Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Callie

Fear grips me. I pat frantically at my forearms and clothes as I open my eyes. They adjust to the darkness, and it's then I realise I'm not covered in his blood. The nightmares don't come as often as they used to. And though I practice the deep breathing exercises I was shown, I can't seem to calm down tonight.

Sitting up, I reach and switch on my lamp, then get out of bed. I quietly tiptoe down the hallway, making sure to not wake everyone in the house. My sister is the sweetest woman you will ever meet, but not until after nine in the morning. If you wake her from her beauty sleep, it's better to hide and run.

Turning on the light in the bathroom as I pull the door shut behind me, I then head to the vanity and take a long look at my reflection in the mirror. My face is now fuller than it has been in a long time, but the bags under my eyes make me look tired. I blame the wrinkles on years of smoking; it's a nasty addiction I managed to kick two years ago. It's times like this I want to cry because I wasted so many years, the ones I should be able to look back on and think how good I looked, but instead they'll be remembered as the worst years of my life.

My doctor thinks my drug addiction, which started with over-the-counter pain medication, stemmed from untreated postpartum depression. Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't—I just feel like I should have been stronger.

I justified it as being a sixteen-year-old who'd just had a baby; there was no choice but to grow up overnight. My ex-husband was only seventeen when we had Beau. Our parents decided he should drop out of his senior year of high school and get a job to support us. We got married right before the baby came, even though we never truly loved each other. Just two kids having fun, until our choices led to bills and real-life responsibilities. We stayed together for a couple of years, but the constant fighting pushed us to breaking point and we went our separate ways.

That was when I started smoking dope.

I couldn't sleep when Beau was with his dad, and I had just turned eighteen, so I would go to the pub with my brother, Billy, who was two years older than me. It was there I met the first of many drop kicks who fed my addictions. Once again, I justified my drug use, as Beau was with his dad, so what harm could it do when he wasn't around?

Over the years, I spiralled out of control.

Beau spent most of his time with his dad, who would say he's a boy and so he wanted to be with him. I was so high or drunk I didn't care. I never worked a day in my life; instead, I relied on my next payment from the government.

Now I look back on that time and the whole situation makes me sick. The old me makes me sick. My sister, Jen, and I were close as children, and thinking how easily I cut her from my life when she called me out on my drug use hurts. Especially when, after treating her like that, what happened with Billy, and then every other fuck up I managed to make over the years, she still took me in. She helped me get sober and has supported me for the last five years.

Today is not going to be my day.

I experienced a nightmare after months of not having one, and now I have a headache from hell. I might as well wash this dose of self-pity down with a coffee.

Waking up at four in the morning is never a good way to start a day. But I manage to get in a run as soon as the sun comes up, and now the house is spotless.

Finally, a sleepy Jen stumbles into the kitchen. She works from home and sets her own hours, selling a new type of makeup and doing vlogs about it. The product is amazing and can cover my scar and make it look like it isn't even there. Sometimes it's good to not see the constant reminder of one of my lowest days.

"Callie, can we talk?" Jen asks.

Instantly, I'm worried she knows I want to move out. Panic washes over me. Does she think I don't appreciate what she's done for me? Because I do, more than she could ever imagine.

"Sure," I say shakily.

Why am I so nervous? The last time I was this nervous was my first drug test after I'd gotten sober and asked to see Beau again. His dad would only agree if I underwent random drug testing, which was fair.

"Are you taking drugs again? Before you say anything, you've been acting weird around me, almost avoiding me. You're always sitting in your room, and now the house is so clean we could eat off the floor."

I laugh. She's right, I have been avoiding her, but not because I'm using again. It's because I'm too chickenshit to talk to her about moving out, and now I have to explain myself.

"I'm glad you think this is funny," she says, adopting her pissed-off face and crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, I'm not using again. We do need to talk, though. I've decided it's time I move out. I'm ready." It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. "I'm sure you and Mike would like to have the house back, especially now."

"That's what you've been hiding? You could've told me. I love having you here, but I think you're ready too. I was just scared for a minute."

"Could be the pregnancy brain kicking in," I say with a smile. She doesn't know that I know, but it's been obvious for a few weeks. The look on her face is priceless.

"You know?" is all she says.

"I've had my suspicions for a few weeks."

"I'm almost past my first trimester, but we were waiting until at least twelve weeks to say anything," she says, rubbing her hand over her stomach.

If anyone will make an amazing mother, it's her. Jen had a stillborn baby before Billy died and she hadn't been ready to try again until now. I think the reason she's spent so much time helping me was to keep herself busy.

"I'm so happy for you," I say, giving her a hug.

My phone rings and I reach into my pocket to retrieve it. I glance at the screen and when I see the name, I panic and throw it across the room. Luckily, it lands on the carpet in the living room.

Jen looks at me like I've lost my mind. She walks over to my phone, which is still ringing, and I see her face drop when she looks at the screen. I don't need to say anything, as she knows why I reacted that way. My brother's girlfriend is calling, and she hasn't spoken to me in almost a decade. I last saw her five years ago at the funeral, but she barely even looked at me. I know she and Jen still talk, but she blames me for Billy's death.

"Maybe you should call her back," she says, handing me my phone that's now stopped ringing.

"I don't know if I can," I say, taking the phone. "Can we talk later? I need to call Olivia."

Jen knows when I'm having a moment of weakness, I call Olivia. As much as she helps me here at home, she doesn't understand addiction—some days are so much harder than others. Today is proving to be one of those hard days.

Back in my room, I stare at my phone with the "missed call" message on my screen and I'm taken back to the last day we spoke. It's a day I remember like yesterday, a day I will never forget. The events that unfolded are forever etched it my mind.

September 25 th , 2009

Today is the day I die. I've written my goodbye letter to Beau. The first copies are next to me in a pile of ash, still smouldering. Excuses... they were full of FUCKING EXCUSES. That's the thing about being an addict: somewhere between coming down and getting high again, you see yourself for what you really are—and it's not pretty. Reality is harsh when you've done terrible things. It's dark down here. It's my fault my brother is gone and won't be around for his family.

I wash down a handful of pills with some vodka. I'm better off dead. Every time I close my eyes, I see the bullet, and the blood—lots of blood. I sit in the bath in my favourite dress, and the letter I have written is by the sink. I hope one day my family can understand I could no longer face the guilt.

Yesterday, I saw the way everyone looked at me at Billy's funeral. The chain of events that unfolded because of me—it has led me here. As I place the razor on my skin, it cuts just enough that I can watch a single drop of blood hit the water. This is it, this is how I die. My whole life boils down to a drug addict sitting in a bathtub in her best dress. Pressing the razor harder, I watch as the blade slices through my skin. I feel the skin separate as blood rushes from my veins and the water slowly changes colour. Once I'm gone, everyone will stop worrying about me. I hate them worrying. Closing my eyes, I lie back and wait for the darkness to take me.

Barely lucid, I hear screams and feel my body being pulled from the water. The feeling of floating turns into a thump on the ground. I open my eyes and the room is spinning. The tiles are cold, I can feel pressure against my skin. "Let me go, please," I cry out. "I can't be here anymore. I can't live with this eating at me."

"No! You don't get to leave me here to pick up the pieces of your death as well as his. I won't forgive you for what you've taken from me. It should've been you, but for some reason, God took him. You don't get out of it this easy."

"I WANT TO DIE!" I scream.

"Well, you don't get to," Sasha says simply, before my eyes flutter shut for what I hope is the last time.

Even that wasn't enough for me to stay clean.

I spent a month in the hospital and made a half-arsed attempt to stop using, but as soon as I walked out into freedom and my sister turned her back on me, I was straight back to my loser boyfriend and the high.

A text message pulls me from that time and back to the present. Reading the text, I see she wants to meet at a small café close to where Billy's grave is located. He and his daughter were both cremated and have plaques placed in a special garden at the cemetery. I spend the next half an hour typing and retyping a long message, telling her I can't meet her. But each time I read it back, it's excuse after excuse. It's time I face her, and if she's trying to extend an olive branch, maybe I shouldn't ignore it.

I simply send back: Okay

I'm so nervous to see her after so long that I'm sweating like a teenage girl going through puberty. With shaky hands, I push the café door open. A quick scan of the room provides some relief when I realise she isn't here yet. I order a cappuccino and find a seat at an empty table in the corner. I fiddle nervously with the bracelets I wear to cover the scar on my wrist.

The doorbell chimes and my heart races—I know it's her even before I look up. She still looks as beautiful as ever, her skin is naturally tan, and her jet-black hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. The way she is dressed almost makes this feel like it is going to be a business transaction. A small smile tugs at her lips when we make eye contact, and that makes me feel a little better. The feeling of unease is slightly washed away.

"Hi," she says in a timid voice, as if she's as nervous about being here as I am.

"How have you been?" I ask, trying to make small talk while she takes a seat across from me.

"I'm doing great. And I'm finally in a good place mentally—that's kind of why I'm here."

Straight to the point, I see.

I know she'll always blame me for Billy's death, and I'll always have to carry the burden. I've learnt to accept I can't change it as much as I wish I could, so now I have to make peace with it.

"Okay," I say sceptically as the young girl approaches with my cappuccino and places it in front of me. She looks at Sasha, who shakes her head.

"I'm not sure how much Jen has filled you in," she says, turning to look back in my direction. "Or how much you remember from when Amelia died? At the time, I had a friend, Eddie, the guitarist from Black Diamond." She pauses as I scoff and roll my eyes. I knew she was friends with some rock star before my niece died, but I didn't realise it was him. "From your reaction, I take it you've seen the newspapers. I've been talking with his brother, Mickki, and, well... he's told me about Eddie's drug use."

"So, what, you think because I was a user, I can give you advice?" I snap out. I don't know where my sudden outburst comes from, but something about the guy rubs me the wrong way and just hearing his name sets off a rage inside me.

"No, not at all. Please, let me finish."

I signal with my hand for her to continue.

"Eddie's doing an interview tonight. Mickki knows Eddie talking about Amelia and me is going to set him back. I don't even know if I can face him yet... But the point is, I always told Eddie I would somehow pay him back for all his help. He has still deposited money into my account every month for the last five years, even though I have touched none of it besides the portion which goes to Amelia's charity. But now I know a way I can pay him back."

"What does all that have to do with me?" I never knew I could feel so many emotions at once. Blood boiling rage, remorse, and heartbreak—it's all so overwhelming.

"I hate to call in a favour, or ask anything of you, after the way we left things all those years ago. Honestly, I wish I'd been strong enough back then to see Billy was only being the amazing person he was—he would have gone to the ends of the earth for you and your sister. I blamed you because it had to be someone's fault."

"Please," I sob out, "I can't go back and think about it anymore today. It's still so real for me." The backlog of tears which have been building up start to roll down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she says, placing her hand on mine. "To cut a long story short, Eddie needs someone to kick his arse and help him get sober. Before he loses everything and everyone in his life. I think you'd be perfect, especially after Jen told me you were looking for a new job."

That sneaky little so and so knew I was looking for a new job—there really isn't much you can hide from her.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "There's no way could I help that arrogant, narcissistic arsehole."

"Deep down, Eddie really is a good guy. He just doesn't know how to control his lifestyle."

"Because being rich and famous is so bloody hard?! I can barely hold myself together at the best of times," I snap.

"Please, just think about it. You might be surprised. He could help you face some of your demons head-on too," she says, looking at her watch as if this conversation is keeping her from something.

"I can't do it. You'll have to find someone else," I say, pushing my chair out.

I've had enough. I had a crazy thought that maybe we could have... I don't know what I thought, but it definitely wasn't this.

Sasha stands and holds out an envelope. "Inside is what Mickki decided is a fair wage and a USB. Please watch it all before you decide."

I take the envelope purely out of curiosity to see how much babysitting a rock star is worth.

"Mickki would like an answer within twenty-four hours," she adds. "There are also his contact details in there, and you already have mine."

I nod my head, not exactly sure what to say.

"I have to go sort out some stuff, but let us know either way," she says as she stands up.

Glad I ordered my cappuccino in a to-go cup, I get up as well, and we both walk out together.

"It was nice to see you again, Callie," she says, before getting into her car, which is parked in front of the coffee shop. "We should meet up for coffee again when I'm not so busy."

"Sounds good," I say, watching her close the door and drive away.

As soon as she's out of sight, I tear the envelope open. I put the USB in my pocket before unfolding the paper, then read it twice to make sure my eyes aren't lying to me—there are way too many zeros. That kind of money could set me up for a long time. I should speak to Olivia first and see what she thinks. Opening the paper for a third time, I check it again, and yep, the same number is still there. I shoot a text to Olivia and hope she's up for a chat.

Before I opened the envelope, I was so sure I didn't want to help him because, well, frankly, I don't like him. I don't know why, but there's just something about him. Though I guess for this amount, I wouldn't have to be his friend—it would just be a job, and not everyone has to like their boss or clients.

I'll talk with Olivia first, then I'll call this Mickki guy and see what the job would entail.

After a long chat with Olivia and watching the USB, which was full of videos of Eddie with Amelia, I decide to call Mickki and agree to a trial to see if it's something I could even do longer term. Olivia said not liking Eddie could make the job easier, since rock stars are so used to getting what they want, so I steel myself and dial the number on the paper Sasha gave to me.

"Hello," a man says, but I can barely hear him, as the music and laughter are so loud in the background. I instantly have second thoughts.

"Um... hi, this is Callie. Sasha gave me your number," I say, waiting nervously for his reply.

"Hold on a sec, I'll go somewhere quieter."

I contemplate ending the call. Maybe he couldn't hear my name and didn't know it was me calling, but I decide he would have caller ID and return the call.

"Thanks for calling me," he says, much more audibly. "As you just heard, my brother is rowdy."

I can't help but roll my eyes and scoff.

"A jackass," I mutter quietly. I mean, seriously, I hate to pigeonhole people, but it's hard not to when they make it so easy.

"So, I take it you're not an Eddie Diamond fan?"

Oh shit, he heard me. It was supposed to be a thought, but I don't have a filter and sometimes things come flying from my mouth before I can stop them.

"No, not exactly. If I'm being honest, the sight of him infuriates me. If that's an issue, maybe I'm not the right person for the job."

"Actually, you sound like the perfect person for the job. When can you start?" he asks.

"For the amount of money Sasha said I'd be earning, I can start whenever you need me," I say, as I nervously play with the corner of my pillow. I swear the way I say what I think could be a serious problem for me one day.

"You might not think it's enough once you have to deal with my brother. How about we meet tomorrow, and we can go from there? I have your number now if I need to contact you for any reason."

"Sounds good. I just need an address."

"For privacy reasons, and to avoid the paps, I'll send the head of my security to collect you around mid-morning if that suits you."

"Fair enough. I guess I'll see you both tomorrow," I say, but there's no goodbye—the line just goes blank.

Well, I officially have a new job and I finally feel like my life is getting back on track. I lost so much of my life by falling pregnant so young, and although I'd never take back having Beau, everything that's happened since then has been hard.