Songbird (23 page)

I had lost control. Pure and simple. I handed over my happiness to someone else who was completely and utterly careless with it. I used to be so good at maintaining control, I used to be in charge of myself.

I still could be. The thought struck me like lightning, it wouldn’t be hard to get back that control. All I had to do was abide by my own set of rules. I set the rules, I followed them. Nice and simple.

All I had to do was go into the bathroom, put my fingers down my throat, and be reminded who was in control. If I was strict, if I followed the rules, nobody could take over again. Nobody would even have to know. I could keep it a secret this time, a real secret where hospitals and family didn’t get involved in my business. I would do it differently this time, do a better job of convincing everyone I was fine because I would be. I would be in control.

I let the vodka bottle slip from my hand and rest on the coffee table. There was still about a third left, I could use that to wash away the taste of vomit later on. The taste of my success, my redemption, my path back home.

The bathtub reminded me of Forest and all the times we had shared a tub together. All those hours lost while he pretended to love me. While he lied to my face. I turned away so I didn’t have to look at it.

I pulled the lid of the toilet up and sat on the floor. I was really going to do it. I wouldn’t be moaning to everyone about a relapse this time, I was taking control. I wasn’t going to let him win.

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
he familiar feeling washed over me again, feelings I hadn’t felt for almost a year. It was a special kind of buzz knowing you were taking charge again. It was powerful, intoxicating, and unlike anything else I did.

I stood on my knees, bringing my fingers up to rest on my lips. It would be all over in a minute, I would get my life back. I wouldn’t need stupid Forest or Demi, I would be back on track and only relying on myself again.

My phone suddenly beeped. It wasn’t a call or a message like the hundreds I had already been flooded with over the course of the day. It was a reminder. I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to remember.

Annoyed with the interruption, I crawled to my handbag and pulled it out.
The reminder said I was supposed to be in my dressing room now, getting changed and made up for the show. Naomi and Beatrice would be waiting for me so they could do my hair and makeup, probably impatiently tapping their fingers or feet.

I collapsed onto the floor, holding my phone above my head and staring at the reminder. It wouldn’t just be my stylists waiting for me, it would be forty tho
usand of my biggest New Orleans fans.

They would be so disappointed when they were told the concert was cancelled. All those sad faces, their homemade posters and glittered hair would be redundant. They’d stare at the stage expectantly, hoping they were confused and didn’t hear correctly. They might not even get that far, if security acted quick enough they would bolt the doors shut and post a simple note on the signs to advise them of my absence.

Some of the younger fans might cry because their excitement was so suddenly taken away from them. Their enduring mothers would buy them a program and say they could watch the concert on DVD instead. They’d try to cheer them up.

Too many tears had been shed today. I sat up. I
couldn’t
do it to them. It wasn’t their fault I made bad decisions and let the wrong people get close to me. That blame rested squarely on my shoulders. I
wouldn’t
do it to them. My fans had been more loyal to me than any guy had. They didn’t deserve the fallout of a breakup. They would still be there tomorrow, long after any of my boyfriends had fled.

I tested my legs, seeing if they would hold me up. They were shaky, much like the rest of me. The nearly-empty vodka bottle taunted me from the coffee table, mocking me for taking away my ability to stand.

If I didn’t get my body to cooperate, the concert was not going to be pretty. I needed coffee, I needed a shower, and I needed it two hours ago.

I stripped off my clothes and staggered into the shower. Letting the steaming hot water rush over my skin, I let it wash away my misery. Forest had no right lying to me. He shouldn’t have done it and that was all on him. I was just the one stupid enough to fall for the act.

I leant against the wall, my hands resting on my knees. Maybe I could do my entire show while sitting on a chair? I shook my head, that wasn’t going to be a good look. My fans paid to be entertained. They deserved to see the show they paid for, not some drunk half-assed attempt.

The water felt good, some of my brain was starting to un-fuzz. I turned off the water and found some clothes. It didn’t matter what I put on, I would be changing as soon as I reached the venue anyway. It was tempting to slip on the hotel robe but I resisted.

The coffee machine above the mini-bar looked complicated, especially to my muddled mind. The coffee would have to wait, perhaps I would drop by Starbucks on the way there. I would kill for a macchiato with a double shot.

I grabbed my cell phone and headed for the door, hoping I wouldn’t have to wait long for a cab in the foyer. I was still a long way from sober and I probably looked as horrible as I felt. If not worse.

Opening the door, there was a weight on the other side, making it open quicker than I expected. Demi fell into the room, her eyes wide open with surprise. I quickly checked the corridor, making sure Forest wasn’t there too. It was empty.

“Have you been there all day?” I asked.

She nodded, getting to her feet with a slight stagger. Perhaps she had been drinking too. “Yes, I’ve been here all day,” she said, more than a little angry. “I have also been worried sick about you. Where are you going?”

Emotions rushed through me, I was so touched she would actually sit in the corridor all day just because she was worried about me. I always was an emotional drunk. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a hug she couldn’t escape from. It also helped with the swaying.

“Demi, I’m sorry. I want to do the show.”

She pulled back and held me in front of her. “It’s about time. If we hurry we can still make it and nobody will have to know we’re running late.” She started hurrying down the hall but I remained in place. “Come on, we need to go.”

I shook my head. “I’m only going on the condition that Forest is fired. He cannot be there when we arrive and I will not have him anywhere near me ever again.”

She sighed, I
recognized the familiar slump of her shoulders. Poor Demi, she really did earn her salary. After the tour she might decide to retire from my employment. Hopefully she would last that long.

“I’m serious, Demi. Marty can play lead guitar. Hell, I’ll play lead guitar for the entire show if I need to. But he can’t be there.”

She slid her cell phone out of her pocket and started tapping on the screen. She had a whispered conversation with someone – probably Ryan – before hitting the call end button.

“Done. He’s being escorted from the venue as we speak. I’ll keep him away from you, you don’t need to worry about Forest anymore. Now, can we please go?”

I hurried down the hall to catch up with her. “I need coffee too. Lots of it.”

“And breath mints. How much did you drink?” She made a show of giving me a wide berth and fanned her nose like something horrible had just assaulted her nostrils.

“Not enough to be comatose,” I replied.

My driver was waiting downstairs, Demi gave him a wave and he was behind the wheel as quickly as we slid into the backseat.

There was no conversation as we crossed town to get to the Superdome. Nor did anyone say a word when we started down the corridors of the venue. Not that I could hold a conversation anyway, I was concentrating too hard on scanning the place for any sign or hint of Forest. I knew Demi said he was gone but I didn’t trust that he was. He could have lied about leaving too.

Demi escorted me all the way to my dressing room and closed the door behind us. Only my stylists were allowed in and I’m sure Demi had given them a good heads up on what conversation was off limits. They were much quieter than normal.

We hurried through my preparation and I was standing in the pre-show circle before I could think too much. Thanks to Demi plying me with water and coffee, I could stand unaided and the world had stopped spinning around my head.

In
the circle, it was painfully obvious there was someone missing. Forest normally stood to my right, giving my hand an extra squeeze at the end. I missed him, even though I hated him. It was going to take some time to adjust, my traitorous body still craved his touch.

“Let’s have a great show, everyone,” Demi finished. Everyone let their hands go back to their sides.

Ace leaned over, his voice so low only I could hear. “What Forest did wasn’t cool. I’m sorry, Brier. Do you want me to smash his head in for you?”

Despite my best
judgment, I couldn’t keep the corners of my mouth from turning upwards. “Maybe, I’ll get back to you on that.”

He patted my shoulder and took the drumsticks from his back pocket. Images of him using those same sticks to smash Forest’s head in flashed into my mind. I didn’t doubt Ace would have a good go at it.

The band got their cue and ran onto the darkened stage. The crowd were going nuts out there, already screaming like their lives depended on it.

I panicked, searching around for Demi. “What about lead guitar? Do I need to take my guitar on stage?”

“No, Marty’s got it,” she said, before noticing my obvious unease. “It’s okay, Brierly, everything will be fine. Once you step out there, everything will feel like it’s normal. You are going to rock it.”

I shook my arms, trying to get the nerves to leave. I had to be strong for all those people out there expecting me to be. They didn’t care that I’d had a bad day. They didn’t care my heart was smashed into a thousand pieces. All they wanted was to hear me sing and forget about their own problems for two hours.

I needed to fit my mask firmly on my face and I needed to do it quickly. If I stepped out there without it, I would be eaten alive. They would know, they would sense my fear, and they would jump on it.

I was wrong, I couldn’t do this.

“Demi, I can’t.” I shook my head, trying to stop my feet from flying for the door.

She was instantly right in front of my face. “Listen to me, you were born for this. Tonight is the same as any other night. All you have to do is go out there and sing, forget about everything else.”

Forgetting everything sounded a lot easier than it actually was. My life didn’t cease to exist when I was on stage. On a good day, I could put my life on hold for the duration of the performance but it was too hard now. The whole thing was too tiring, a charade that required more energy and effort than I had.

“I can’t. I need to go.” I made a turn and headed for the corridor. My band started playing on stage, the crowd screamed even louder with my imminent appearance. My hand was on the doorknob. All I had to do was turn it and I would be able to escape from it all. Flee into the night and run away from everyone.

“Brierly, you can’t go.”

“I’m still mostly-drunk, Demi. I’m not going to give them what they want. I’m not good enough.”

“So you’re going to let them all down?” Demi challenged. I refused to turn around and look at her. “You said you couldn’t do that to them.”

“If I go out there, I’m going to disappoint them,” I pointed out.

“If you leave, you’ll never get a chance to prove yourself wrong. They deserve that.”

“They’ll get over it.”

“They might, but will you?”

Demi knew me too well, she knew exactly what to say to me so her words cut into my stomach like a
blade and then twisted around to inflict even more pain.

I didn’t want to listen to her. I wanted to take the easy way out and walk away. I wanted to be alone, far away from any judging eyes and cruel words.

The band were still playing the intro, repeating the same bars over and over again until I appeared. Ryan was probably making his way over to yell at me for the delay. I needed to scurry out before he reached me.

But Demi was right. If I walked away, I would be more disappointed in myself than my fans. I wouldn’t be able to face them again, knowing I had disappointed forty thousand of them.

I turned around slowly. She jumped on the concession of defeat. “You are Brierly Wilcox, you have fought damn hard to be where you are today. This is just one concert, one night, you can do this. I know you can.”

I nodded, because if I spoke I didn’t know whether I was going to cry or not. Demi hurried over to the edge of the stage where my poor band were still repeating themselves in a loop. She gave them a signal, giving them a heads up that I was about to join them.

I stood by the entrance, taking a few deep breaths and trying to block everything out of my head except the task at hand. I still didn’t know whether I could do it, but Demi was right, I had to try. I could fail miserably, but I would be able to live with myself knowing I had given it a shot.

My mask was slipping, my tried and trusted method
of keeping my private life private was at risk of being pulled away completely. I couldn’t let that happen. It was time for the performance of my life.

Demi pushed me onto the stage. I stumbled before I could recover my footing. I shot her a dirty look before I reached my mark. I counted down until the lights came up.

And just like that, my mask was back on. I smiled, I laughed, I pretended like the world was full of kittens and rainbows. In that perfect world, Forest didn’t make me his mistress, my wounded heart wasn’t exposed on breakfast radio, and I didn’t want to force myself to vomit whenever things got too hard.

I played the entire show like it was my first and I hadn’t sung the songs a thousand times before. I said the same jokes, told the same stories about why I wrote the songs, and I refused to look at the spot where Forest was supposed to be standing.

From the crowd’s reaction, I don’t think they noticed anything was wrong. The beaming faces huddled around the stage didn’t waver, they continued to shine at me like every other night. Same reaction, different people.

I eventually calmed down, my nerves disappearing somewhere
between the first and second set. I relaxed into the performance, forgetting that anything else mattered. My mask was comforting, it allowed me to be someone else for a few hours. And it was much better than the person wasting their life on the floor of a hotel bathroom.