Page 103 of Down Beat
I did what everyone else does and accepted it was all a part of who he is. But what if that’s just it? None of that has to be him.
How the hell am I going to do this? How on earth do I uncover the best parts of someone with music alone? You’re delusional, Tab. A woman with a Mother Theresa complex that’s going to get somebody hurt, or maybe everybody.
I dry off and tug my pajamas on, chuckling a little when I pull the polka-dot-covered fabric up my legs. A few strokes of the brush through my hair and I’m decent enough that I don’t think Rey will have a hernia when he catches sight of me in the morning.
I step out into the bedroom and immediately freeze. What the hell? Two men argue, far enough away that I can’t quite make out whom it is. Are they back? Have the band returned? Arms over my chest, I edge the door open a fraction and reel as I recognize Rick’s voice in the living area.
“I’m done with you blaming me for this shit. You brought it on yourself. Deal with it.”
“Fuck off, Rick.” Rey. “Just get the fuck out and leave me alone.” I catch distinct footfalls as they head for the door. “And tell those backstabbing cunts they can get fucked if they think I’m going to let them in here.”
“Go throw your tantrum in your room if you must, Rey,” Rick scathes, “but this is everyone’s space. If you can’t deal with people right now, then get yourself another suite. The guys will be back here tonight whether you like it or not.”
“Just fuck off, already!”
The door slams shut—presumably behind Rick—with a resounding boom, Rey muttering under his breath as he crosses the living space.
I step back into his room, tiptoeing across to where my sweater lies on the bed. He needs a minute to cool off, a few precious seconds to get his blood pressure down before I walk out into that minefield.
I get my arms in the sleeves before deafening vocals fill the place, the opening of the song’s heartfelt lyrics sung almost solo before the music drops in. I fall to the side of the bed as the first verse resounds off the walls, my heart breaking when Rey joins in with the words at the top of his lungs.
My hands shake as I bring my phone to my lap and ask Siri, “What’s this song?”
I can’t hear her answer over the level of the music, but the result displays on my screen: “Help” by Papa Roach. It takes two tries, but I manage to open Google and bring up the lyrics, my chest growing tighter by the minute as Rey sings along with what is his most desperate cry for change yet.
I’m in too deep. I’m flailing, falling lower with him with every reminder that I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing. He’s on the edge, arms wind milling as he tries not to fall, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to pull him back up if he does.
My throat grows tight, air too hard to breathe, when the song restarts. Rey’s voice grows hoarse as he yells the lyrics. I rise to my feet, unable to take his agony a second longer, and walk through to the living room to find him in a heap on the floor, eyes closed and pinched with pain.
The lines of the song whisper from the speakers and the man before me as the song reaches its lull, my approach hidden when the guitar and drums cut back in.
“Rey?” I step in front of him, unsure if I should encroach on his space.
His head lifts, eyes bloodshot as he stares at me with a dimpled chin. “You didn’t leave?”
I step across to the dock and turn the music down. “No. Didn’t you see my message?”
His maniacal laughter dissolves in a guttural moan. “Kitty, they took the fucking thing off me. Can you believe that shit? I got my motherfucking phone confiscated like I’m a goddamn kid.”
It’s kind of funny. “Really?”
“You’re here,” he repeats on a whisper. “Why?” The brief respite slides away, not a shadow of it left as he slumps onto his heels and gently rocks to the music.
The song starts again.
“Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“Because everyone always leaves.” His fists flex on his knees. “Everyone has enough. Everyone breaks. Mostly me.”
I drop to my knees and shuffle before him, torn apart watching him self-destruct. “Talk to me. What brought you to this, Rey? Make me understand how you went from the cocky guy I met a few weeks ago to this complete one-eighty.”
His jaw flexes as he swallows, his reddened eyes fixated on mine. I count the breaths he takes, praying for the patience to let him come to me in his own time. I want to shake the doubt from him, slap him with the incredible talent he possesses.
But none of that will help when he can’t see it for himself through the fog of his depression.
“You wouldn’t understand.” He drops his head, chin tucked to his chest as he fidgets with the frayed threads on his jeans. “Fuck. It was a good show.” A bitter laugh escapes. “Why am I like this, then? What the fuck is my deal?”
“Where are the others?” Something has to have happened to send him over the edge.