Page 78 of Down Beat

“Because I want you to see what I do.” She gestures for me to go on.

I scoot forward and slide my legs either side of hers, reaching around her smaller body to encase her in my arms. “Are you sure?”

Tabby nods, another stray tear threatening to fall.

I rest my forehead against hers, close my eyes, and continue. “Six months later I swallowed my fresh prescription of sleeping pills. Rick’s old man, Wallace, made sure that doctor never worked with us again. I’ve got it on file now that I get metered anything I’m prescribed.” She sets her things aside with a sigh. The soft touch of her hands as they wrap around the outside of my upper arms encourages me to list the last, and most recent.

Nobody knows about it—nobody but me.

“The week before we started the tour I tried to do that again. Except when you’re not allowed anything with any real strength, you have to improvise.” My heartless laugh falls into the void of silence around us. Tabby sighs, hands flexing. “I thought maybe if I mixed enough painkillers—regular strength shit—with alcohol, I could get some epic concoction going. But I fucked it all up. I drank too much before I started, and so by the time I’d chugged the first packet of pills, I was so fuckin’ drunk I knocked the bottle onto the floor. All I had left was top shelf, which isn’t the best thing to chug when you’re halfway cut on bourbon already.” I frown at the vibrations that move through me from Tabby, eyes still closed to avoid her pain. “Long story short, I passed out, vomited in my sleep, and woke up with one hell of a hangover. You’d think the painkillers would have dulled it all, right?” I chuckle again, yet it’s a hollow plea for forgiveness. “I was sick as a dog for four days afterward while the low-level poisoning worked its way out of my system. Told the guys I had a stomach bug so they wouldn’t question why I was in the bathroom so much.”

“Why were you?” Her voice is hoarse with the consequence of my regrets.

“To purge. Figured the more I could get the shit out of me, the quicker I’d get better. I lived on water and dry crackers for a week.”

The familiar weight of disappointment blankets me as I sit with Tabby encased against my chest. I fucked it all up, did such a stupid thing, and what’s worse is I can’t say with honest clarity I wouldn’t attempt it again.

I’m not sure if that’s more selfish, or stupid?

“Do you see it now, though?” she whispers.

Her hands slide from my arms as she slowly pulls away.

“See what?”

“Why you do it.”

I track her as she rises and walks to the counter with her things. Her hands shake as she gently sets the phone and menu down, and then wipes under her eyes with the side of her finger.

“I guess it must be a cry for help, right?”

Her face remains impassive as she fidgets with the paper.

“Kitty. Look at me. Please.”

“Why?” The single word is almost imperceptible, she utters it so quietly.

I swallow back the urge to walk away, to hide and deny the truth, the pain, and the hopelessness of it all. I’ve done that for years, and where has it got me? “Because you make me feel ashamed of myself when you can’t look at me. You make me feel as though you wish I wasn’t here.”

Her bloodshot eyes snap to mine; she tries so hard not to cry. “Nobody wishes you weren’t here, Rey. Nobody except you.”

I frown.

“That’s what I want you to see,” she explains, hand on the counter as though it’s the only thing that holds her up. “You said Toby found you the first time. Your own brother. And yet you tried again.” She holds her hand up to ask me to let her finish when I try to say something. “Then Kris found you, and although you know it hurt him deeply, and that in turn upsets you… you tried again.” Her palm slides from the counter, and she slowly makes her way back over to where I sit on the floor.

My chest compresses as she places her feet either side of my thighs and sets her hands on my shoulders to brace herself as she lowers onto my lap. It takes everything in me to stay leaning back on the heels of my hands and to let her direct this. Her warm palms track up the sides of my neck until she has my jaw in her hands, her eyes wet with what can only be empathy.

“You think you do this so other people will take notice and help you.”

I nod, agreeing one hundred percent.

“You do it,” she whispers, “because you’re waiting for yourself to take notice and help.”

Huh? I frown, searching her eyes for more. Yet she stays rigid, waiting on me to understand.

“You think I won’t help myself?”

Her head slowly moves from side to side. “Your music, Rey. What do the lyrics talk of?”