To say that news of mine and Lockhart’s very public break up has spread would be an understatement. This is good, though, because the lads aren’t bothering me about why I’m so depressed.
His parents haven’t called to ask me why I wasn’t there for lunch this afternoon, which means he showed and they know, or he called. The past two times Lockhart has said we’d go but we’ve been late, they’ve called me first because I’m more likely to answer.
They didn’t call. I don’t know how I feel about that. His family made me feel so welcome and I haven’t just thrown him out, I’ve gotten rid of them too. As is right. It had to be this way.
Nobody is bothering me as I get ready to go on stage, which means they also know.
Everybody knows.
This is how quickly the news will spread if anyone finds out about what happened. I’m at such a war with myself. I want to speak up, I really do, but the people knowing part just feels like the end. If I wasn’t so popular right now I might’ve even considered it, but like he said, nobody would believe me. They’d probably think it was some kind of ploy to get him to sell his company to Lockhart.
What the media and people do to women in this situation is disgusting.
I don’t think I can handle that.
No.
I know for a fact I can’t handle that.
I meditate before exiting my room, something I haven’t done for years. It helps clear my mind before our set. We’ll be performing to hundreds of people.
Hundreds.
Yet I don’t feel nervous, or unhappy. I feel safe yet numb.
I’ve already had a third of a bottle of vodka, but I ask for more before I go on stage, forcing a fake smile as the crowd cheers our names. Whistles, claps, screams, echoing shouts and song demands sound all around me as I tweak my keyboard and play a few notes to test its efficiency. We didn’t do soundcheck. We had somebody else do it for us. We always do soundcheck.
Have we become so famous that we don’t do our own chores anymore?
As soon as we begin, I relax. I had forgotten just how soothing I found the music. I had forgotten just how easy it is to attach your anger and sorrow to every word.
For the first time since before that night, as I belt out near impossible notes, keeping my eyes closed, I feel free.
Free.
Free of pain, anger, sadness. Free of everything Thatcher gave to me and full of everything he took from me.
My mind is clear. I have to only focus on the music and how I present it. How I rip it from my body and show it to the world, like ripping away my soul and polishing it on a display for them to see.
The crowd goes wild, wilder than they’ve ever gone before.
I drink my vodka, I cheer, I smile, and I laugh. I’m me.
I feel like me.
Though unfortunately, feeling like myself again just brings a new complication.
It’s when the static of my sorrow disappears that I start asking the real questions.
How did he know about the knickers? How did he get the remote? Did Rebecca know what she was leading me to?
Why me?
Who was his alibi? Did they also know?
How many people know about what happened to me or about what was going to happen to me?
What if they come forward, but what if they don’t?
Where the fuck was Lockhart?
Was he really with Esca?
Do I care? Does any of this matter? Will any of the answers to these questions change anything?
* * *
“Holy fuck, Cerise… that was incredible!” Kai swings me around in a circle, his body sweaty like my own. It gets warm up there with all the lights directed towards you as you prance around stage like a musical prize pony.
“It felt good,” I admit, still buzzing and tingling from the high. I want to go back out there but I need to rest my throat. I pushed myself too hard.
“It was like you’d hulked out,” Dane laughs. “You were hitting notes not in our songs by the way. Normally I’d be pissed that you deviated, but shit it sounded great.”
“Vodka,” I demand and a few of the people around who are praising us rush to get me my beverage of choice. Three people return with drinks for us all. I neck one glass of vodka lemonade, neck the second after a quick breath and just hold the third, sipping it softly so my hands are busy.
They’re impressed with that display too. At this point I don’t think any of them will be unimpressed by anything I do.
We’re forced to the backstage area to do meet and greets and take pictures. It’s the usual but I just want to go and drown my sorrows in our trailer. I used to love this, but now… now I need space. The random hands grabbing me and tugging me in for pictures and such is stifling.
Then somehow Kai and Dane rope me into following them and these guys they met to a party with an outdoor pool that lights up a variety of colours from the bottom. It’s freezing outside but the pool is heated. I only know this because my drunken arse clambered up onto the roof of a shed, screamed a battle cry and dived straight in.
They loved this too.
Shit, they love everything about me. They have to. I’m almost famous. They’d hate me if I wasn’t.
* * *
“You are ALL OVER THE INTERNET!” Sammy screams with glee so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear. My fuzzy head hurts a lot. “In the best way!” She laughs so loud I almost hang up. “Mum is livid. She watched a video of you jumping off a shed into a pool. What happened to you and Lockhart? The pictures are blurry but who are you making out with? The articles say that it’s Josh Lipson from that band Ashes to Rust or something. It looks like him. I’ve been checking out their music; it’s decent.”
“One question at a time, jeez.” I say around a yawn and put my phone on loudspeaker, balancing it on my bent knee, so I can rub my temples. “I need coffee and painkillers. Did you say I made out with someone?”
“Well yeah, in the hot tub. There are pictures of that too but they’re blurry and you can mostly just see like you from an angle and a little bit of him.”
“Of course there are pictures,” I mumble, unable to recall the moment in particular. “I feel like shit.” My hand roams down to my nether regions and I prod around until I’m satisfied that I didn’t have sex last night. I must have just been drunkenly kissing someone. It wouldn’t be the first time that has happened.
“People are calling you the legend that broke Lockhart and gave no fucks.”
“That’s a reputation I’m not going to look forward to keeping,” I sigh. “I’m really making a mess of things.”
“Well, people are obviously stalking Lockhart to see his reaction to you kissing someone else.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Oh but you have to be! Okay, so,” she giggles like it’s funny that I just jumped from one man to another. It isn’t funny. “They filmed it. He was walking to his car when the guy behind the camera was all, hey, Mr Lockhart, have you seen the pictures of Cerise kissing Josh Lipson?” Her voice is deep as she pretends to be the camera man. “I swear, Lockhart stopped in his tracks, stared at the guy, like rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. He was looking at the screen as he walked to his car but then he stopped again and oh my god, Cerise! His heart like broke. He just stood there forever, staring.”
“I don’t need to know this, Sammy. Enough,” I hiss, ready to hang up the phone.
“And then he turned to the camera guy before snarling at him to get it out of his face. The video cuts off there but people are going CRAZY about it.”
“I have to go. I need to shower.”
“Did you shag him? Was he good?”
“I didn’t bloody shag him, Sammy!”
She laughs again. “You sure? You don’t remember kissing him, sooo….”
The line goes dead when I press the red button and my head spins as I roll onto my front and bury my head under my pillow.
“CERISE!” Kai screams, bursting into my bedroom.
I’m going to kill everybody.
“What?” I whine, almost sobbing. I just want to be alone. “What now?”
“We’re at number one and number two. Just Us and Forget the Promises are one and two in the top forty!”
“What?” I squeak, sitting bolt upright, away from the headboard.
“Boobs!” Kai cries, covering his eyes with his hand.
I grab the blanket it and hold it to my chest. “Sorry, I didn’t realise I was… anyway, are you serious?”
“Yeah, your crazy ass made the news EVERYWHERE.”
“Why’d you let me do any of that?”
“It was killer, that’s why.”
Dane joins us, his phone to his ear, a huge smile on his face. “Rep is taking us to lunch to celebrate.”
“I’ll pass,” I mumble.
“You can’t pass,” Dane laughs and then says into the phone, “She’s feeling a bit sore.” Pause. “Not that I’m aware. Has he been in touch with you?” His brows furrow and he looks at me with concerned eyes. “Well she didn’t. He’s not here...” When he turns his back on us both, Kai follows him, leaving me to drag my weary rear out of bed and get dressed.
I shower before I do anything and it makes me feel slightly better, though not by much.
Then I check my phone and read the messages in the order I received them and ignored them. I wish I had checked my phone sooner.
Lockhart: Great performance. Amazing in fact. Are you feeling better? Do you have time to talk?
Thirteen missed calls from Lockhart.
Lockhart: Answer your bloody phone. Where are you?
Five missed calls from Lockhart.
Three missed calls from Josh.
I must have given him my number. I don’t remember doing that.
Josh: Where are you? I can’t find you?
Lockhart: Cerise. Please.
Two missed calls from Lockhart.
Three missed calls from Josh.
Josh: Dane and Kai said you’ve gone home? I thought you were coming to mine?
Oops.
Josh: Morning gorgeous, how’s your head? As sore as mine? Sorry if I was pushy last night. You just blew my mind. Are you free for lunch?
Eight missed calls from Lockhart.
Lockhart: I’m coming over. If you’re not there when I get there, consider your building privileges revoked. That’s an order as your boss.
“Shit!” I cringe. He sent that a while ago which means…
“You go; she’s staying.” I hear Lockhart’s voice but I could already feel his presence.
“I’m not letting you through until I’ve spoken to her,” Kai yells and I feel no small depth of gratitude to my old friend.
“It’s fine,” I say loudly, pulling my socks on one at a time. “Thank you, though. Just let him through.”
Dane appears in my doorway. “You sure?”
“It’s fine.” I smile softly. “Go have your lunch. I’ll join you there if I can.”
“We should be celebrating together,” he grumbles but walks away without waiting for an answer.
“I’ll make it up to you!”
I turn and place my phone on the charging station at the same moment that Lockhart steps into my bedroom and closes the door behind him.
“Tobias,” I say, raising my chin defiantly when I face him.
“It’s Lockhart,” he corrects. His aqua eyes glitter dangerously, sparkling with an anger I’ve not seen there before. A week ago I’d have been aroused and terrified. Now though, the only thing that terrifies me is myself. “I’m not Tobias to you anymore and trust me when I say I wish I’d never given you the privilege of my name and my heart to begin with.”
I can’t deny the sharp pain this sends through my chest, but my annoyance at his words outweighs the hurt. My defences are up so any jabs received will be returned tenfold.
“Trust me, I wish you hadn’t too,” I murmur and fold my arms. “Is this all you came for? To tell me to call you Lockhart?”
“Are you so hell bent on humiliating me?” He snarls. “Everybody has seen those pictures. Everybody. My family. My friends… me.”
“I’m hell bent on living my life,” I state, raising a brow in challenge. “So why are you here? I thought we’d decided on this.”
He hesitates before replying. “The way you behaved last night was dangerous, stupid and life threatening, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Human Resources and Public Relations.”
“So?”
“So, they’re requesting you immediately take a drugs test.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I have a nurse waiting. They’re just looking for an excuse to get you under the thumb.”
More like he is.
I laugh rigidly. “Then send her up. I’ve never done drugs in my life. I don’t plan on starting now.”
“This isn’t funny, Cerise.”
“Did I say it was?”
“They’ll remove you from the label if you make one more mistake. That’s if your result comes back negative. If it’s positive…”
I sit on the side of my bed and rub my tired eyes with my fists. “Are you done here?”
He has the gall to look pained but doesn’t say anything. Instead he leaves and I contemplate locking the door behind him.
That would be immature, though, so I wait for him to return with a certified nurse who forces me to give her a sample of my blood and urine. She looks apologetic. I don’t care. I just want this over with. When she leaves, she sees herself out much to my annoyance. Not because she sees herself out, but because she doesn’t take him with her.
I hold the cotton ball to my bleeding arm, lifting it every few seconds before I’m satisfied that it’s stopped.
“Did you fuck him?” Lockhart asks suddenly, startling me. I knew he’d likely ask eventually but I wasn’t prepared for the sudden blurting of it.
I toss the cotton ball into the bin and shake my head. “No. We just made out in the hot tub.”
He grits his teeth and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Why?”
“Why not?”
His lips pinch together. “Why are you doing this? What the fuck changed?”
“I’m not interested in going over this with you again and again.”
“I just need to understand!”
“Fine.” I blow out a harsh breath, making my cheeks puff out. “But first help me understand, okay?”
He nods and folds his arm over the chest, as though protecting himself from my words.
“Did you kill Thatcher’s wife?”
He blanches, clearly not expecting that one. “Is that why you’re…?” He sighs and his eyes fill with shame.
I feel good, like I’ve scored a point, as mature as that doesn’t sound.
After running his tongue over his perfect lower lip, he replies, “In a sense, yes.”
“In a sense?” Now I fold my arms over my chest. “What does that even mean?”
He turns away and presses his hand on the door. “I don’t have to explain any of this to you anymore. You’re not mine. You don’t feel anything for me.”
“Then leave and know that I’ll forever wonder if you’re a murderer.”
“I didn’t kill his wife. She killed herself because my father had been tormenting her for months, making her think she was going crazy.” He turns back around and leans back against the door. “I was eighteen at the time and my grandfather owned my current portion of the company. Thatcher was like a son to him, an uncle to me and my siblings…” I look away because looking at him as he speaks about that vile being makes me want to punch somebody. “He was going to leave the company to him, so he could share it with my father.”
“And?”
“My father didn’t like that. I didn’t like that. It should have been mine. I was blood. I’d spent my entire life being groomed to take it over. But my grandfather felt I was too young.”
“Keep going.”
He frowns. “We just wanted him distracted and erratic so we could convince Grandfather that I was the right choice. We didn’t know she’d take her life.”
“What did you do?” I breathe, hating this story more and more because it’s starting to sound so much like my own.
“We made Thatcher think his wife was having an affair. It sent him crazy. We’d have men photographed leaving her house and talking to her while she was running errands. Of course she was innocent but the photos were well taken and manipulated, just like he was. Eventually she just… fizzled out. She stopped fighting for her husband and became too scared to leave the house. The photos and following made her paranoid, rightly so. Thatcher stopped going home, started drinking more and then he in turn started having an affair. When she found out, she put a bullet through her head. But I had nothing to do with any of the photos or following; it was all my dad. But my dad…” He laughs coldly. “My dad blamed it all on me. He knew Thatcher wouldn’t report me because of how young I was, but he’d have taken my dad to the cleaners.”
“But you and your dad are so close? How can you be so close after that? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Time has passed, Cerise. I forgive him and it did get me the company after all. We came to an agreement to let Thatcher think it was me so he wouldn’t lose that relationship with my father and it made no difference to me how Thatcher felt. But when my father and I made up a few years ago, Thatcher lost his shit with my dad and started making our lives hell.” He shakes his head, looking equal parts ashamed and frustrated. “It blew up in all of our faces and because of us, a young woman lost her life. Thatcher’s wife died because we were greedy.” He shakes his head. “We thought when he got remarried he’d calm down but he didn’t.”
So that’s why I was raped.
Because they fucked up a man’s wife so badly she died.
I almost feel sorry for him. I definitely feel sorry for her.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say, my tone one note of bitterness. “Does Thatcher know now that it wasn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why did your dad tell him now of all times?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. All I know is that Thatcher apologised and we’re going to hopefully have an amicable future in business.”
“Good for you.”
“I didn’t agree with what my father was doing and I didn’t know the extent of it,” he implores, searching my eyes. “But I’m still to blame. I’m still ashamed because I could have told Thatcher. I could have stopped it all before… before she died.” When I remain silent he asks, “So, you know my darkest secret. Now, tell me who told you I killed his wife.”
“He did,” I reply.
His brows come together with confusion and he’s about to speak when his phone starts to ring.
He puts it to his ear and his eyes close. His finger and thumb pinch the bridge of his nose right before accusatory eyes come to mine.
“Understood.” Then he says something which surprises the hell out of me. “Your urine test came back positive.”
What? “How? I don’t do drugs. You know I don’t.”
“I know.” He blows out a breath. “We’ll know more when the blood work comes back. Same as Dane.”
“I’m not worried.” I stand and stretch, my body aching with exhaustion and overexertion.
“I can tell. It’s the only reason I’m not pointing fingers.”
“I drank a lot and did some stupid shit, but I didn’t take drugs.”
“I know.” He smiles softly. “Is it because you thought I killed his wife? Is that why you were being so distant with me? So cold and cruel?”
This time it’s me that pinches the bridge of my nose, though just for a second. “I suppose it’s part of it. How’d she test my pee so quickly?”
I’m extremely surprised when his hands come to my arms and I’m yanked into his chest.
He dips his head and presses his lips to mine roughly. Too roughly.
I squeeze my eyes shut, missing the tingles just his kiss would bring. I’m too numb to feel anything.
“Kiss me,” he begs, his voice a whisper. He peppers kisses over my cheek before returning to my unresponsive lips. “Kiss me. Just fucking kiss me.”
“Stop,” I demand, pushing him away and gasping for air.
“I told you,” he shouts, ripping his hand through his hair. “I told you my darkest confession. You know now. You promised me you’d forgive me.”
“That was before,” I murmur and move to pick up my flashing phone.
Sammy has sent me a text message, a message that stops my heart and has me dying inside and laughing incredulously. Laughter is unwarranted, but it’s stopping me from crying.
Sammy: Did you know that Frank died on Sunday? Why didn’t you say anything? Are you okay?
Truly I didn’t know and in my current state I don’t know how I feel about that. It’s just one fucking thing after another. There has to be a rock bottom somewhere around here. Is this it? Is this my bottom? Is there an up from now?
I toss my phone back onto my bed and toss myself with it.
“You can go now.” I close my eyes and press my cheek to my pillow. “I’m going to try and get some rest before they come back.”
“I’m not going,” he states firmly, sitting beside my thighs and placing his hand on my back.
“For goodness sakes, Lockhart,” I yell, flipping over and sitting up. “I don’t want you here. I literally don’t know how else to tell you. I kissed somebody else. I told you to go. What do you need me to say?”
“I need you to be yourself so I can believe you.”
“How do you know this isn’t my real self, whatever the fuck that means?” I roll my eyes bringing my knees to my chin. “You hardly know me at all.”
“I’m in fucking love with you. I know you well enough to know when you’re suffering!”
“No, you just think you’re in love with me. You wouldn’t know love if it punched you in your handsome fucking face.”
He stands and I watch as he battles internally with his emotions. I’m pressing all of his buttons, yet again.
“Kai and Dane agree. They say you’re a completely different person.”
I shake my head, denying the possibility. “I’m just…”
“Poorly? Yeah, mentally maybe. Nobody knows who you are right now and your performance last night…” He sits beside me again and places his hand on my knee. “Everybody who knows you could see your pain. It was like watching you scream. Whatever that was that made you perform that way was begging for help.”
“You’re over dramatizing everything.”
He’s not, not at all.
It was a scream. It was desperation and loneliness and everything else all rolled into the sound of my voice and the movement of my hands. Music has always been my outlet.
“What is happening to you? Why can’t you look at me anymore? Why can’t you talk to me? Let me help you.”
At his words, I can’t stop the sob that burns a hole through my chest and sends the ashes of my heart away.
“God, Cerise, please.” He wraps his arms around me and I cling to him, holding the lapel of his jacket so tightly in my hand my fingers hurt. “Tell me… talk to me… I can’t stand this.”
I try so badly to say it but the thought of all the negativity it will bring to not just me but my parents, my sister, to Lockhart and everybody else in my life, stops me.
So I just cry and cry and cry for what feels like hours.
I cry so violently I eventually fall asleep, my body drained and paralysed by grief.
I don’t know how to live anymore with this. Every time I think I have it figured out, it just comes straight back up again, the ugliness of what happened. It’ll never leave me. Never.