Wasted Heart

by Nicole Reed

  He squeezes my waist one more time in a quick hug before rising. Turning his face, I see him wipe his shirt sleeve across his eyes. I cannot take pleasure in his pain. I now know what it is like to want someone you can’t have, feeling as if you have met the one person that creates gravity in your life and they don’t want to be tethered to you.

  “I can’t stop loving you. If that is what you’re asking, I just can’t do it. Not now. Not ever,” he says, before turning to walk away.

  I shake my head, not having a clue what I’m supposed to do. After he leaves, my band walks forward to join me. They must have been standing back to give us some privacy. I turn back towards the stage to notice Rhye standing off to the side in the shadows. He looks questioningly at me, but before I can approach him, Ryan introduces me on stage.

  He shakes his head and walks away. God, it’s hard dealing with men or, most days, boys. That’s what they are. Twenty year old fools. And I’m the biggest fool of them all for loving them both in my own way. Not having time to dwell too much on it all, I walk out on stage.

  I smile and wave at the crowd. Once I reach the center, I grab the microphone off the stand. “Hey, y’all. Who’s ready to party with me tonight?” The fans cheer, and I try to look out to see if Josh made it, but the stage lights blind me. “Alright, who knows what country girls like?” I ask moments before my band strikes up the swampy beat and I do what I do best. Sing.

  I love the energy up on a stage. It’s like magic, and I’m the magician. The abracadabra is my lyrics, and if everyone loves what I’m singing about, the white rabbit appears, and the crowd goes crazy. Everyone is connected, waiting with bated breath for the next trick. I dance around on stage, kicking up my cowboy boots and twirling my dress. I play up the words of the song to the crowd, telling a story with my voice and facial expressions. I lose myself in my music. Smiling, I privately rejoice, knowing that Rhye found this again.

  When it ends, I bow to the crowd at the applause. I motion towards the band, letting them know how much I appreciate what they do. “Thank you so much. Look for my new album coming soon,” I say, speaking into the microphone. Walking off the stage, I wave to the fans and give everyone in the band high fives. We all return back to the waiting area where I don’t see Rhye at all. I walk over to grab a water bottle and kill it. Next stop is the bathroom where I freshen up and then walk over to the side of the stage and peek around the corner to see if I can spot Josh and have him brought back. Thankfully, it only takes minutes before I see him and can grab someone in the back to get him for me.

  “That was amazing,” he says, walking up and reaching out to hug me.

  “Thanks. Glad you could come,” I reply, embracing him.

  “You clearly have a natural talent, one that I know will take you to the top.”

  I smile up at him when I notice his gaze zeroing in on something, or someone, in the corner. Turning to look in the same direction, I can’t help but gasp when I see Rhye talking to a guy who clearly must be bad news. Rhye keeps nodding his head and looking away. I watch the guy go to shake his hand and unmistakably slip something into his fingers, a small brown packet.

  “Goddamn it to hell. Throw it away, Rhye,” Josh says under his breath. I don’t think he realizes I can hear him, but I instantly know what just happened.

  I watch Rhye look at the packet, lick his lips, then slip it into his jeans pocket. My heart sinks at his actions and aches at the thought of his addiction. I’ve never experienced it myself. My daddy used to say it was only for weak-minded people, but I know now that it is a disease, one that most people can never understand until they are in the grips of its ugly tendrils. I’ve watched so many people in this industry struggle with addictions to drugs, alcohol, food, and fame. They can all become deadly, costing you everything you’ve worked your butt off for.

  “What do we do now?” my voice wavers, and I want to fall to the ground sobbing.

  “There is nothing…,” he starts, but stops when he remembers who he is talking to. “What are you talking about, Syn?”

  “I know who you are working with. I didn’t realize he was living right across from me until I met him coming out of the door this evening. I’m sorry, but I can’t pretend I didn’t just see what happened. I respect that you do your job in all confidentiality; however, I can’t stand here and do nothing,” I say, pleading with him.

  “Do you know, Rhye?” he asks, confusion marking his face.

  I start to lie, but I know every untruth I tell could possibly harm Rhye. It’s not the time to worry about what someone else will think of me. It’s about Rhye. Taking a deep breath, I reach for his arm and squeeze. “He’s the guy I’m in love with.”

  Josh’s mutters something that I can’t hear while hanging his head and rubbing his neck with his hand. We both glance back over at Rhye who stands against the wall, now talking to some barely-dressed hoochie momma. I watch her run her fingertip down his tattooed arm and think to myself that I’m sure I can take her in a fight. Touch him. One. More. Time.

  “Syn, are you listening to me. The boy will break you into a million pieces. You won’t even know what happened to you. Please stay away from him. I’m begging you.”

  I get mad at his words. “Isn’t your job to help him?” I say, my words seething with anger. “To turn his thoughts away from bad energy to positive outlets?” I want to yell at him and kick him in the shins. For several seconds, I even consider it.

  “I’m trying, Syn. It’s not easy. He’s resistant to change because he doesn’t seem to want it. He’s a hedonistic twenty-two year old rock star. It’s a volatile cocktail. The truth is that I’m here to babysit him. As soon as he either quits or makes an album, I’m history,” he states, looking back to check on Rhye.

  “What do you mean you’re history? Don’t you mean once you’ve helped him you are history?”

  “It’s not what the record label truly cares about. They want him either off the payroll for good if he isn’t going to make any money or back to rock god status where they will not care what he does as long as he’s a cash cow,” he says, having a hard time looking me in the eyes. “Syn, I really do want to help him. I know I can make a difference in Rhye’s life if he allows it. Otherwise, he doesn’t have a chance beating his addictions.”

  I’m still mad at him, but now I’m steaming hot at the record label. This is playing with Rhye’s life, and it’s seriously pissing me off. I turn away from him and start to walk towards Rhye. I don’t have any idea what to do. Confront him? Beg him to give it to me to throw away? In my head, I can’t clearly see anything working without pissing him off. If I make a scene, he would probably use just to spite me.

  Right before he looks up to notice me walking his way, I see Tag step up next to him and slam his fist into his jaw. All hell breaks loose. I, along with everyone else, run towards them. Rhye gets a couple of shots to Tag’s face before someone pulls them apart.

  I immediately run to Rhye. “Are you okay?” I ask, watching him lick away blood from his split lip.

  “What is your boyfriend’s problem?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I reply, looking into his eyes. I know that this is the moment. Leaning forward, I catch his mouth with mine while slipping my fingers into his pocket and retrieving the small packet. Instantly, it’s a full on kiss as we both are equal participants. I allow myself to get caught up in the sensual haze, and the metallic taste acts as an aphrodisiac. A large growl behind us lets me know that Tag is witnessing the kiss, reminding me of my goal. Thinking I’m smooth, I fist the drug inside my palm, only to have Rhye grasp my wrist, jerking my entire arm up and towards him. Pain shoots up my shoulder at his roughness. “Oww…” I gasp, breaking the kiss. I try to pull away from him.

  “What the fuck do you think you are doing? Give that shit back right now,” he says, snarling in my face.

  “Let her go, Rhye,” Josh says, finally reaching us within the crowd of people.

  “She has someth
ing of mine. I’ll let her go when she gives it back,” he replies, not looking at Josh but deep into my eyes. The blackness of his stare hurts to gaze into. The abyss is back. It must be the drugs talking to him now. The brown eyes that I love are nowhere to be seen.

  “You don’t want to use, Rhye,” I say, pleading with him.

  “What the fuck? Are you both spying on me now?” he says, looking from Josh to me.

  I can’t stand what is happening right now. There is only one thing I can do, and I take the chance of him hating me, but it has to be done. I look up into his face, noticing that his jaw and lip are starting to swell from Tag’s fist. I feel him loosen his grip on my arm, and I make my move. I jerk loose and takeoff running towards the restroom, hearing Rhye yell at Josh for holding him back. Several times, my ankles twist, and I almost fall. Cowboy boots are evidently not made to run in. Bursting through the door, I throw the packet in the toilet and flush it. I wait for him to come chasing me at any minute. Several seconds pass by without him rushing inside the bathroom.

  Knowing that I can’t stay in here forever, I walk out. At first, I don’t see Rhye or Tag, but then I notice Ryan talking to Rhye in the corner. I look around for Tag and notice that he and his buddies are gone. Thank God. Josh stands to the side of Rhye, listening to the conversation. When Josh sees me, he leaves them to walk over to me.

  “I didn’t know what else to do?” I say, suddenly overwhelmed with grief and misery. I want to cry, and I don’t know why. Yes, I do. He’s going to hate me.

  “Kiddo, I would say it was both smart and stupid. Smart because you may have saved him from that one hit, but we live in a world of roaches, like the guy before, and they have so much more where that came from. If Rhye is going to get high, he will find a way, or like I said, they’ll find him.”

  I’m tired and want to go home. Bowing my head, I whisper, “So it was for nothing. I just gave him more ammo to hate me, for freaking nothing.”

  Feeling his finger beneath my chin, he raises my head and looks into my eyes. “That was one of the bravest things I’ve witnessed, Syn. You knew the guy you love would hate you for your actions, but you still acted. That is amazing, and I’m sorry I ever doubted your love. Evidently, I don’t always know what I’m talking about; however, I still know it’s a mistake for you to love him, only because I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says, smiling at me. “Listen, Ryan wants me to make sure Rhye gets straight home. He doesn’t know anything about the heroin; he just doesn’t want Tag and Rhye to meet up anywhere else to finish what Tag started. I think it might be better if Rhye and I get a taxi and let you take the car back. You okay with that? It will give him some time to cool off.”

  I swallow back the sob that almost chokes me. “Sure.” What else am I supposed to say? No and that I need him to understand why I did it? Josh leans down and kisses my cheek, turning to walk back over to Rhye. I watch him say something to him and Rhye looks up to see me staring. We are back to him sneering at me. Great. “Such a good look on him,” I joke with myself to keep from crying like a baby. He looks back at Josh and turns to walk out of the room, grabbing the girl from earlier around the waist as he goes. Right before he passes through the doorway, he looks back once more. I feel the single tear drop roll slowly down my face. I turn away, not able to stand the sight of him anymore.

  Two weeks of being clean and sober, well other than alcohol, takes a toll on the body. Everything becomes clearer, sharper, and you can’t ignore the demons that haunt your ass day in and day out. Josh actually was the one that suggested I get hobbies. I still hate the asshole, but I tolerate him. It’s hard to fill all the hours of the day, but somehow, I’ve been able to do that. Every morning, I take my happy ass down to the gym and actually work out, getting rid of the excess energy that I seem to have extreme amounts of. I’m not lifting weights or any shit like that, just trying to keep in shape. I try to stay away from anything that remotely makes me break a sweat due to my lungs and coughing up shit that is better to stay down. I think I’m the only person that leaves the gym to smoke a cigarette.

  I’ve already written the notes and lyrics to eight songs. All are definite keepers for the album. Ryan and Mel, fucking love them. Once I really got to working seriously on my music, I hit it off with both of those guys, and the shit we come up with rocks. They are bringing in the rest of the Mavericks next week to start recording the album. I haven’t been close to any of them this past year. Jared and Ian are painful reminders of everything, the good days and the fucking bad ones.

  After Chris died, we didn’t talk for months. It was too motherfucking soon to see the blame in either of those guys’ eyes. Jared hated me. I know he did because he fucking told me, and I didn’t blame him. Hell, I knew it was my fault. Chris and Jared go way back, farther than Chris and me. When we finally did meet up, it was decided not to replace Chris. He was second guitarist, so I would stay lead singer and guitarist, Jared as the bass player, and Ian on drums; however, by the end, we were all back to fussing about everything, and I fucking left to get high. I’ve stayed that way, on and off, ever since.

  I pull my shirt on, getting ready to go to the studio for the day. The hardest part of my shitty days revolve around staying the fuck away from Syn. We haven’t spoken since that night at the club. Of course, I see her at the studio. I can’t miss her. Sometimes we sit in the same recording booth, staring at blank paper. Well, I stare at blank paper, but I don’t know what the fuck she does other than act like I don’t exist. We are supposed to be writing a duet together. So far, we both have nada.

  What can I possibly say to her? Yeah, I was pissed the night she flushed my smack away. I was jonesing for my next hit. I wanted to yell at her, hurt her. That was the whole reason I grabbed the skank on the way out that night. I knew she watched me. I wanted her to. I made sure she did, and then what the fuck did I do? I put the chick in a different cab and sent her home, all because of that lone tear that rolled down her face. That moment won’t leave me. Every time this past week that I’ve gone to a bar and tried to hook up, I remember her, and damn if I can even care about getting some ass.

  Every fucking time I think about getting high, I remember what Josh said on the taxi cab ride home, “She’s pretty special.” He didn’t have to say who. I knew who he was referring to. Josh then added, “To find someone that will sacrifice their happiness for the one they love is amazing. Don’t you agree?” That night, I didn’t know or care what he was talking about. I was so fucking pissed at what she did. Not because I couldn’t get plenty more, but that she thought it was her business.

  It’s killer what time and clarity brings. Now, I question those words over and over. Every day. When I asked Josh about them several days ago, he said he didn’t remember what he said. Fucking liar. I know he’s been meeting her to run or ride bikes almost every morning and have breakfast. I reminded him that he’s too old for her, and he laughed, walking away. Fucker. He knows what I’m trying to throw down. Bastard.

  I finish getting dressed and grab my guitar case to head out. Josh sits at the bar in the kitchen when I walk by.

  “Morning, sunshine,” he says, laying his newspaper down.

  “You want my piss now?” I ask, setting my guitar down. I do not want to have to worry about it later.

  “You seem anxious. What’s the rush? Hot date?”

  “Yeah, with you watching me provide a golden shower in a cup.”

  He stands, smiling and saying, “Since you are so adamant about doing it, let’s go.”

  I follow him and complete the test with everything being negative. It wasn’t a surprise. I think I would remember getting high. The worst part is I still want to get fucked up, but I just can’t seem to make myself do it.

  When we walk back into the kitchen, I grab my case and head for the door.

  “Rhye, you’re doing a good job...” he starts to say, but I slam the front door on his words.

  Fuck him. I don’t need his stamp of approval. My p
hone buzzes in my pocket. Looking down, I see it’s my mom again. She’s called several times, and I haven’t answered it. Staring at my phone, I tap my thumb on the accept button.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Hey, sweetie. It’s Mom,” she says, her voice gravelly from smoking a pack a day.

  “Yeah. Hey, Mom.”

  “I just wanted to check in and say thank you for helping me out. The money has been a godsend, but I’m actually calling to let you know I got a job.”

  I take the stairwell down. “Mom, you don’t have to do that. Listen, the new album is going to be great. I’m back in the game, and you don’t have to worry about working again.”

  “Rhye, I want to. I’ve applied over the years to several different places, but with the economy and all...” she says, pausing. “I just wanted to tell you thanks and I love you. Maybe you could come visit me soon?”

  “I’ll try. Listen, I have to go. I’m about to walk into the studio.”

  “Okay. I’m proud of you, Son. Love you.”

  I press the end button. I still feel uncomfortable hearing those words. There is nothing about me to be proud of. There never has been. I walk through the doors of the recording studio.

  “What’s up, man?” I ask, seeing Mel sitting at the sound board.

  “Dude, you have to listen to this track we worked on yesterday. It’s madfunk with some swampy blues.”

  I sit beside him, settling in to get this shit out pronto. We work through lunch, and I don’t see anyone else around the studio until late in the afternoon. Ryan walks in with a group of guys, definitely alternative folk music junkies with their beards and bushy hair. He introduces them, and I notice the band name immediately. I haven’t been living under a rock, just strung out these last years.