Page 98 of Down Beat
THIRTY-SIX
Tabitha
“Waking Lions” – Pop Evil
What the fuck have I signed up for?
My hands shake in my lap as I stare pointlessly at the coffee table before me. I dropped onto the sofa the second he slammed the door behind him and I haven’t moved since. Welcome to the tour, Tabby.
I let him go.
What did he expect me to do? Run after him and beg for forgiveness? If so, he can think again—I don’t play that game. Especially when I have nothing to be sorry for.
I mean I get it. I really do. Especially after reading a couple of firsthand accounts online from people who struggle with the disorder. He feels out of control. The mood swing takes him over, and his anger stems from his frustration at himself.
He’s the product of seemingly years without proper treatment, without a proper action plan. From what he told me, the members of his support network have simply done what they had to in order to prop him up like some puppet, instead of actually dealing with the problem properly.
I can deal with that. I understand why he’s so fractured.
But what I can’t deal with is being made to feel as though this whole thing is my fault. It’s like I’m being punished for his issues.
That’s hard to get past, no matter how much I want to help him. No matter how much I know he doesn’t mean to make me feel this way.
I should go out and get food, but I’m stuck with one tiny predicament: I never got a moment in that blaze of fury to ask Rey if I could use his key card. Room service it is, then.
I scour the apartment for the menu, finding it stashed in one of the kitchen drawers. Yet as I stare at the list of things that belong on a restaurant menu, I can’t make heads or tails of the words. Nothing registers. I’m here in body, but my thoughts are across town with a man who’s stuck on self-destruct.
I burn to message him, to get in touch, desperate to know how things went when he showed up to practice. Yet I know that would only give him an out for his behavior and set the benchmark. It would let him know I’m okay with him carrying on like he’s always done.
And I’m not. I didn’t come here for a holiday, I came here to help. And I can’t help him if I enable his current defaults.
My gaze falls on my violin case as I give up on food for the time being. If I can find solace in my music, why can’t Rey?
I’m such a mess. I need a reassuring voice, to talk to somebody in my corner. And there’s only one person I have to do that with, despite how she feels about the man. I retrieve my phone from my purse and then navigate to Kendall’s number.
“Hey, hon.” Her bubbly voice leaves me tight in the chest, suddenly a little homesick.
“Hey.” I return to the kitchen and lean a hip against the counter.
“What’s up? You sound flat.”
“Tired,” I bullshit. “How are things there? No sleepovers while I’m away, okay?”
She chuckles at my dry humor while I chew my thumbnail. “No, Mom. I’m fine, though. Little bit jealous of you living it up. You’re lucky I love you, bitch.”
“I promise it’s not as wild as whatever you’re thinking.”
“Probably not, but a girl can dream.” She hesitates before asking, “What have you been up to so far? Why’s it so quiet? I thought you’d be getting ready for tonight, or something.”
“The guys are.” I fuss with the menu beside me. “I asked if I could hang back and get something to eat. We didn’t have much before we got on the plane, and Rey doesn’t really stop it seems.”
“Well, you tell him I said he has to take good care of you, okay? He doesn’t want to cross me again, trust me.”
“He’s just a bit stressed, I think.”
“What makes you say that?”
I push off the counter and head for the windows before answering. “He lost his cool when we got in to the hotel this afternoon. Typical rock star moment.”