Page 124 of Down Beat
“On me?” His eyebrow cocks. “You think I’m a liar?”
“No.” I scoot forward. “Not at all.”
He retreats, swallowing. “What did you ask him?”
“About the band, how you started out, the challenges you had. You.”
He stares me down, nostrils wide as he appears to breathe through his anger.
“Rey.”
He looks away and shakes his head, the disgust written in the downturn of his lips. “I trusted you.”
“You still can.”
His gaze snaps back to mine with such intensity I physically reel. “What now, kitty? Going to write an opinion piece on me to sell for your next rent payment?”
“That’s not fair—”
“What’s not fair,” he rages as he stands, “is being treated like some goddamn case study. If you had questions, you should have asked me.”
“And would you have known the answer?” I holler, standing also. “Because it seems to me that so far you don’t have a fucking clue what it is you want: from me, from your bandmates, from the tour, from anything.”
“I want to be happy!” His face contorts with either anger or pain. At this stage I really can’t tell anymore. “I just want to wake up one day and know what it feels like to not have to give myself a pep talk to get out of bed. I want to know what it’s like,” he says, hands rubbing his neck as he walks away, “to look in the mirror and feel nothing. Not hate, not guilt, not regret. Nothing.”
“What do I do, then?” I drop onto the sofa again, whispering the question. “Because from what I’ve seen, Rey, this is way beyond me.”
“Ugh!” His hands tear through his hair as he marches to the darkened windows. “Why? Is it beyond you to love? Because that’s all I need.” His voice falls soft. “To be loved, no strings attached.”
But it’s not.
Talking with Toby opened my eyes to how imbedded he is in his ways. He’s had nothing but love for years. He’s had all the love and care in the world from his support network of family, friends, and colleagues. But he refuses to see it.
Interventions. Counseling. Medication. Retreats.
You name it, he’s had it. I honestly believed when Rey opened his heart to me that he’d been let down and neglected by the people who should care most. But the truth was, I only got half the story. I only got the parts his jaded mind chose to remember.
He mentioned that somebody’s always there to catch him. But what he doesn’t see is that once they have, he has to hold on.
Rey walks away.
Nobody else does.
He leaves. Checks out and shuts down until the cycle starts again.
“You’re the only one who can stop this from happening over and over,” I whisper as he stares stoically at the night sky. “I do love you, Rey. There’s so much to love about you. But what good is that if it means nothing?”
“What are you saying?” He turns, eyes critical. “It means everything to me.”
I sigh. Talking with him about this is the equivalent of smashing my head against a brick wall.
“Look at it this way.” I rise and move toward him, yet keep a safe distance. “You’re an empty vessel, wanting to be filled, right? You want the love you don’t have in yourself.”
He stares at me, not disagreeing, but also not accepting what I say.
It’s the best I’ll get.
“Problem is,” I continue, “you get that love. Fuck, every day you get that love. But you sit there with your goddamn lid on tight, refusing to let it in. There’s only so many times people can pour love over you, Rey, before they get frustrated with it flowing back to their feet, unwanted.”