33. Phoenix

Phoenix

Two Months

“ H oly shit!” Kelly squeals, leaning over Michael to show the rest of us her phone.

We are at this cafe in Berlin, having a late lunch, and judging by what I’m seeing on her phone, our band page just hit three million followers. Jorge hoots loudly, pumping his fist before tearing his phone out at lightspeed, fingers flying over the keyboard. I bump knuckles with Devon and beam at my band. The followers, reposts, and endless tags on social media keep coming.

We are blowing up because of this tour. Europe fucking loves metal. And us.

I pull up my sibling group chat and tell everyone the good news.

Dreadful just hit 3mil on IG.

Veronica: FUCK YEA, BABY brO!

Damien: It’s late. Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow? The twins have soccer practice at 5 am ??

Nyx: Then get off your phone, old fuck.

Nyx: YAY, GO, PHOENIX!!!

Veronica: I’m only awake because there’s a leech on my boob.

Damien: I’ll be sure to have you take them next time, Nixie.

Nyx: You wouldn’t dare.

The two of them will go at it until Damien falls asleep.

I chuckle, pocketing my phone.

We have a night off between shows, so we plan on checking out this bar later. I guess it’s as good of a night as any to celebrate our rising success. But I feel fucking guilty. Always guilty. I am constantly aware that something prominent is missing from my life because Eli still hasn’t responded to my texts.

His phone is off, so all my calls go unanswered.

The receptionist, Taylor, will not confirm or deny that Eli is even at the rehab facility.

So, despite how great this is for us, I can’t feel that joy as deeply as everyone else. I’m just not whole. I won’t be until I get back on California soil and hunt down Eli. Or he contacts me first. Even then, I know it won’t be right until I can feel him again. See his pretty blue eyes, kiss his pierced lips.

Fuck. I miss him.

“ W hy can’t he just let me know he’s okay?” I slur, staggering through our hotel room later that night.

I don’t ever drink, and I did tonight. I’m hammered.

Jorge burps loudly, holding the wall. I don’t know how he’s doing it because he’s flat, arms wide. “It won’t stop spinning.”

“I don’t wanna sleep in here,” Devon whines. Wait, why is he in here?

“Huh?” I say, looking up from my blurry phone, tripping over the air.

“M-Michael is,” he groans loudly, stumbling to get his shoe off, “balls deep in…that person .”

“At least someone is getting laid,” Jorge sighs and burps again. Those do not sound promising. They’re wet and loud. “I don’t feel good.”

“Me either.” I collapse face-first on one of the beds.

Kelly isn’t drunk. She’s eating some strange sausage on a plastic fork covered in mystery sauce. “You should see yourselves. This should go on TikTok.”

“Not on your life,” Devon declares and falls by my face. His mohawk is down today, the neon green strands hanging over his face in thick, sweaty clumps.

“I’m doing it. Say hiiii .”

I lift my head and wiggle my finger.

“This floor is so nice,” Jorge slurs, and I hear a wet smack.

“Did he kiss it?” Devon asks.

“Sure did. Got it.” That’s Kelly.

I attempt to roll on my back but can’t feel my body. So I try three more times and somehow end up on the floor. Jorge is licking the wall. Kelly is standing over me, smiling like some creep.

“Where are my Oreos?” I demand, feeling like I could eat four containers.

“We don’t have Oreos,” she says.

“Why the fuck not?” I try to lift my head for emphasis, but it stays where it is. Oh, this is terrible. I’m never drinking again.

“Why do you gotta be so pretty?” Jorge says huskily, and I giggle. “So pretty.” Another wet smack.

“Stop making out with the floor, Jorge!” Devon hollers and gurgles something wet, and then I hear Kelly shriek.

“VOMIT!” I cry out, shooting upright like the exorcist.

“Don’t puke while I’m making out,” Jorge whimpers, still fondling the wall or the floor? I don’t know anymore.

Devon throws up somewhere nearby, the smell making my stomach roll. I hold my head up because it wants to connect with my chest. Kelly is flying around the hotel looking for something to catch puke. I sag against the bed, the burps coming in fast and aggressive. And that’s when Jorge gasps, appearing before me.

“Don’t tell.”

“Huh?” I blink at him, and there are three of him.

“DON’T TELL HIM. I’m saving myself.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kelly says, stuffing a strange vase under Devon’s face.

I don’t remember a damn thing past that.

A fter our drunken escapade and group vomit session two nights ago, which Kelly accidentally recorded because she’d forgotten to turn off her camera while helping Devon, we decided as a group not to drink for the rest of the tour.

Apparently, European alcohol wasn’t something we could handle. I’m still feeling the lingering effects of that hangover. We all agreed we played like shit last night, so we rallied earlier to make sure to make up for it.

Now, we’re back at the hotel.

Jorge, Kelly, and I are holed up in one room while Devon and Michael share the other. I just got out of the shower, so Jorge darts into the bathroom to take his. Kelly is already in bed, earplugs in her ears and an eyemask over her eyes. I smile over at her. Bored but not ready for bed, I grab my phone off the charger. I had to buy a fancy charger port just for this tour because, apparently, the damn electric outlets are different.

I click the power button and freeze.

I have a new notification.

My heart pounds in my chest, my lungs squeezing to push air in and out. I wet my lips, fingers shaking as I unlock the screen. Fuck. I’m afraid to look. It’s a text. It’s early back home, I think around 6 or 7 am. Swallowing hard and slowly dragging down the notification screen, I gasp when I see the name. Eli.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, opening it immediately. Like someone pressed play on a paused movie, it all rushes in as I read his text.

Eli: I just got my phone back. And I just read all 78 of your texts.

Another comes in not a second later.

It’s hard here. I wish I could say I’m healed, but I’m just not. I honestly don’t know how long they will make me stay. But I did get to have my phone back—once a week, for an hour. I miss you, too.

I cover my mouth, tears instantly squirting free because he’s doing it. He’s fucking doing it. I can tell by the open way he’s texting that he’s not lying to me. I do not bother replying via text; I call him, sneaking onto the little balcony for privacy.

He answers immediately. “Phoenix.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” I croak.

“Fuck, don’t cry. I’m already right there.”

“It’s okay. How…how are you feeling? Are they treating you okay?”

A watery laugh escapes him. “It’s not the greatest. But it’s alright. I just—” He stops abruptly, and I hear his shaky inhale.

“Can I video call you?” I blurt.

“Yeah…yeah. I’m…I’m in the rec area, but yeah.”

I hang up and video call him.

Fuck, as soon as I see his face on the screen, I do sob. He looks good. Better. Skin bright and plump. Clean shaven. His hair is pulled back in that knot he wears, and he’s missing his signature liprings, but fuck, he’s gorgeous.

I want to crawl through my phone and touch him.

“Hi,” he says sweetly, soaking me in like I am.

“Hi.”

We both share a cry and an intense stare. I’m fucking panting, he’s wetting his lips. And the best part is that I can see the rehab facility in the background. The familiar paintings on the wall from the video tour we looked at on New Year’s. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper.

He blushes, wiping his eyes. “So are you. How’s the tour?”

“You know how the tour is. It’s in my novel.”

He laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound. God damn, I want to leave. I want to run to him right now. “Only a few more weeks, and I’ll be there.”

“Gonna come visit me?” he teases, but it’s weak. I can tell he needs me. Fuck, I knew he would need me, and here I am, living the rockstar life, getting drunk and being selfish.

“Yes,” I declare. “The second I hit the fucking ground, I’m coming for you.”

He chews his cheek, staring directly into my eyes. “I made a friend. I think. Maybe.”

“Yeah?” There’s a pinch of jealousy, but I ignore it. He needs friends—other people.

“Little fucker named Patrick.” He has a small smirk on his lips as he gets comfortable on the sofa. “He’s like a wizard at checkers. I can’t beat him.”

“Checkers?” I ask through a wet laugh.

“Yeah. It’s either that or Monopoly. No one sane plays Monopoly.”

“Obviously,” I agree.

That smile brightens. I’ve never seen him so clear, so radiant. It makes my chest hurt and split. “He also insists on sitting next to me in group. Think he wants my dick.”

“Like fuck he does,” I growl before I can stop myself.

Eli bites his lip. “Jealous, baby?”

I huff and roll my eyes but can’t help the grin. “Always.”

“Good to know you still want me.”

“Did you not read my texts? I’m going crazy over here without you. Like, it’s certifiable.”

“Are you proud of me?” he asks, a shy little question that catches me by surprise.

When I fumble with my words, he frowns. So I force my lips to cooperate. “Of course. Yes. Yes.”

“I should’ve been out already. All the other people who came when I did are in the outpatient program now.”

“Hey,” I say softly. “It’s alright. I don’t care how long it takes as long as it helps.”

“What if it never does?” His eyes drop, and the camera shakes. “What if I stay like this forever?”

“Then that’s just how it is. I don’t expect magic. That’s not reality. I know it’s going to be hard, some days it’s going to feel impossible. But that’s what I’m signing up for. I'll shoulder the rest of that weight if you feel like you’re not strong enough. You don’t have to deal with it alone anymore, Eli.”

He cries quietly, nodding. “Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I…have to go.”

“Already?”

He clears his throat and pretends to hear something. “Yeah. Gotta go…do therapy.”

It’s obvious he needs some space. Space I don’t want to give. We have an ocean and an entire continent of space between us, but I get it. He’s working through his shit. Swallowing a groan of protest, I nod. “Alright. Call me next time you can? I don’t care what time. I’ll answer.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

His eyes flick to mine. “I promise, baby.”