23. Phoenix

Phoenix

Heroes

I ’ve been stripped raw.

Gutted.

Eviscerated.

That’s how it feels to have the last shred of hope stolen from your fingers and left with nothing but a void. It isn’t that I was under the illusion that Eli would change, nor did I think, after only a handful of sober days, that he’d be better.

But, fuck, I hoped.

Christmas is bathed in grey energy this year—possibly worse than the previous one. Everyone is at my parents' house except for Oli. I know I need to see him. He’s become the catalyst for every wrong thing in my life without even meaning to be. But that’s the truth. My brother’s addiction, his overdose, and all that came after have shaped me into a jaded man with no love or understanding for anyone in his situation. It might seem stupid to someone else, but to me, I just know that if I can make peace with Oli, then maybe…just maybe I can ride out this shit with Eli.

Maybe I can move on.

There’s the pitiful longing inside me that doesn’t want to, that believes I can figure something out. That I’ll be able to understand…forgive, even. I would say that only time will tell, but I’m tired of waiting. Tired of existing like this. But somehow, I guess I still am waiting. I think I always will be, even though I know it’s unhealthy.

Eli and I are toxic. We always have been. Though, despite that, lately I’m beginning to realize that I might be the cancer slowly poisoning us. After all, I’m the reason we crashed last year. I’m the reason he said all those horrible things to me.

I can accept that blame.

“Fe,” Nyxia says, waving her hand in my face.

Shit. I can’t keep zoning out like this.

“Sorry.” I straighten on the back porch. My nephews are throwing a football back and forth in the yard, and Damien and his wife are over by the smoker fucking with the ham.

“You look terrible,” my little sister comments, poking at one of the bags under my eyes. “Wanna talk about it?”

I shake my head. “I’m good. Just beat from the tour.”

She studies me for a moment, not believing my bullshit for a minute, but she won’t call me out. Nyx isn’t a prier thank god. “Think Oli will show?” she asks instead.

“Doubt it.”

“I wish he would. I worry about him.”

“Me too,” I admit. “Feels wrong without him here.”

We lapse into silence, watching my nephews, and it feels like hours pass without me being mentally present. The house is organized chaos as my brother’s kids tear through gifts. I hold my niece for a while, cracking a few smiles because she’s a cute baby, and make small talk with Veronica and my dad. Mom is single-handedly managing the kitchen. Nyx plays Uno with Deke. I’m here, but not.

I keep checking my phone. I don’t know who I wish for more, Eli or my brother. At some point, I go outside to puff my vape and text my bandmates Happy Holidays and all that jazz.

Because I put in effort to wear a dress shirt, my family assumes I’m alright. Then again, I don’t make a big deal and keep forcing out smiles as I need to so I can get through the day before I haul myself back to the apartment and cry myself to sleep. That’s the plan, anyway. The tour starts right after New Year's, and I dread being back out on the road feeling the way I do.

I should be ecstatic because we’re going to Europe.

The metal scene out there is significantly bigger than in the States. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for Dreadful to get recognized on a broader spectrum. This tour could make a career for us. We could be huge after. But I know we’ll also still be opening for Headhunter. Leon is going to be there for every fucking show. A constant reminder of the shitshow that was these past few months, along with the fact that Eli left me.

Again.

So, yeah. I’m not excited. I’m terrified. Honestly, I'm angry and disgusted with myself…the list is endless. My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I rip it out so fast it flies from my fingers into the grass.

“Fuck,” I grunt, snatching it up and unlocking the screen.

Oliver: Merry Christmas.

My breath whooshes out of my lungs as I reread the text five times. He ignored all my other texts except the last one. I’d told him I missed him and wanted to talk. This is his reply? Merry Christmas?

Groaning, I quickly write back.

Are you coming?

Minutes pass, and he leaves me on read.

Guess not.

K elly greets me when I get home later. She’s still wrapped up like an ornament, her knit Christmas sweater has actual lights flickering on it and her santa hat is lopsided on her head. She must’ve just gotten here, too. Through a gnarly burp, she pulls me in for a bear hug and mutters something about throwing up.

“Not in the sink!” I call as she rushes to the bathroom, the door slamming.

A flicker of a smile passes my lips before it dims.

Helios strolls over to me, rubs my legs, and meows loudly. “I know, baby. I’ll get it.”

He follows me into the kitchen, where I get his wet food can and dump it into his dish. I watch him eat, vaguely aware of Kelly hurling in the background, and pull out my phone—still nothing from Oli.

I miss you.

Can we please meet up soon?

The texts are sent, but after five minutes and the toilet flushing, it still shows as sent, not read. Frustrated and heartbroken, I go to put it back in my pocket, but it buzzes. My heart skips a fucking beat , and I look down at the screen.

Not Oli…it’s Jorge. He’s calling me.

“Hey,” I say and wander over to the couch.

“Are you home?” he asks, whispering.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Are you sitting down?”

I glance at my bent legs. “Dude, what’s going on?”

“Are you?” he insists.

“Yes. Fuck, man. Yes.”

There’s a long, tense pause while I hold my breath. “I think,” he pauses, “shit, I think…”

“Spit it out.” Seriously, this delayed effect isn’t helping my nerves.

“I think Eli tried to kill himself tonight.”

“WHAT!?” I shoot to my feet, my free hand flying to the top of my head. “The fuck? When? Where? Is he okay? Where is he?”

“He’s at my house.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hang up, hands shaking.

A million thoughts shoot through my head. What happened? What did he do? How did Jorge find out? What’s he doing at Jorge’s house ? A flare of jealousy zips through my chest, but I squash it. Eli doesn’t have anyone. I’m it, and after he left me high and dry last week, I can only imagine how desperate he must’ve been to call my best friend.

Quickly making sure that Kelly is alright, I bring her some water and the throw blanket from the couch because she insists she’s going to sleep in the bathroom.

“Call me if you need me,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. She groans and hugs the water to her chest. “I’ll be at Jorge’s.”

“K,” she slurs.

Confident she just drank too much, and she will be fine, I leave the apartment with speed. I trip over my feet several times as I get to my car. My heart races uncontrollably while I drive. How come he didn’t call me? Yes, I’ve been fucking destroyed that he vanished and blocked me… again , but I’d have come. I’d have been there. Maybe that’s the problem with us.

He doesn’t realize that.

How could he, though? After what I said?

The horn blares as I peel my face from the dash. A sharp sting pierces my head, and I feel something warm trickling down my temple. My eyes take a moment to focus, but when they do, all I see is red.

“MY CAR!” I roar.

We crashed into a stop sign. The hood is crushed in, and steam wafts from the engine. Eli is struggling with his seatbelt, and the airbag is slowly deflating. “Fuck, you’re bleeding,” he says, voice panicked. “Phoenix…I…”

“No. No more talking,” I growl and roll out of the car. Ripping at my hair as I assess the damage, my breaths come out jagged as the tidal wave of wrath consumes me whole.

Rounding the car, I rip open the driver-side door and yank him out of it. He wobbles, obviously disorientated, but I feel nothing. Nothing. “Was it all a lie?” I slam him into the side of the car. “Did you ever give a fuck about me at all?”

His eyes won’t leave the spot on my head where I’m bleeding. It’s trickling down my neck. “You know about Oliver,” I hiss, fisting his collar. “You know how I feel about drugs!”

“It’s medicine,” he insists for the hundredth time.

He really won’t admit it?

I slam my fist on the roof, right by his head, and he flinches. “Stop lying to me. I swear to God, Elijah. Tell me the damn truth. Now!”

“We need to call an ambulance. You’re bleeding.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone approaching, their face lit up, and a phone angled towards us, but I can’t stop myself. I’m just so…hurt. All the signs were there. All of them. The reclusiveness, the hiding, and vanishing acts. The lack of communication and the absent looks he’d get mid-conversation. Sometimes he’d fade even when we fucked, his eyes glazed over like he wasn’t even there. I thought what we had was important and special.

Fuck, I was going to tell him I loved him tonight.

“I don’t give a fuck. Tell me!”

Something changes in his expression. I know the moment the walls fly up, nothing I say or do will bring them down. “Why? Why should I tell you anything , Phoenix? If you don’t understand shit, the first reaction is to judge. You think you’re so high and mighty? You’re not! You’re a fucking ghost of a person without me kissing your ass!”

“Sonofabitch,” I snap. “I’m fine without you. Why would I want a liar anyway? Look what you did. You ruined everything. My sister’s fucking wedding, my car, my whole life!”

“You’re right. I do ruin everything. It’s who I fucking am. Do you honestly think I’d spill my guts because you take my dick like a whore? Fuck that. I’ll never trust you with anything. You’re such a hypocrite.”

That word grinds my aching heart. Me? A hypocrite? “I’m a hypocrite? Me ? Look in the damn mirror!” I shove him against the car again and force myself to release him before I hit him. “Don’t fucking call me when you’re half dead on the damn floor. I won’t be there,” I spew more venom—hurting him because he’s killing me.

I can hear sirens in the distance, a small crowd forming while we have this horrible fight. It’s never been this nasty—we’ve never come for blood like this. But how do I stop it?

“You are a hypocrite. If anyone’s addicted to something, it’s you. Let’s see how well you do without me to constantly make you feel like you’re worth something.” He spits on the floor by my feet. “It’s fucking done, Phoenix.”

My breath hitches. “It’s not done. We’re…we’re arguing.”

“This isn’t arguing. This is carnage.”

“We’re not done,” I say louder and lunge for him, but he ducks away. “I want to be with you. That's why I said fucking forever!”

“It's over.”

“Elijah, just…stop.”

“No, I won’t because this is how it is, motherfucker. You never ask. Never. You assume. Always assuming and look at what’s happening? I have prescriptions for everything . I’ll die on this hill before I ever let you make me feel less than for trying to feel better. So, yeah, Phoenix. It’s over.”

I’m crying. Fuck. The ambulance and police cars are coming down the street, the lights flashing, signaling we won’t be able to keep fighting. And he’s quitting.

He’ll keep using everything but me.

He’s fucking quitting me.

“Nothing to say now? Good. Keep it that way.” He sits on the curb, and I’m frozen solid.

“Damn it,” I park the car and take a deep breath.

Am I still doing it? Assuming? Being a fucking animal because I have trauma I don’t want to acknowledge? We’d never spoken to each other like that before. I never knew he felt that way, and when he first showed up at my apartment two weeks ago, saying he changed his mind, I thought we moved past those festering wounds. That we’d finally let them heal. And now Jorge said he tried to kill himself?

God, what have I done to him?

I know the answer. Admitting out loud is another thing. No one knows the details of the night or how it was my fault we crashed. It’s my fault he left me, too. Because I do what he said. I assume. I assumed he was some lowlife addict too selfish to accept love over drugs. I treated him like Oliver. I still do. My brother's problems shouldn’t be the crutch I use to project all that hurt onto another person I love. That’s the truth. Eli might be an addict, but I’m a bad person.

I’m a bad person.

Parking the car out front of Jorge’s little house, I grip the steering wheel and breathe for a few moments. I’m scared of what I’ll see, of how I’ll react. My first instinct is to be livid because suicide is the coward’s way out. That’s what I’ve always thought. Do I have any real experience to explain my thought process? No. I can’t run off instinct. I can’t judge him right now. The fact is, I want Eli in my life. I want him to be mine again—only mine. Before, I wasn’t able to accept that to have him, I’d have to rewire my damn brain.

Before, I wanted him to change for me and not himself. I was a selfish motherfucker. If everyone knew the truth about how I really am, they’d be ashamed even to know me. My mom especially. She didn’t raise me to be this giant fucking toolbag. I might have felt left out, ignored, and forgotten, but I grasped the fundamentals.

I can do better.

No. I will do better. I have to.

Sniffling and wiping my face, I force myself out of the car and tell myself to keep an open mind. Don’t be a prick. Don’t fucking argue. Just… be there. If I’m going to fight, it has to be for Eli, not against him.

I swallow hard and knock on the front door. Jorge opens it immediately as if he’s been waiting. Our eyes meet, a sad look in his. I don’t even want to know what he sees in mine. My lips part to say something…anything. He shakes his head and steps aside.

My stomach churns when I walk in, catching the form on the pullout in the living room. Jorge grabs my shoulder in solidarity like he fucking knows it’s all my fault.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” he whispers.

I nod slowly, eyes unable to move from Eli. God, he’s just laying there, unblinking, barely breathing, and so pale. His fingers twitch where they’re resting on his stomach, the blanket thrown over his lower half. He won’t look at me or even acknowledge I’m here. I want to be angry, fuck I do. I want to rage and yell and demand answers like I usually do. But I shove it all down and make my way to the pullout. The tiniest inhale of breath is all I hear from him.

What do I say? How do I do this?

For once, I wish I’d been there when Oli hit his lows because then I’d have some experience. This is what I get for being a motherfucker. I’m aimless, floundering in the open space between us. My fingers ball up, the blunt nails digging into my palms. I try not to grind my teeth, but it happens anyway. So does the pinch of my eyebrows, the curl of my lip. He looks terrible.

Scruffy, overgrown five-o-clock shadow that’s teetering near a full-on beard. His hair is greasy as if he hasn’t showered in days, and despite wearing Jorge’s oversized Amon Amarth shirt, I doubt he’s even changed his clothes before he called my best friend for help. My heart hammers uncontrollably while I shift on my feet, glaring down at him like the fucking grim reaper.

Jesus. Get a grip, Phoenix.

“Hi,” I say, hoping my voice sounds nice. After several seconds of no response, I try again, forcing a gentle, “I’m glad you called Jorge.” Lies. You should’ve called me. I wince at my thoughts.

“I didn’t try to kill myself,” he whispers, blinking hard and scooting over to make room for me.

I lower to the edge, careful not to touch him. Obviously, I don’t believe him at all . Jorge wouldn’t just claim something that serious without hard evidence. “Alright.”

“His sister stitched me up.”

Sonia is a nurse working towards a PhD. I’m surprised she didn’t call someone, though.

“How was your parents’?”

The casual question throws me off. Of course, he knew I was there. Wetting my lips and deciding to go with it, I say, “Good. Got to spend time with Delilah.”

“Veronica’s kid?”

I nod. “Yeah. She’s…she’s perfect.”

“You’re such a sucker for a cute baby.” A small smile curls over his lips before it drops, and that blank expression returns.

“I like kids.” What the fuck am I doing here? I like kids? Really? I claw at random shit in my head, hoping to snag on something I can use to find out what happened tonight, but come up with empty hands.

“Are you excited for the tour?”

Like he gives a flying fuck about my band or music. I slide my palms over my thighs, swiping off some sweat. “Not really,” I admit anyway because I have to try. If he wants to talk about unimportant crap, so be it. At least he’s talking. “Never been to Europe before.”

“You’ll like it. Especially Italy.”

I frown, then it dawns on me that he knows our schedule because of Leon. Fucking Leon. It’s so hard not to be angry. Like, come on . Are we really going to pussy-foot around the elephant in the room? I face him more, twisting so my knee comes up on the pullout. He’s nibbling on his lower lip, peeling the dry skin off with his teeth. While I’ve been silently battling back hostility, he’s been scared.

Eli is nervous.

Is this how I made Oli feel? Terrified to even look at me because he knew what I was thinking? How hard was I judging him? If the tables were turned, I can’t say that I would react any differently. Being under someone else's microscope gives me hives and makes me want to projectile vomit. I don’t like being picked apart as is, and I would rather no one ask me anything so I can keep it all locked inside.

And it hits me like a freight train.

This small talk is a shield. A protective barrier to keep me and my shittiness as far away from Eli as possible, but it’s also leaving a sliver of it down. A way in.

An olive branch.

He glances at me since I’ve just been sitting here…staring. It’s brief. A dodgy flash of blue irises, but it’s enough. I see it for what it is. He wants something but doesn’t know how to ask. For all I know, it’s probably just a simple kindness. Something he’s been denied. Something I have denied him.

Gingerly, I brush a few locks of hair from his cheek, and his breath hitches. “It was an accident,” he says, lip wobbling, so I stroke my fingers across his forehead. His eyes flutter shut as he shakes. “I didn’t mean to cut so deep.”

I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. He leans into my fingers slightly, craving me. “I think this is my rock bottom,” he whimpers, a few tears sneaking free.

Sucking in a breath, I wipe them away and tell him, “Then there’s only one way to go from here.” He glances at me, eyes shimmering behind translucent droplets. “Up.”