Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Eddie

The calm before the storm, that's what I'm calling last week. Maybe it was a fluke because the nightmares are back and they're in full force. Waking up in a pool of my own sweat sucks so much more now that I'm sober.

Pulling up Callie's contact on my phone, I hit the call button, hoping she is awake.

"Hello?" she says in her sleep-filled, husky voice.

"Hey."

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Not really. Could you come and sit with me for a bit?"

The silence has my heart pounding in my chest, and I wait for her to tell me to go back to sleep.

"Okay," she replies, and I jump straight out of bed.

"Thank you."

She ends the call and I frantically rip the sheets off my bed—I don't want her to smell the sweat dripping off me. I now keep a spare set in here, as the sweats were horrible the first few nights, and it was a pain in the arse having to go all the way to the laundry room for a clean set. I leave the clean ones on the bed, then take the dirty ones into the bathroom and throw them in the corner.

Since I sleep naked, I get straight into the shower. I really should have turned the water on first because when I pull the handle, a cold spray bursts out and shrivels my dick, and he almost tries to hide. As the water warms, I quickly soap up my skin and rinse the disturbing dream from my body, along with the suds. Callie was there again, and there was so much blood. I tried to save her, but I couldn't, just like I couldn't save Amelia.

My hands shake as I step out of the shower and grab a towel. I dry off my hair and body, then wrap the towel around my waist. I look at myself in the mirror and hate the man I see. The Eddie I was before, that man screwed up and deserves everything he had coming to him.

Bending down, I open the cabinet underneath the sink and pull out a package of pads that I keep in here in case my female guests need them. It became a hiding spot for my stash. Opening a pad from the middle, I pull out the little bag and stare at it. Call me stupid for not throwing it away, but I wanted to know I was strong enough to do this while knowing it was here.

I don't feel strong right now. I don't deserve to be strong. Opening the bag, I tip the powder on the surface of the marble vanity and look at it.

You're worthless.

Pathetic.

No one will ever love a mess like you.

I don't deserve love.

Leaning down, I ball my hands into fists and blow the powder into the sink. I can't do it—I can't let her down. It's then I realise I want Callie to be proud of me. No, I don't just want it—I need it.

I step out into my room and find Callie making the bed. She is bending over in her little booty shorts and my cock comes to life. Fuck, I don't want her to think I'm a dirty perve, even though I am.

"You didn't have to do that," I say, making my presence known.

Callie slips down off the bed and looks my body up and down. "I know. How are you feeling?"

"Honestly?" I say, and she nods. "Better now that you're here."

"Why don't you get dressed and I will get you some pills."

The doctor has given her some sleeping pills for nights like these, but they are heavily monitored, and Callie rarely lets me have them.

"I don't need any. Once I'm dressed, would you just lie with me for a bit, until I fall back asleep?"

Callie nods, so I quickly go to my closet and throw on a pair of boxer briefs. I fucking hate wearing them—I always have—but I never used to feel like a dick saying it. For some reason, I feel like one right now, thinking it. I hate them because my cock is big, and it feels trapped behind the material. Though I doubt Callie would want to get into bed with me, with the monster rubbing against her. Every day I spend with her, this no sex thing gets harder—damn Truman and his advice. It sounded solid until I got to know Callie as a woman, not some evil bitch who was controlling my life. It's funny how my perception has changed with no drugs and alcohol in my system.

Walking out into the room, I find Callie lying on the bed, looking at her phone. She glances up at me as I move closer, then shuts her phone off and puts it on the bedside table.

"Thank you for putting clothes on, even if it is only underwear."

I laugh, as I know she has checked on me a few times and seen things I bet she wished she hadn't.

"You're welcome. Though, for the record, I hate it."

Callie shakes her head at me as I get onto my side and turn to face her—she does the same.

"Did you have another nightmare?" she asks.

"Yes, it's always the same, and I don't know if I can keep being strong. How do I stay clean when it feels so bad?"

"It won't always be this hard, and you're doing so well. Just find something to keep you grounded."

I lick my lips. "What if I don't have anything to keep me grounded? This week I have been reflecting on my life, and I love music, but it's not what it used to be. It doesn't have that spark anymore." I reach for her hand. "Right now, you keep me grounded, but what happens when you're no longer here?"

"I can't answer that. What did you used to do before the drugs?"

"There was a small window of time where we would play music in Benny's garage. I would sit on his shitty couch and write music and then produce our music. There was no pressure to make an album the record company wanted, no pressure to tour, just the love for what we did."

"Have you ever thought of doing that again? I don't know the ins and outs of the music industry, but could it be an option?"

"One day it would be a dream, but I can't let the guys down. They're my family. This wasn't just my dream, and I've already done way too much to fuck with them over the last five years."

Callie squeezes my hand. "Maybe you should at least talk to them. You don't know what they are feeling."

"Maybe you're right," I say.

"Now go to sleep before we wake up cranky tomorrow. You have your first meeting."

My moan rings out. I hate meetings and having to listen to other people's stories. It can be a real downer on my mood. I get it—we're all fucked up and no amount of talking will fix it.

Waking up next to someone has always been an experience I dreaded. It usually meant being so wasted the night before and forgetting to kick them to the curb before passing out. But Callie having her head on my chest and her leg tucked around mine is nice. I like the feeling.

She must feel me staring at her like a creeper because she cracks one eye open, and I smile at her.

"Morning," she whispers.

"Morning, I didn't mean to wake you."

I don't want her to move, but she wiggles her way out of my arms, and I instantly feel her loss. I need to get myself together.

"Mind if I use your bathroom?"

I shake my head. "Go for it. I will get the coffee ready. I'll need at least a gallon to get through this meeting."

Callie laughs and slips into the bathroom as I head downstairs. Marcus is in the kitchen, which means my brother is lingering around somewhere.

"You look... dare I say, happy? You didn't screw your sober buddy, did you?"

"How about screw you! No, I didn't. Does no one have any faith in me? I'm just happy."

"Maybe hell froze over," he says with a laugh.

Delilah flits in from the back entrance. "Breakfast is ready. Where is Callie?" she says.

"She'll be down in a minute."

I take a seat at the table as Delilah serves up the food.

Callie comes into the kitchen soon after, and her whole demeanour is off—something has happened, and I don't have a good feeling about it at all. She moves around the kitchen in silence and makes herself a coffee. She heads my way, and when we make eye contact, I see the venom in her gaze.

"Hey," I say, taking her by the wrist as she walks past me. Her instant reaction is to snatch her arm from my grasp.

"Go take a shower and be ready to leave in an hour," she snaps out and keeps walking.

"What's wrong with you?" I shout in her direction. She was fine when she woke this morning, and I thought maybe we'd moved past all this. "I thought we?—"

"You thought wrong, Eddie," she fires back at me as she leaves the room.

I throw my plate at the wall and Marcus gives me a look.

"Not now," I tell him, knowing he'd love to add his two cents.

If she wants to be like this, well, good for her. I grab my smokes from the counter and make my way to the studio room, needing to blow off some steam. What I really need is someone to blow me. Maybe that can be arranged, since it's not even close to sex. Grabbing my notepad, I flop back onto the couch with a smoke. All our best songs have been written here in this room. I remember the last time I sat here and wrote a song; it was just after Amelia died, and I wrote "Silence." I poured my heart and soul into those lyrics, and I haven't been able to write anything since.

It's the first time I've smiled in a long time

Ghosts are almost forgotten and only linger when you're around

I can tell you hate me by the fire in your eyes

Secrets you have hidden on the inside

Don't worry, we all have skeletons in our closets

Take a step closer and you might see we are not so different after all

Come on, smile for me,

Smile for me

Light up my life again

Please help me, I need to find my way

Before I'm lost to all the darkness held inside

It's dragging me down

All I need is to find that missing piece

To connect the dots

A little something to make me feel whole again

Just come smile for me

Smile for me.

What a bunch of crap. I throw my notepad across the room. Damien knocks on the door as he walks into the room.

"Callie says it's time to go."

"Of course she does. Let's get this done," I say, dreading sitting in a room full of strangers.

I can only go to certain meetings since everyone has had to sign an NDA. Callie thought it would be better for me to connect with real people, like people with money aren't real. I get it—I'm lucky—I don't need for any physical possessions, and maybe that's my issue.

The drive is quiet, and Callie doesn't speak. She has the radio on and hums away when a song she knows comes on. She parks around back, and Damien pulls up beside us. He won't be coming into the meetings; he'll sit outside close by in case we need him.

For my first meeting, it looks like it's only a small group. A lady called Olivia—she and Callie seem to know each other—a tall skinny man with wiry hair, a lady possibly in her fifties, and a couple of other faces. The time goes incredibly slow listening to everyone's stories, and I couldn't be more bored. Watching paint dry would be more appealing. I'm not a heartless bastard—I feel bad for them having it so tough—but I don't see how telling a bunch of strangers your story will make it any easier.

"Eddie, do you have anything you'd like to share today?" Olivia asks.

"I don't really know what to say." I glance over and Callie smiles at me with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, so for that, I will try. "I remember the first time I used coke—it was our first real show, and I would have been about nineteen. I liked the rush that came with the lifestyle, and I think the drugs became a part of my life. At the time, I always thought I had control.

"About six years ago, I stopped using for around a year when I had reason to be happy. I didn't need drugs or women to make me feel something, but one day my life came crashing down around me, and I no longer had a reason to even want to live. I still feel like that most of the time."

Before I know it, words are flying from my mouth and Callie's smile gets wider.

"Now, I really have no choice. I can see the disappointment in my brother's eyes, in everyone around me, actually, and I can only imagine what they're thinking. It's only been a small amount of time since I've used. At this point, I'm no longer even fussy. I was taking whatever I could get my hands on. Something to keep me awake, something to put me to sleep, something to make me feel good. I'm worried without it I'll lose myself. This man is all I know how to be."

I stand, pushing the chair back with my legs. I can't be here anymore. Not even that damn smile can help ease the raw pain I feel right now. All I want to do is get high. The need is so strong it feels like it's clawing its way through my skin—it physically hurts.

"Is that what you wanted?" I shout from where I'm pacing by the car when Callie comes into view. "Did you want me to bare my soul to strangers? Did you hope it would make me feel better? Well, I don't feel better... I feel like something is trying to rip its way through me. Give me the keys."

"No," she says, trying to act as if my mood doesn't bother her.

"GIVE ME THE KEYS!" I shout a few inches from her face, and with shaky hands, she throws the keys at me.

"Enough, Eddie. You're scaring her," Damien says.

"I'm scaring her? She took this job, so she must have known to some degree that this process isn't easy. What did you think would happen when you poked the bear?"

Damien snatches the keys from my hand and tells Callie to take the rest of the day off. He then makes me get in his car.

I can't do this, not when my brain feels like it'll explode.

I feel like shit about the way I treated Callie. It's been over a week, and I've locked myself in my studio, as I can't say or do anything stupid in here. She comes in periodically to give me my meds, but never speaks.

How pathetic am I? I miss her like crazy. How is that even possible? I miss making her mad at me, but I miss her smile even more. How has a mutual hatred for each other turned into this out of nowhere? My pride has kept me locked in here. I've never actually had to apologise for anything before, and if I have, I didn't mean it.

That's it—I have to make this right. She's out at the moment, so I have time to get things organised. The fact that I never use the media room crosses my mind as I put some popcorn on, and pull some chocolate bars and Cokes from the fridge.

Shit, maybe that's not a good drink choice. The need to get high right now is a little overwhelming—I can feel my mouth salivating at the thought. I decide to call in a favour and get some onesies delivered. Yes, I know it's stupid, but what is watching a movie without onesies, fluffy socks, and blankets? My meds are due in an hour and a half, so I have time to get everything perfect. She may tell me to get stuffed and sack whack me, but a man can only try.

I call my friend Romeo and ask if he has onesies in his stores, and of course he does—what is a high-end dress shop without a sleepwear line? He even delivers everything in record time, and for what I paid, I'm glad he offered.

After a quick shower, I have a few minutes to spare and race down to her room, put the box on her bed, and scribble a note to leave on top. Then I go back to the media room and wait. It was all easy to set up since I'm Eddie Diamond and have people who will drop anything for money. Now we have a blanket fort set up in the middle of the room, and I'm curious about where they hid the reclining chairs that were in here.

"Eddie?" she says, opening the door sooner than I expected. I never thought I'd find a woman in a chicken onesie hot, but she's totally rocking it. I stand there in my rooster onesie, looking absolutely ridiculous and holding a bunch of white lilies, hoping she can forgive me. "What's all this for?" she says, taking everything in.

"To say I'm sorry for being me. To tell you how much I appreciate you helping me."

"You know you look really silly, right?" she says, smiling at me. Right there is what lights up my world right now, a glimpse of light cracking through the mess inside my head.

"Well, you're rocking that chicken," I say, handing her the flowers. "Shall we?" I say, linking our arms and escorting her to the fort. It's all closed off on the back and sides and open at the front. Delilah really came through with the decorating team she found.

"This is amazing! It looks like a fluffy cloud." She's right, it does.

My inner child comes out and I have to fall backwards into the pillows and see how awesome it feels. "It's like I'm lying in a pit of marshmallows. Get down here!"

She doesn't hesitate, jumps right in and gets comfortable, while I get the popcorn and chocolate. I tell her to pick something to watch, and half expect her to pick some chick flick, but she surprises me with a horror movie. I don't even tell her these kinds of movies scare the shit out of me, as it might ruin my bad boy rep. Scratch that, someone's blood and guts are splattered in the first five minutes, and I think I almost jump out of my skin.

"Are you scared?" she says, rolling over to face me.

"Me, scared? Never," I say, trying to not look away from the screen while stuffing my face full of popcorn.

"Mm-hmm," she mumbles and turns back to watch the movie.

I glance over at her every now and then, and she's glued to the screen. Our hands are so close, and I don't know what comes over me, but I link our pinkies. When she doesn't move her hand, I look over at her and she looks back. I feel like we really see each for the first time—no bullshit, no smart remarks, just us. With our faces only inches apart, I want to kiss her. However, I know if I do, it won't end at just kissing.

"What are we doing?" she whispers.

"I don't know. I want to kiss you so much, but I can't," I tell her, hoping she understands.

"I... can you just hold me? Is that allowed?"

With a nod, I pull her into my side, and for the first time in my life, I'm holding a woman. And it's not to get laid, it's for the comfort of being in someone's arms, and I don't hate it.

We must have both drifted off, because when I wake up, Callie is fast asleep in my arms. As I watch her while she lightly snores, I can imagine having a life beyond music that doesn't involve parties or drugs—it maybe even includes a family—and that scares me more than a horror movie. I slide my arm from under her, because as much as that life with her looks appealing, I feel like I'm suffocating and need to get out of here. I know when she wakes up, she'll regret what happened, so I'll make it easy for her and go back to being me. She deserves so much more than what I can offer.