by Nicole Reed
Without glancing at Josh, I answer, “He is worthy of my future. My music career means nothing if he’s not somehow involved in it, and if more nights like this are to come, then bring them on. Just know this, I will fight with everything inside of me to make sure they are few and far between if he loves me.”
“Everything that happened tonight, in that hallway, will be a distant memory for him tomorrow, if he even remembers anything. Drugs corrupt words and misconstrue actions. They make addicts automatic liars. And if he does remember, what happens tomorrow when he wakes up hating the thought that he shared anything personal with you? You will be blamed, and once again, ignored,” he says miserably.
“Then that is my cross to bear. Where do you stand in this, Josh? I’ve seen that you have been truly proud of Rhye. Are you ready to turn his fate over to an uncaring record label? Better yet, I’ve heard some of his new music. What happens when they decide to keep him on and not you because they know he’s got several top ten hits coming? What then? You both lose out? Or maybe not. You go on to your next babysitting assignment because that’s what it is if you aren’t helping anyone. You can forget all about us,” I say, turning to look up at him through my sheen of tears.
He blows out a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know, Syn. It’s late. Let’s both sleep on it and talk in the morning. Let me walk you back to your apartment.”
“No thanks. I’m going to stay here and make sure he’s okay through the night.”
“As your friend, if I told you that I know that’s probably not the best idea, would you listen?” he asks, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. This morning is definitely wearing on him.
“Yes, but my choice would still be to stay,” I answer, smiling sadly at him.
He nods and turns to leave, gently closing the door behind him. Walking over to the bathroom, I flip the switch and crack the door for some light. I then turn the bedroom lamp off and slip into Rhye’s bed, leaving my bathrobe on. Rolling to my side, I face him, his facial profile illuminated by the wedge of bathroom light shining down. I follow his contours with my eyes, committing them to memory. He’s breathtakingly beautiful. I stay awake for as long as I can, just watching him sleep, praying it won’t be for the last time. His even breathing is the sound of my personal lullaby.
The persistent pounding inside my head wakes me from my sleep. Even with my eyes tightly closed, there is no relief. In fact, I’m pretty fucking sure that if I were to lift my head the entire room would start spinning and I would die from the excruciating agony. Fuck me. What happened last night? I haven’t felt this horrible since…. well, I’ve never felt this horrible. To add insult to injury, I’ve got a terrible case of cotton mouth.
Blinking my eyes, I bring my hand up to wipe the sleep away and rub the bridge of my nose to ease my head tension. “Shit!” I hiss. It hurts like a motherfucker.
“I put a glass of water by your bed,” a soft voice replies.
Her. I lift my head and turn towards the only chair in my room. What is Syn doing here in nothing but her robe and fuck me hair? Did we? I groan and let my head fall back to the bed in pain. Closing my eyes, I try to remember anything about last night, but my last memory is getting thrown out of the strip club and nothing else. My stomach rolls, and the nausea builds to the point that I feel the need to wretch.
Rolling out of bed, I don’t have control of my body, and I fall to the floor hard. “Fuck!” I say, before puking everywhere. The force of the vomit splatters all over as my stomach empties itself. I heave until there is nothing left. The rancid smell of liquor and bile permeates the air.
“Here,” she says, now sitting on my bed with a wet washcloth.
I think about reaching for it, but my arms are shaking too hard as it is. Shutting my eyes, I try to find the strength to even move when I feel the cool cloth pressed against my forehead. God, sweet relief. She gently rubs it down my face, wiping away the spittle from my mouth. I open my eyes to see her staring as she cleans me up. Without saying anything, she turns to reach for the glass of water and brings it to my dry lips. I take only a small sip, letting it wash away the nasty shit in my mouth.
“Better?” she asks, looking unsure of herself.
I barely have the strength to nod, but I do. Hanging my head, I take deep breaths, willing my stomach to quit rolling. I hear her footsteps on the floor, walking away. She is probably leaving to get away from the shitty smell and this fucking mess. Far away from me. If she is smart, she will run as fast as she can. No wonder I’m always left alone, I’d leave my own ass if I could. Thoughts of just ending all of it hammer at my head. “You can’t even stand up out of your own vomit,” I think to myself. I’m a fucking loser. Is this all there is to this life? Forever? Fuck this shit.
At the sound of the door opening, I barely raise my head up enough to see her with a trash bag, a bottle of cleaner, and a roll of paper towels. In complete silence, she kneels down and starts cleaning up my mess. What the fuck is she doing?
“Stop,” I croak out, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Glancing up from scrubbing the floor, she actually laughs and says, “It’s not my idea of a perfect date, but I’ll let you make it up to me.”
“What?” I ask, not understanding a damn word.
“Rhye, I’m not going to leave you like this. I wouldn’t ever do that. See, you don’t know me, but I stick when times get tough. That’s who I am.” She talks as she cleans. “My mom died when I was ten, leaving my dad and me by ourselves. We lived on a big farm, and my dad was a mess for years. I’ve had to clean nastier stuff than this. Trust me. Needless to say, I’ve been taking care of myself since then. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty if it means helping someone that I…,” she stops talking and cleaning, looking pensively at the floor.
I clear my throat and ask, “Someone you what?” My heart pounds as hard as my head. I feel lightheaded and wait anxiously on her answer. She raises those eyes of hers to stare at me. Damn. I swallow at the intensity in her eyes. I’ve only been scared once in my life when I didn’t know how to save the girl I loved. Now, that same feeling invades my empty heart, making it physically ache. I bring my hand up to rub the phantom pain.
Here I sit, surrounded by my own puke and barely able to hold my head up as this beautiful girl cleans my shit. For the first time in years, I glimpse at something so alien to me it has me scared to my toes. If I could stand, I’d walk away, protecting myself the only way I can, but I can’t, and my stupid fucking self does the unthinkable and asks her to finish her sentence. Seconds seem like minutes, and minutes seem like hours waiting for her. When I think she isn’t going to answer, I look away. “What the fuck did you think she was going to say, Rhye?” I scream in my head.
“Someone I care about,” her voice, when she finally answers, whispers across my skin, causing small tingles up and down my spine. “Someone that I would do anything for. Someone that could count on me forever.”
When I look back up, she is finished cleaning up the mess on the floor. She ties the trash bag up and sits it outside. I watch her walk into the bathroom and wash her hands. She turns the shower water on, and returns to stand in front of me.
“Okay, you’re next,” she says, taking off her bathrobe and placing it on the bed. She has on a white nightgown that barely reaches her thigh. I’m too weak for it to have any effect on me, which is fucking sad.
I shake my head. There is no way in hell I’ll make it off this floor by myself, and I don’t want her to help me. Damn, I’d rather her go get Josh at this point. No! Wait. I hadn’t. I’m way too fucking sick for it to have been alcohol. It had to be something else. Did I fucking use last night? Fuck me. It wasn’t heroin; that’s for damn sure. It had to be some other motherfucking drug that I don’t normally touch.
“Rhye?” Her voice calls to me, and I look up. “Do you remember anything about last night?” She looks anxious now. Her entire face turns fifty shades of red.
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br /> FUCK! SHIT! MOTHERFUCKING HELL! What did I do? “No,” I whisper, ashamed for the first time in years, if ever.
“Oh.” That one word lets me know just how much of an asshole I am. Great. There is no telling what I did or said.
“Well, let’s get you cleaned up, and then we will talk. Okay?”
I don’t have the energy to fight her help, and without an answer from me, she stands behind me and pulls me up. I stand on my trembling legs and lean on her for support as we both stumble to the bathroom. Damn, I smell like shit. She leans me against the sink and reaches to pull my shirt off. In my weak state, I can’t even assist her. I watch her unbutton my jeans and, with her dainty hands, unzip them. She pulls them down, helping me step out. I watch her blush at my being commando. Her eyes fly to the ceiling and everywhere else but my limp dick, not even he can be revived at this moment.
“Do you need to use the restroom?”
Thank fuck, no. I think I would find the energy to shoot myself at that point. Again, I shake my head.
“Well, in the shower you go,” she says, opening the door and helping me walk in.
I place my hands on the showerhead wall, leaning into the warm water spray, letting the water fill my mouth and spitting it out. It feels so good to wash all this shit off me. I move my head around, letting the water hit me from all directions. I jump in surprise at the touch of her soft hands, rubbing my shoulders, making me moan loudly. What is she doing? I look back to see Syn, standing in the shower behind me in her gown.
She reaches for my shower gel, pours some into her hands, and then massages it on me. The clean aroma replaces the smell of the vomit, making it easier for me to breathe. I close my eyes, allowing her ministrations to soothe my body and mind. Her touch is different from all those before her. I can’t explain it, or maybe I don’t want to. I’m not sure my brain or heart could handle the truth, whatever it may be.
It’s not the first time I wished the situation was different, but it’s the first time I wished I was. I think again, “What is so different about Syn?” I pause, hearing the sound of her soft voice echoing off the shower walls. She is singing some slow song, and instead of it irking me, it comforts. Warms me from the inside out. It’s amazing. Special. Mine. Only for me.
The sweet melody she shares, along with her touch, quiets the internal storms that constantly rage inside of me. My body stops rebelling, my mind is even able to rest, finding peace without the help of smack. Once she starts back at the chorus, I hum along with her, needing to feel the connection she freely offers, even though I know she is not expecting or wanting anything from me in this moment.
When she ends the song, I close my eyes at the touch of her soft lips against the middle of my back. My strength has barely returned, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do anything about it.
“Do you feel strong enough to stand by yourself now and finish showering?” she asks with a husky tone.
“Yeah,” I answer, leaning my head down on my outstretched arm. The sound of the shower door opening and closing is the only sound other than the water. I let the water continue to flow over me. Syn. Who is she? And what the hell is happening with her?
I barely make it out of his room, soaking wet from his shower, before the sobs rack my body. Sliding down the wall, I let the tears drip to the floor. I love him. Without a doubt. Without question. I can’t help it. I can’t control it. Cleaning his throw-up should have been a deal breaker, but I didn’t think twice. I couldn’t stand the thought of him being covered in it, because I knew he hated it.
It seems that, every time I’m with him, I fall in love over and over again. Something different, every single time, makes me care for him more. Nothing is off limits if his puke makes me love him more. Standing behind him in the shower, I wanted nothing more than to comfort him. Make him understand that my love is unconditional. Has he ever had that? Felt it?
“Syn, what’s the matter?”
I glance up into Josh’s caring eyes, letting him see how much I love Rhye. He kneels down next to me and gathers me in his arms.
“It’s okay, kiddo. Real love is hard on the heart. I’ve been such a dick to you, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to save you from this, but I guess I’m too late, huh?” he asks, holding me tighter as I nod against his shoulder. “Is he okay? I actually just received a call from Ryan checking on him. Seems he was right. One of the other guys he was with ended up in the hospital because he was terribly ill. Turns out they all had something slipped into their drinks.”
I pull back to look into his tired eyes.
“Please remember that I did just refer to myself as a ‘dick’,” he says. “I didn’t realize how jaded I’ve become. I’m sorry, and believe me, I know I owe Rhye an apology too.”
I can’t control the harsh laugh that escapes me. “Well, you can apologize until the cows come home and the boy won’t know why. You were right. He doesn’t remember anything,” I reply, my heart aching at the thought.
“You know, I didn’t want to give you the impression that it doesn’t happen.”
“Give me what impression?” I ask, looking at him.
“Couples overcome these circumstances every day. They fight for it. For each other. It happens. Don’t give up. He’s lucky to have you, even if he doesn’t know it yet. In fact, I’ll make you a promise. No matter what, I won’t give up either.”
Standing, he turns to help me up and says, “Go home and get dressed. Let me see if I need to circumvent any damage control.”
I nod, and in a daze, walk back to my apartment.
After I shower and fix my hair and makeup, I sit on my bed, trying to figure out what happens next. I can’t live like this. I can’t even function like this. It’s not Rhye’s fault about the drugs this time, but if we did end up together, would this incident be my constant worry? Would I spend every night wondering if he is coming home to me sober or not? How does my life, my career, factor into this type of relationship? Talk about trust issues. I’m already a basket case, and he hasn’t even lied to me.
I need to get us away from all the outside influence. For one day, I just need us to be Syn and Rhye. Maybe I can find out if he has feelings too. With my mind made up, I put on a white rhinestone tank top with a pair of short blue jean cutoffs. Slipping on a pair of old brown cowboy boots, I spritz some perfume and grab my bag. I march over to his apartment and knock on the door. Josh answers it, looking no better than before, and I know something is up when he blocks me from entering.
“Hey, this is probably not a good time. Can you come back later?” he whispers, starting to shut the door.
Placing my hand to push the door open wider, I wedge my way in. “No, I can’t. What is going on?” I ask, confused and upset. What has happened in the past hour I’ve been away? He didn’t remember anything when I left. I don’t understand why Josh is acting like this.
“Syn, sometimes drugs have backlashes. Him getting sick was one, and after you left, he’s had some issues dealing with things. Sometimes the worst side effect is an overwhelming sense of doom. You can’t control the thoughts you have, and you can’t control your actions. I’m just trying to protect you from seeing him like that or him saying something he doesn’t want you to hear.”
“You are scaring me, Josh,” I say, meaning it.
“Good. You should be. This is the dark side of the moon, the one that all those groupies that only want him for his fame and fortune never care to see. I’ll stay with him all day and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. The drug should be out of his system in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days,” I echo, repeating his words after him. The thought of Rhye lying in bed, wanting to end it all, breaks something inside of me. I can’t bear the thought or do I want to. I know deep down that Josh understands this entire situation better than I ever will, but it doesn’t mean he knows Rhye like I do. Or like I think I do.
I walk past him, ignoring his groan of frustration. Reaching Rhye’s
bedroom, I turn the door knob only to find it locked. I bang on the door, “Rhye! Let me in!” I fist my hand and pound on it louder. After several minutes, he still doesn’t answer, and panic sets in. “Rhye! Get your ass out here!” I yell. “Open this damn door now!”
Before I can physically ram the door with my body, it opens. He stands there in only his boxers, staring at me with his bloodshot eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss before.”
“Call me crazy, but I’m sure it won’t be the last time it’s directed at you. Get ready. We are getting away from here.”
“Fuck no, Syn. I don’t feel like going anywhere,” he says, rubbing his head with his hands in obvious pain.
“Listen, mister, you owe me,” I say, pushing the door open, not giving him a chance to back out. “There is somewhere I’m taking you. Grab a change of clothing because we are busting you out of this joint.” I plop my butt on his bed and cross my arms over my chest, daring him with my eyes to argue.
He shakes his head but grabs a t-shirt off of his dresser and pulls it on. “So he does own a pair of underwear,” I think to myself, staring at his boxers. Now, every time I see him with clothes on, I’m going to play a guessing game in my head. He ducks into the bathroom, closing the door then coming out minutes later after I hear the toilet flush.
I’m mesmerized by him as he walks around the room. Grabbing a pair of well-worn jeans, he slides them on. He catches me staring, and I watch him slowly move his hands to button them. Every movement he makes is sensual in my eyes. Turning, he grabs socks and shoes, sitting down next to me to finish getting dressed.
“Where are you kidnapping me to?” he asks, tying his shoelaces.
“Somewhere quiet.”
I watch him hesitate, maybe quiet isn’t what he wants or needs.