Page 131 of Down Beat
“Fuck off, if you’re just going to stand there and judge me,” I scathe. “Go away.”
“I don’t judge you,” she growls. “You judge yourself, you stubborn fucking idiot.” She marches into the room, her rage seeming to give her the bravery she lacked before. “When have I ever put you down or made you feel like you’re less of a person because of what you’ve told me?”
“You don’t have to say it,” I whine like the petulant asshole I am. “It’s implied.”
“Bullshit it is.”
I damn near shit myself when she takes a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back. Whoa, kitty. “Fucking look at me, you coward.”
“I don’t want to.” My damn eyeballs ache in my effort to avoid making contact with her.
“Why not?”
“Because then I’m reminded of why this sucks.”
Her hand relaxes, falling away from my head to her side. “Why, Rey?”
“Because I look at you,” I say, slicing my gaze to her, “and it fucking breaks me apart to admit that I’m the one responsible for losing the one thing I really love.”
“Then don’t push me away,” she cries, seemingly as exasperated as I am by it all. “Don’t treat me like this and give me a reason to leave.”
“I’d rather you left me when you’re angry, than broken,” I murmur, dropping my gaze again without even thinking on it. “Stay with me, and that’s all you’ll be—broken. I don’t want to destroy you, kitty. You don’t deserve that. But you and I both know that’s exactly what I’m doing, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you.” She shunts me with the palm of her hand. “Don’t give up, Rey. Don’t roll over and die. Fucking fight for something for once, and stop hiding behind your mental illness as though it’s at fault.”
“Isn’t it?” I shout. “Tell me what is to blame, then, if not that.”
“You are. You sabotage everything to save face.”
“What the fuck do you mean?” Save face how? I would have called what I do humiliating myself, since I admit over and fucking over again how weak and wrecked I am.
“God forbid you admit that you care about something, huh?” She takes a step back, and then another, staggered until she drops to her ass against the wall. “You tell me you love me, and yet you can’t show it.”
Is she tripping? “What the fuck was the point in kissing you, then? Why the fuck did we mess about in the last hotel, then? Wasn’t that showing it?”
“No.” She says the word on a bitter laugh. “That’s lust, Rey. That’s you seeking a natural high.”
She’s got it wrong. So damn wrong.
“I read up about bipolar, about how it works. I wanted to learn so that I could help. I know what you were doing. You were using me to medicate.”
“You’ve got it wrong.” I know what she means, but that hypersexuality shit comes when you’re in mania. It’s the God complex at work; you think you’re a gift to anyone and everyone.
I wasn’t at my high with her; I’ve only been at my lowest.
“Don’t leave, okay?” I slide off the bed to sit level with her. “We’ll work on this.”
“When?” she whispers. “While you finish your tour, paying my way because I can’t afford to, let alone service the debts I left behind when I came here?”
Now who’s the one who can’t look at the other?
“I need to separate myself from this so I can focus on me. I haven’t been able to write shit since I’ve been here with you, and unlike you, I don’t have a big name to fall back on. I’m still trying to find my place in this industry.”
I stifle her. I’m goddamn suffocating her creativity.
I’ve got nothing to say. What else can I say when her mind is made up?
The truth, Rey.