Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Eddie

The interview is set and ready to go. Mickki is freaking out as usual; he thinks somehow I'll fuck this up and we'll lose our record deal with Fontaine Records. I know he's worried it'll set me back, but how far down from rock bottom can you go? I fucked up and I own it. But the best thing about being at rock bottom is no one else is down here with me, and I can be left by myself to wallow in self-pity. I don't want help or to be saved. All I want is to play music, fuck, and get messed up. Listening to everyone drone on and on about how we can fix the mess I've created has given me a headache.

Drinking straight from a bottle of scotch before such an important interview might not be wise, but Mickki said I couldn't bring any blow on the plane, so this is the best I can do. My nerves have kicked into overdrive and rubbing my temples isn't helping the stress headache that is building. Lacey offers me some painkillers, and I pop about five or six and wash them down with the scotch. Her eyes widen.

"You should have only taken two. You could OD or something," she stammers. Shit, I had my cock in all her holes last night and she's still nervous around me. I don't like to go back for seconds—I'm Eddie Diamond, for fuck's sake, and can have a different girl every night—but her mouth is looking mighty fine right now.

"Love, thanks for the concern, but a few painkillers have nothing on the other things in my system right now."

"Oh . . ." is all she has to say.

"Have you ever joined the Mile High Club?" I ask her, and her face flushes a deep red.

"Everyone would know," she whispers.

"Your point? Off you go, love. I'll meet you in there." The sweet shade of red remains across her face and chest, even though she scrambles from her seat and quickly makes her way to the bathroom. "Be naked!" I call out, before she shuts the door.

I take my bottle of scotch and follow behind her after a few minutes. The bathroom in our private jet isn't small, more what you'd call an en suite off a rather large bedroom. It has a queen-size bed, which she is currently lying on naked. And while I don't care about talking or kissing, I do love pussy. I might have lost a bit of stamina over the last few years, which I put down to my age. Mickki says it's the abuse I put my body through, and he's probably right. But I'm lucky that the monster is guaranteed to go from limp to hard with the right suction, and that with age comes experience. Set me in a competition against all these young bastards and I could win an "orgasm off," hands down.

I drop to my knees in front of Lacey, pull her to the edge of the bed, and toss her legs over my shoulders, taking in the delicious sight spread out in front of me. Fuck, I love pussy, love everything about it. I'm about to go in for the first lick when Mickki barges into the room. The nerdy reporter screams and rushes to cover herself.

"What the fuck?!" I shout.

"Eddie! I fall asleep for two minutes and you can't control yourself? Today's not the day to be fucking around with the woman you want to interview you. We need this to run perfectly."

"Dude, I was just about to eat," I complain.

"There are sandwiches in the fridge," he says to me and looks over at Lacey. "Please get dressed, and don't let him convince you to fuck anytime between now and the interview."

She nods her head in embarrassment.

"I don't want a sammich, I want pussy," I complain as he walks out of the room. "Sorry, love, the boss man has spoken. He isn't usually such a bore. Honestly, I swear he loves sex as much as I do."

She offers me a small smile, and I give her a minute to get herself together. Mickki glares at me as I walk out of the room, but I give him the finger in return and take my seat. The pilot calls a five-minute seat belt warning; seems even he knows I could be busy and need a few minutes.

Lacey finally walks out, head down and looking mortified.

Oliver takes the seat next to me and starts to work through a list of things he wants me to talk about during the interview. I remind him it only goes ahead if Sasha agrees. Honestly, I don't know why he is bothering—everything seems pretty straightforward.

As the plane descends, the reality of going to Amelia's grave hits me. Shit, I want to do some blow, but I can't before I see Sasha. Instead, I will make the stop before the interview.

I'm actually looking forward to being in my hometown and sleeping in my own bed. It's been four years since I've set foot in my house—at least there I can get away from my damn brother and wind down. We have one last show in Brisbane later in the week, but afterwards we are taking some time off and preparing for our next album.

When we exit the plane, there's a massive crowd of fans and reporters. I don't think Lacey was prepared for the number of people who have turned up. We make it through the crowd with no problems, and Marcus, our head of security, was smart enough to have a few extra guys here. Thank God for Mickki and his love of limos—with their fully loaded bars—and I open and down at least four, or maybe five, of those little mini bottles. Hopefully, they should help keep my nerves at bay.

Mickki's house is the closest to the airport, and Marcus has organised cars for us all from there. Drew, Brodie, and Benny are off to see their families and will meet up with us tonight at my house for the interview. Oliver and Lacey head off to my house to get everything ready.

I'm so nervous about meeting Sasha that my hands are shaking and I'm sweating like a whore in church. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. If only my conscience wasn't sitting on my damn shoulder telling me to do the right thing, to show her I'm not a fuck up.

Who are you kidding, you dickhead? You are a fuck up—always have been, always will be.

Why does it feel like the drive to the cemetery is taking forever? My hands sweat and my heart feels like it is ready to explode. There are no other cars when we arrive; I must be early, or she isn't coming.

Shit, I hadn't thought about her not showing up.

I ask the driver to circle the block. I'm not ready yet—I need a few minutes to calm my nerves. It's been five years since I was last here on what was one of the two worst days of my life. It was the day I said goodbye to two of my best friends.

The nerves are too much, and I ask the driver to pull the car over. I open the door and quickly exit, then empty the contents of my stomach all over the curb. Luckily, we're the only car pulled up beside the cemetery.

There is no sign of Sasha, and I decide it's now or never. I still remember where Amelia's grave is located, six rows down, six graves to the left. Sasha didn't want anything fancy. No big headstone, something sweet and simple.

Amelia Rose Dean

11/02/2009 – 15/04/14

Your light shines forever bright in our hearts, baby girl.

My security detail gives me space and remains as far back as Marcus deems safe. On the way to the cemetery, I got my driver to stop at an old bookshop where the lady makes origami butterflies. I came across her shop years ago, and over the time I knew Amelia, she'd ended up with a collection of different butterflies. The flowers and butterflies I had made to order for Amelia's funeral were beautiful, and I know she would have loved them. Today I bought a collection of her favourites—a few butterflies and some roses. There's a white bloom for innocence, a yellow one for friendship, and a pink one for sweetness. Fifteen dollars was all it cost. I would have willingly spent thousands, but my money was useless to Sasha and Amelia, as they had each other and material belongings meant nothing. I would have bought Amelia the world if it was what she wanted, but her biggest wish before she passed was to be on stage with me—to be a rock star—and I'm forever grateful I was able to grant it.

I sit and think about everything I lost that day, and how one decision changed my life. It's been five years since I last cried, and it was right in this very place. I wipe my arm across my face to dry the tears that have resurfaced. I need to pull myself together, so I drag my guitar from its case. It might be the cheapest and oldest piece of shit around, but to me it's more valuable than gold, as it's part of the time I spent with Amelia and Sasha.

Apparently, Amelia wanted to buy me a birthday gift, and Sasha—being forever stubborn and never taking my money—pulled together whatever she could spare. I remember Amelia's little face and how it lit up with excitement when she gave this guitar to me, so to me, it's priceless.

I strum and croon the song I sang at her funeral, the original by Danny Gokey, "I Will Not Say Goodbye". And as hard as I try, my emotions get the better of me. Although I know I must sound like a chipmunk singing under water to anyone listening, I can't stop because this sweet angel bought so much happiness into my fucked-up existence. I wish I had the words to tell her how sorry I am for not visiting her since her funeral. But what bullshit would I tell her if I did? That I've been busy with the band touring around the world, but I've avoided Australia at all costs, so I don't have to face my demons? Or that I've been too chickenshit—because that's exactly what it is.

When I finish the song, I hear a small whimper from behind me and turn to see Sasha.

She drops to her knees beside me. "You still have the guitar," she says through her tears.

"Of course I do. This means more to me than my own life."

I don't try to offer her comfort as I once would have—it was too long ago and way too much has happened between us. Before me is the one person I once had the deepest connection with; we understood each other better than we understood ourselves. While she still looks familiar, she is a stranger to me now, and that hurts more than I could have ever imagined. I'm just a guy she used to know.

We sit in silence, staring at each other for a few minutes, the silence saying more than words ever could.

"I'm sorry," I say, and her eyes water.

"For what, exactly?" Her tone is a little harsh, yet I can't blame her.

"For the past, for not being there. For everything that's happening now, for having to break another promise."

"So, why do it?" she questions.

"If I don't, the media will get to dictate what is said about you and her. Call me selfish, but I want them to know what an amazing, beautiful, and loving person she was. She was so much more than her illness, and you are more than your past. Even if it makes your hatred for me deepen, I feel I must do it. I came to seek your blessing, hoping you would let this interview go ahead, and maybe even see if you want to be part of it."

"I don't know, Eddie, it's all so much. I have so many questions."

"Come with me to the interview tonight. Let Amelia be remembered as a courageous and beautiful little girl. Then tomorrow you can go back to hating me."

"That's the thing. I wanted to hate you, and for a moment, I think I did. But all these years, I've hated how much I couldn't hate you. It was you who gave my daughter something to look forward to every day. You gave her a reason to fight. I could see it in her eyes, and I wanted to hate you because, well, I'm her mother and I wanted that to be me. So, when you screwed up, I finally had a reason."

"Don't be silly. That girl loved you so much. She wanted to make you happy." I pull her into my arms, and for the first time in five years, I feel like everything might finally be okay.

"If it's alright with you, I would like to be there for the interview," she whispers.

We both sit in silence for a few minutes, no words needing to be exchanged. I finally feel like I can breathe again.

Walking back into my house after being away for so long is bittersweet. Since we arrived, Sasha has stayed quiet, although it's not her first time here. On Amelia's good days, we'd come here so she could swim, and the air is filled with memories. Now the house swarms with people, but I don't care—I've been in a great mood since we left the cemetery. Hell, I didn't expect things to go so well with Sasha.

My mood quickly changes when I spot Avery talking to Oliver. He may be our manager, but something about him rubs me the wrong way. Sasha goes to see the rest of the guys while I take a shower. It's been hours since I was high and I'm getting the sweats bad. After my shower, I rummage in my bedside drawers and find an old bottle of pills. They're not the good stuff, but they'll calm my nerves a little.

Downstairs, everything for the interview is ready. It looks like Oliver is running through what's going to happen. No offence to my boys, but no one's going to be in the room. Not even Mickki.

"Everyone, get the fuck out!" I yell, and the whole room turns to look at me like I'm joking. "I'm not kidding. There'll be one camera dude, nerd reporter chick, Oliver, and Sasha. That's it."

"Seriously?" Mickki asks.

"Afraid so, bro. I need to focus, and that won't happen with a room full of people... like, who the fuck is that?" I say, pointing to a chick with a fucking purple mohawk.

"Someone's assistant," Mickki retorts.

"Fucking exactly. Take everyone to the bar downstairs, get pissed on me, and watch it live. If we need you, well, you'll know."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Mickki," Avery quips, his slimy arse popping up out of nowhere.

"Take him away from me before I beat his arse," I snap.

Oliver moves everyone on quickly—he needs this to go smoothly, just like I do.

Taking a last draw on my cigarette before stubbing it out, I then take another deep breath. This is it, time to bare my soul to the whole fucking world. I sit on the couch across from Lacey—they want to give the interview a homely feel—and though this may be my house, it's not a home. Being on the road and living from a suitcase, that's my home.

"We're live in one minute," the camera guy announces.

"You're sure about this, Eddie?" Sasha asks, placing her hand over mine.

"I'm sure. Everybody needs to know, but on our terms."

Sasha doesn't say anything, just gives a small nod of her head before taking her seat behind the cameraman, next to Oliver.

"Thank you for tuning in to ACE. I'm Lacey Moore, bringing you a special broadcast tonight. We're lucky enough to be here with Eddie Diamond, the lead guitarist for Black Diamond. Thanks for joining us, Eddie."

"No worries, glad you came," I say. Maybe now isn't the right time to crack jokes, because it makes Lacey blush like a schoolgirl.

"First, I'd like to say welcome back to Australia. I'm sure you're glad to be home."

"You would think that," I say sarcastically. "I'm looking forward to some time off before recording some new songs for our upcoming album."

"As everyone would be aware, this morning Eddie graced the front cover of every newspaper and magazine, except the ones associated with us. That's because at ACE we like to get to the truth, and that's why we're here tonight. Eddie has agreed to give us the exclusive on what caused his extreme behaviour, and to answer all your questions about this mystery girl."

My palms are sweating at the thought of having to talk about Amelia. I never wanted to hide the relationship I had with her and Sasha, but I didn't want people to exploit a child to make a quick buck.

"Eddie, would you be able to tell us what happened yesterday? What set you off on what people are calling an explosion of self-destruction, booze, drugs, and women?"

"Sure. I won't lie—most of that comes with being a rock star. It's easy to get caught up in the lifestyle, but yesterday was different. It's no secret I don't air my personal life in public, because it's just that, private. Especially my tattoo."

"Could we see it... your tattoo?" she asks nervously.

I take off my shirt and turn my back towards the camera.

"How about we start with what it represents?" she continues.

Clearing my throat, I start, "The broken clock represents me, unreliable, even if it was an accident. The crack in the clock represents how, at a certain moment in time, events broke me beyond repair. The little girl represents the one person who always saw the best in me, and for her memory. And the stairs are the stairway to heaven, because fuck knows if I'll be lucky enough to get in and talk to my little angel again."

"Wow, I'm speechless. Would you like to share a bit about the little girl who it represents?"

"All of this is because of a beautiful little girl named Amelia. And I thank God that her mother, Sasha, is here tonight to support me." Briefly, the camera pans to Sasha and then returns to me. "I won't go into depth about how we met, but I will say Sasha was my best friend. Someone who didn't give a fuck about my money or fame, and probably still doesn't. I'm sure you all want to know about what kind of relationship we had—it was only friendship. Her daughter, Amelia, was four when I met her six years ago. She was my biggest fan. This beautiful little girl idolised me, and I was her hero. I was scared for Sasha because Amelia was sick, really sick, but I didn't fully understand what that meant. Maybe it was ignorance, I don't know. All I knew was being around them both made me happy, a happiness I never knew existed. I'd always thought it was only music that made me happy, and yes, it does—it's what I was born to do—but being around someone who made me smile so much was amazing."

"She sounds like a beautiful child."

"She was the light of my life, and she taught me how to love. I'm not talking about being in love, but about loving another human being more than your own life. Let's face it, I'm a selfish bastard and that didn't come easy, but she chipped away at my cold exterior." I take a steadying breath and continue, "The day she died, she took the best part of me with her. It was the part which held all the good. It wasn't fair someone so small and innocent could be taken from this earth when people like me are still here.

"On the day the last of the doctors I hired to give a second opinion on Amelia's condition told me the same thing as the rest—that there was nothing they could do—I prayed for the first time. I prayed to God that he would take me instead. I would have sold my soul to the devil to hear her laugh one last time."

"I'm sorry, I need a minute," Lacey says through her tears.

"Shit, I didn't mean to make you cry," I say, handing her a box of tissues from the table.

To give us both a break, I walk over to the cabinet and pull out an envelope of photos. I sit back on the couch, thumb through them, and pull one out. I carefully hand the photo to Lacey. "This was Amelia the day I met her. She wore her Black Diamond T-shirt, and she started singing one of our earlier songs called ‘Relentless'. I remember thinking, ‘This tiny kid is so badass.'"

As I go through the photos, it feels good to share my memories of her, to not keep her a secret anymore.

"You said earlier that you and Sasha used to be best friends. Does that mean you're not anymore?" Lacey prompts.

"No, unfortunately we're not. I broke a very special promise to her—that I would never let them down—and I did. I guess I always knew I would, but having them believe in me felt so good. Today is the first time we've spoken to one another since before Amelia's funeral." I pause and glance at Sasha.

"Do you think you'll be friends again now?" Lacey asks.

"All I know for sure is right now, she doesn't hate me. That thought has haunted me for a long time." I smile.

"One last question before we wrap up for the night. How do you feel about someone close to you stabbing you in the back? Selling your story to the media and painting you as the bad guy?"

"Honestly, today has happened so fast that I still have to catch up. What do I think? For dragging Amelia's memory into the spotlight... well, if I ever find out who it was, they'll wish they'd never been born. However, for painting me out to be the bad guy? All I can say is that's the truth. That's me and I'm not sorry. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, baby—and all that shit."

"We have a source who's given us a name."

Now that piques my curiosity. "Who?"

"This guy," she says, holding out her phone to me.

As I look at the photo, I go from calm to murderous in a second. I've always hated the fucking weasel, but I never thought he'd sell me out. I rip the mics from my body and look directly into the camera. "Avery, you'd better run before I get downstairs."

I hear Oliver telling them to cut the camera feed as Mickki comes flying around the corner and traps me in his arms. It might not make sense to anyone else, but growing up how we did, it was the way we coped.

"Please don't, for me. It's taken care of, I promise," he whispers in my ear.

"Is he dead?" I snarl.

"Of course not," he says.

"Then it's not taken care of, is it? We trusted the prick with everything."

"Yeah, I know. Let's go find some seedy bar in the middle of nowhere and get shitfaced. We can do whatever you want, and we'll deal with this mess tomorrow."

"I'm so angry, Mickki." My whole body is shaking with rage, and I need to punch something or get so high I forget my own name.

"I know, but he isn't worth a jail sentence."

"Okay, let's go, but can we bring Sasha, please? I need to apologise again for fucking things up."

Now calmer, I go over and thank Lacey for the interview. I have no doubt her boss wanted to see me lose my shit live—it sells. Although I can be an arsehole, I leave some security here to help her pack up and organise to get her back to Sydney. I'll deal with the weasel in my life tomorrow. As for tonight, well, fuck everything and everyone. It's time to get shitfaced with my friends, and to forget the demons I live with every damn day. If I get fucked up enough, I don't feel like I'm such a pathetic excuse for a man. Tonight, I'm Eddie Diamond and I'm a fucking rock star, baby.