Page 102 of Down Beat

THIRTY-EIGHT

Tabitha

Help – Papa Roach

My sleep-addled brain takes a precious minute to register where I am as I blink away the remnants of my impromptu nap. The four disrupted hours I got on the airport floor with Rey didn’t exactly sate my need, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when I struggled to keep my eyes open watching television.

I gave in, figuring the guys would wake me up when they came back between the rehearsal and the show. Yet one look at the array of glittering lights out the darkened windows tells me that they never made it back.

I can’t deny the sense of deflation that has me sinking back into the sofa cushions.

I glance at my phone where it rests beside me on the sofa. I should message Rey and ask what’s going on, but that would make it seem as though I’ve accepted his apology and I’m already over his one-sided argument.

I guess I am, to some degree, but I’m not ready to let it blow over without talking it through first. Face-to-face.

My fingers beat a rhythm on the television remote. What to do? The time on the corner of the television screen says a little after ten, the evening news report broadcasting something about a gridlock on the highway. I guess the only logical thing to do is have a shower and head to bed.

Not as though I have any hot invites to go out for the night. Or do I? I roll to the front of the sofa cushions, balancing myself precariously on the edge as I stretch out to retrieve my phone. Two new messages from Rey sit on the lock screen, as well as one from Kendall.

I unlock the device and roll to my back to check hers first.

K: You haven’t sent me any updates, woman! I’m going to bed. Ring me tomorrow.

I frown, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I tap out of her thread and into Rey’s.

R: We ran over with rehearsal. Sticking around here before the show. Come down, kitty. Get a cab, and I’ll meet you when you get here to pay for it.

Shit. As my eyes track the first text bubble it strikes me: he messaged me. No spontaneous Messenger video call. He knew I wouldn’t be up to much, yet he chose to send a text message instead.

Speaks volumes for how insecure he is underneath all that anger.

I continue on to the more recent message, sent an hour ago.

R: I’ve totally broken the no phones on stage rule by messaging you, but I’ve already fucked up my words twice because you didn’t turn up. I didn’t mean what I said, kitty. Don’t leave. Don’t go home.

His message brings relief—he gets how badly what he did hurt me. I’d call him, just to reassure him that I’m not going anywhere, but he’ll be in the thick of it now. If they’re not still on stage, they’re bound to be tied up with post-show commitments.

Panic flashes through me, hot and raw as it slices a path straight through my lungs and into my heart. What if he’s out drinking again? Who’s he with?

Get a grip, Tab. It’s none of my business who he spends his time with, or why. I’ve been in his life for all of a hot minute. As abandoned as I feel being here, alone, I shouldn’t lose sight of the fact I’ve been given one hell of a privilege.

Hopefully he can do what he promised and get me on stage with them. If not, there’s still the possibility that I could make some connections while I tag along on this tour. There might be something good yet to come out of it all for me.

I take the phone to Rey’s room and drop onto the bed to at least send him reassurance that I’m here for him.

T: I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m here. I’ll be here when you get back.

The phone falls from my hand as I throw my arms wide over the bed with a sigh. I need to get prepared. If I’m going to have all this time to myself while they’re busy doing what bands do while on the road, then I’d be wise to put the hours to good use and learn a bit more about what goes on in that brain of his.

A shower to clear my head, and then I’ll get started. The magic of a smartphone and free Wi-Fi at the hotel means I have endless resources available at the touch of a finger.

Maybe I can help him through music? Maybe I can’t? But if I’m going to try, I need to give it my all.

I make a mental list of questions as I shower, things to research about his condition and what I can do to support him. I know enough not to be ignorant, but I’m one of the lucky ones who’s never had anyone close in their life affected to this degree by a mental illness.

At least, not that I know of.

The hot water washes over my shoulders, easing the tension while I run through all the little tells he had leading up to that epic breakdown. With hindsight, I can see that he barely held on, but at the time I guess none of it seemed important.