The Mighty Storm

“Do you?!” he hollers at me. The level of his anger actually makes me jump out of my suddenly cold skin. “Because honestly I don’t think you have a fuckin’ clue! What do you do Tru? You write a stupid little column in a crappy fuckin’ magazine! Me? I run a fuckin’ music label and a band, taking care of everyone else, while simultaneously touring, so you know what – I don’t think you know shit all about the kind of pressure I’m under!”



I feel winded. I know that’s not him talking, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.



“Thanks, Jake. It’s good to know how I sit in your eyes.”



I push past him, heading back into the living room.



He follows me.



Stopping, I turn around. I’ve only got my one card left to play.



“I know you’re struggling, that’s clear, and I know your life is pressured at the moment, but I can’t put up with the drug taking.” I hold the bag of crap up again, for the last time. “It’s me or this?”



“What?” His eyes widen with disbelief.



“You heard. You either go back to rehab and get clean, or I’m gone. I won’t stick around and watch you screw your life up again.” My whole body is trembling under the weight of my words.



All emotion disappears from his face, and he takes a deep breath in through his nose. “Again? Sorry were you here the last time?”



I close my eyes tight shut, taking a deep breath in myself. Then I open them. “No. And why was that, Jake?” I stare hard at him. “It’s me or this?” I repeat, lifting the bag higher.



His jaw tenses, his eyes slip out of focus, then narrow back onto mine with a new determinedness in them. “I don’t do ultimatums.”



A pain hits me hard in the chest. He’s made his decision. He’s way more gone than I had realised.



As I blink through the agony, a tear runs from my eye. I wipe it away with my sleeve. Then I toss the bag of coke to him.



It hits his chest, and drops to the floor.



“Have a wonderful life with your drugs, Jake.”



I swivel on my heel, feeling more tears coming, I make to leave.



Jake grabs me from behind, pulling me back to him. “Tru, no, I don’t want you to go.”



“You can’t have both!” I cry in his face.



“Stop acting like a child!” A sudden callous anger bleeds through his voice, and he leans his face close to mine, his fingers gripping my arm to the point of almost pain.



“Me?! I’m not the one acting like a child!” I remonstrate. “I think you need to take a good long look in the mirror!”



His face contorts, and for a moment I don’t recognise him.



He releases me, pushing me away. “Fuck you. I can do what the fuck I want, and if I want to shovel coke up my nose all day long then I will – because it’s my life. I got by just fine before you turned back up, interfering with your holier than now attitude. I didn’t need you then, and I certainly don’t need you now.”



I sharp in a breath, his words chilling my skin to my bones.



And in this moment all I want to do is hurt him, just like he’s hurting me.



“You know what Jake. You were right – you are just exactly like your dad.”



He looks like I’ve hit him, hard.



Then his face smooth’s, his eyes fixing onto mine. “If that’s the way you feel. Then you know where the door is.” His voice is cold, emotionless, and terrifying calm.



It’s his ultimatum.



And I’m so hurt and angry that I can’t see straight at the moment.



“It is. I can’t do this with you anymore. I’m done.” Lifting my chin, I turn on my heel, grab my bag and slam my way of the hotel room.



Chapter Twenty-Seven



My heart is hurting deep inside my chest. I’m confused. My thoughts are all in a muddle.



And all I can see every time I close my eyes is the look on Jake’s face when I said to him that he was just exactly like his dad.



I didn’t mean it.



Of course I didn’t. I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth. But my pride wouldn’t let me take them back.



Jake could never be like Paul. He’s warm and loving … tender and so very kind.



He’s just lost at the moment, and he needs help.



But I’m not sure how to help him, or if I’m even the one who can.



Still, though, I walked out and left him at the point when he needs me most. What kind of person does that?



I know he said some shitty things, but so did I.



Honestly, my behaviour of late has left me questioning myself and my morals.



Not long ago I told Jake that I would never leave him, no matter what.



Last night I did just that. I broke my promise to him.



I kicked his ass about broken promises and then I go and do exactly the same.



Rolling over, I look at the clock for the hundredth time in the last hour.



It’s 5:30am and I’m laid in a cold, empty bed in a Best Western Hotel here in Boston.



I haven’t slept all night. I’ve just laid here in the dark, watching it through to light. Running things over and over in my mind, trying to figure out what to do for best.



After I left the Ritz, I walked around the city for hours.



Knowing I couldn’t go back to our hotel, and having nowhere else to go, and no phone to call anyone on, I checked into the next hotel I happened upon in my price range.



Once in the room, I took a shower, washing my hair with the hotel provided shampoo. Then I dried it using the hotel hairdryer. It was small, and smelt of singed hair, and it took me forever to dry my hair, but I did it because I need something to focus on. Something to keep me busy.



Then I watched mindless TV for hours until I could no longer stand it.



And now, for the last four or so hours, I’ve had nothing to keep my mind busy, so I’m forced to think about mine and Jake’s fight.



What am I going to do?



I was so angry with him last night. Angry that he’d let himself get back there. Angry he’d lied about using drugs, and that he’d kept it from me.



But I’m not angry anymore. Now I’m worried, and so very afraid. For him. For us.



If there is still an us left.



I just don’t know what to do, what's best for him?



I wish I could talk to my dad about this, get his advice. But I don’t want him to know what state Jake is in. And god, if I told my mum she’d fly out here and carry me home kicking and screaming, I know that for sure.



I don’t have Stuart’s number to call him. It was in my phone, the phone which Jake broke in his little fit of rage.



And I don’t want to call Simone and put all this on her. Not while she’s all loved up in Denny world. Also I don’t want to put her in a position where she has to lie to Denny about Jake’s drug taking, if he doesn’t already know himself.



I’m on my own in this one, and will have to figure it out for myself.



One thing I do know is I can’t stay here forever, hiding from Jake and his … our problem.



All my things are at the Ritz, and right now I’m still in yesterday’s clothes and panties. I need clean underwear if anything.



I know I have to go back, it’s just … my pride is digging its pretty little heels in at the moment.



No, come on, Tru. You’ve been gone all night. You’ve left him stewing for long enough; you’ve made your point.



He has the show to do tonight at TD Garden. Go now and talk to him. Spend today sorting through this. Jake is too important to leave hanging for any longer.



I climb out of bed. I’m already in my clothes, so I just make a quick trip to the bathroom and then grabbing my bag, I leave the room.



I drop my key card in at the reception, and step out onto the early morning Boston street.



There are no cabs to be seen.



Feeling frustrated, I start to walk in the direction of where I think the Ritz is.



As I walk, I see posters up for Jake’s show tonight. Funny how I didn’t notice them yesterday when I was still majorly pissed at him.



I stop and look up the huge bill board, with Jake, Tom and Denny on it, staring back down at me.



I can see it in Jake’s eyes. The lost look. The one no one else sees. The look that only I can take away for him.



Suddenly, I feel such an overwhelming sense of love for him that it compounds, and covets me.



He’s screwed up, but he’s my screwed up. And I can’t be without him, no matter what.



I’m so desperate to see him in this moment. I just need to get to him and right things between us.



We can get through his problem together. I can be strong enough for the both of us.



Catching sight of a cab with its light on heading toward me, I run out into the street and flag it down.



Jumping in the back, I pant breathless, “The Ritz-Carlton.”



The cab pulls away and I fall back against the seat, filled with nervous anxiety at seeing Jake.



When the cab pulls up outside the Ritz, I pay the fare, and climb out onto seriously wobbly legs.



I’m so nervous about facing him after what we said to each other.



No, this is Jake. I can do this.



Kicking my shaky legs into action, I make my way through the empty early morning lobby, and straight into the waiting lift to take me up to Jake.



He’ll probably be still sleeping, so I’ll have to wake him because I don’t want to wait any longer for us to talk this through.



I put the key card in and press the button for the twelfth floor, to take me up to the Presidential Suite where we’re staying.



The lift starts to ascend, and I stand here hands knotted in front of me, stomach turning over, as I jig my leg on the spot. And I’m reminded of the time I was riding the lift going to do his interview, those few short months ago.



So much has happened since then.



The lift stops and the doors ping open.



I instantly know something is wrong the second I step out onto the landing.



There are bottles of alcohol laid discarded on the floor, cigarette butts trodden into the carpet, and what looks to be a woman’s top there too.



Going over to it, I bend down and pick it up. It’s red with the word ’Hussy’ wrote in the black on the front.



My stomach drops hollow.



I don’t want to go in there. I don’t want to see what’s behind the door.



But I have to, I know.



Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I carefully push my key card in. I hear the little beep and the click of the lock opening, and very quietly, I push the door open.



The place is a mess.



Littered with bottles of booze, sleeping bodies, some clothed, some not.



The whole place absolutely reeks of sweat, booze and cigarettes.



Jake had a party.



We had a fight. I spent the whole night worrying over him. And he had a party.



The knowledge makes me feel sick.



Obviously me leaving him meant nothing to him at all.



Maybe he’s been waiting for me to go all along. Maybe this is what he’s wanted for a while now.



I guess this was the wake for the funeral of our relationship. Or celebration, depending on which way you look at it.



This is Jake. He’s a rock star who parties, takes drugs and sleeps with groupies.



He’s not a relationship kind of guy. I was just foolish enough to make myself believe for a little while he was because I wanted him so badly.