’m going to have Rich take you home.”
What? What the fuck? Wait…
“Are…are you still leaving?” I ask in disbelief.
He sighs heavily. “Yes.”
I feel the panic rising in my throat. Tears come to my eyes again. “No, dammit!”
Jeremy walks over to the door and opens it, revealing Rich sitting on the stairway. “Rich, take Dylan home. I’ll drive myself and you can get the car from the station.”
Trials (Rock Bottom) Page 10