Chapter Three
Tristan
It was time for round seven. There were only four of us left and here I was, sober and climbing the fucking walls. I had no fucking clue how I was going to make it through rehab. It had only been a couple of days and I already felt like I was crawling out of my fucking skin. I guess that was further proof that I was the “A” word, but I didn’t want to think about that. All I really needed was one toke, or two, and it would take the edge off of the anxiety that felt like it was crushing my fucking chest--even a beer would have worked, or maybe two. I couldn’t sit in that room, listening to the other three talk about how they were so happy for all of us and at this point it really didn’t matter who won. Fuck that! Maybe it didn’t matter to them. Maybe they weren’t nearly thirty years old and about to be homeless. It fucking mattered to me, but my thoughts were racing and my skin was crawling and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do that shit without at least a hit of something.
“Are you okay?” It was Elly. I was out in the hallway, pacing, and she’d stuck her head out the door to check on me, I guess. There were a group of techies and shit coming towards us down the hall and they’d heard her ask me that like I was fucking ten years old and needed a mother. I don’t know why women thought just because you were fucking them, it gave them the right to put their nose in the rest of your business.
“I’m fine. I’d be better if you’d shut the fuck up and leave me alone,” I told her. It sounded ugly when it came out of my mouth and she looked like she’d been punched right in the face.
The other people in the hall stopped talking all at once. Elly just then realized they were there. Looking mortified, she went back inside the other room. I looked over at the little group and they were all staring at me. Finally I threw my arms up and said,
“What? Fuck!” That got rid of them. I didn’t give a shit what these people thought of me. They were not living my life. They had no fucking clue what I’d been going through. When one of them has to stop using the only thing that makes them sane most days and they are looking at being locked in a fucking rehab and talked to like they were a twelve-year-old moron, then they could judge me.
When it was finally my turn, Elly sent her little friend out to get me. I guess she was afraid I’d yell at her again.
“Tristan, you’re up,” she said. She was judging me too, I’m sure, but I didn’t give a fuck about her, either. I pushed past her and as I walked into the contestant room; I suddenly felt like everything was out of focus. I felt exhausted and my whole body was aching. Fuck! I couldn’t go out on stage like that; I’d never make it through my set. I grabbed a bottle of water off the table and opened it. Then, I poured it over my head. I knew they were all looking at me, but I had to get some control before I went out there. We were live and I was a fucking mess. I smacked my face in my hands, took a deep breath and ran out on stage. The lights felt like they were beating down on me, scorching my skin, and the fucking judges were looking at me like they had something to say about me delaying the show. I signaled to the band to start up before they could. I wanted to tell them to fuck off in front of ninety million people.
I tried to let the music guide me. I played to the audience, bouncing from one side to the other as I sang. The girls were yelling for me and everyone was clapping along. I felt good—finally. It was all I needed. I was playing to my audience and rocking out and I felt great! I’d just needed to get that nervous energy that was bottled up inside of me out. When the song was over, I went back to center stage and waited for the judges to have their moment in the spotlight.
Diva went first, “I loved your energy, baby. That was great….but the vocals tonight, sweetie, not so good.”
I didn’t say anything, but I gave her a look. She thought she could say whatever she wanted, and as long as she added in a baby or two, that made it okay. She didn’t know when to quit either. She went on to say, “I’m being nice, baby. I can tell that what I’m saying upsets you, but I don’t want you to get eliminated, so I hope you’re taking this all to heart.”
I was going to tell her what I thought, but before I could open my mouth, the country star had his say. “She’s right, Tristan. The energy was great and when it was just you and the music, I wanted to get up and dance. But your vocals were way off. You sounded like you couldn’t get your breath….”
“Got it!” I said, dismissing him and looking at the last judge: the asshole that got his rocks off by making people feel like shit.
“I hope you’re not expecting anything different from me, Tristan. Your dancing and playing to the audience was fine, but that didn’t disguise the fact that your voice sounded like crap. You didn’t get enough sleep, or….I don’t know what it is. I do know that a better attitude would also do you wonders.” I didn’t need this cunt telling me what I needed. That was where I lost it.
“You all act like you know so fucking much!” I knew this wasn’t good, but I couldn’t stop myself. “You,” I said, pointing at Diva, “you were washed up back in the nineties. You think some Botox and a boob job will make you famous again? You’re wrong. And you,” I said to the country boy, “you’re a fucking nasal-ass country singer. What the fuck do you know about my kind of music? Don’t they have some hillbilly show that you can be the judge of?”
I was about to start in on the last son of a bitch when the host came over and said, “Tristan, you need to stop. We’ve gone to commercial but they saw most of that live before we did. You need to get it together.”
“Fuck you! You don’t want to know what I think of you. Fuck all of you!” I threw down the mike and stormed off the stage.
Everyone’s faces looked like they were in shock. Just because they went around being all fucking politically correct and kissing ass, didn’t mean that I had to. I passed Elly in the other room and she said, “Tristan, what are you doing? You’re going to blow this! I know you don’t want that.” Fuck her too!
“Whatever!” I said as I brushed past her.
I threw my guitar against the wall in the hallway. That was a fucking stupid move, but my thoughts weren’t exactly rational at the moment. I stormed out of the building, climbed on my bike, and drove down to Sunset Ave. I found my guy, right where I knew he would be and spent twenty-five of my last hundred dollars on a gram of coke and some weed.
I took it and headed back to my place. When I got inside the door, I was past noticing how clean it still was. My hands were shaking as I found the mirror and my blade and tapped out the beautiful white powder. I sat down and started chopping it. Just one line was all I would need and then a couple of hits off the bong—that I threw away…fuck! I could find something to roll it in. If not, an aluminum can would do. I couldn’t feel like that all the time—and fuck Elly and everyone else if they didn’t get it. I couldn’t even think straight. I’d just had a shit fit in front of nine million people. How the hell was I supposed to live like that? Everyone had their vices, right? This was mine. I was an adult, and if that is how I wanted to relax, it was my own fucking business.
I got the coke cut down and then I made a line. I had to go dig through the kitchen drawers to find a straw, and when I finally did, I cut it in half. When I sat back down at the table, my phone buzzed. Shit! I looked at it; it was a text from Elly.
“Please don’t do anything you’ll regret. I’m here for you if you need me.”
Such a fucking Pollyanna! She thought she has a clue what I was going through. She had no idea. I heard her talking to her mother on the phone. Her mom sounded like fucking Carol Brady. Anyone raised like that couldn’t possibly understand. She probably smoked a joint or two and panicked and then checked herself into rehab. I would have bet she was never really addicted to anything in her life.
Shit! I slammed my hand down on the table and the line I’d just painstakingly created was suddenly all over the place. I hated that shit. I couldn’t keep doing it…letting shit control me. I was not that fucking weak. I was not the kind of pussy who couldn’t live or think or be creative without a crutch. It wasn’t about Elly and what she wanted, or that fucking show and what those people wanted; it was about me and what I needed. I picked up the mirror and the vial and the baggie of weed and took them into the bathroom. I flushed it all and threw the mirror into the trashcan.
I looked at myself in the mirror then. My eyes were sunken and my face was really thin. I hadn’t been able to eat; I always felt sick to my stomach. I was a fucking mess. Shit! I slammed my hand into the mirror on the wall.
“Ow! Fuck!” I yelled that out as my knuckles made contact, but afterwards, it actually made me feel better to focus on how bad that hurt as the blood oozed out of it and ran down my wrist. I just stood there and let it bleed and throb for a while. Finally, after making a bloody mess of the bathroom, I went into my room and got a bandana out of the drawer. I wrapped my hand up to stop the bleeding and wondered what the hell to do. I could go buy some bleach…