Wasted Heart (13 page)

Stopping in the park, we walk to slow our heart rates.

“So, you finally get signed, have your first big hit, and meet the guy of your dreams. You both go on separate tours but try to make it work. What then?” he says, stretching his arms above his head.

Walking side by side, I turn to look at him, wondering if I should be telling everything to this stranger. In this life, you can’t trust anyone. If you do, it ends up sold to the highest bidder, but everything is turned upside down in my life right now, and I have no one to talk to. I decide to take a chance.

“He said that he loved me. That I was his soul mate, and he could wait until I was ready to take our relationship to the next level. We tried to make it work. Well, I tried to make it work. Have you ever been on tour?” I ask him, kicking the cement with my tennis shoe.

“Actually, I have. It’s world of its own, with rules that make sense only to you music nomads.”

“Yeah. I figured that out pretty quick. I didn’t understand the women, how available they are for the men. Not that I’m making any excuses for him, but he and I were, still are, really young. At first, we would surprise each other at different stops. He would send flowers and gifts, but nothing compared to holding him. I got caught up in him being my first love. I was deaf to the warnings, blind to the images right in front of me online and in the magazines.” I pause, trying to find the words to say. “When I finally had the courage to ask about them, he looked at me and said, ‘Syn, you don’t understand what it’s like for a guy on the road. You and I are meant to be, but this is how it is right now.’ After a few choice words, we were no more.” I bitterly laugh, saying, “He does these interviews and says I’m the one. He writes song after song about me, making our private life very public. If only I could go back in time… Never…”

“You can’t choose who you love,” he says, looking at me sympathetically.

“Tell me about it.” I reply, not thinking about Tag but Rhye. I wipe away the tears that fall down my cheeks.

“Trust me, I understand,” he says, smiling at me.

The park is empty this early in the morning. I roll my stiff neck and let the gentle breeze cool my skin. I can’t believe how much I just told Josh. He really has to be a therapist because it’s so easy to talk to him. A question burns in the back of my mind, and I’ve already shared this much, so what the heck?

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he replies.

“Do you think you can change someone? If you love them enough, do you think you can change who they are?”

He stops walking and turns to look at me. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Something I’ve learned, Syn. You can’t change people. They have to want to change themselves, and even then, it’s an everyday fight. That’s why I step in and try to guide them to make better decisions regarding their life. In all honesty, if you love someone, then you have to accept who they are inside. Their demons become yours. I say this because if you are questioning whether or not you can change someone you love, then maybe you love the idea of them, and not who they truly are.”

“He’s in so much pain, and I don’t know what to do,” I say as sadness overwhelms me. Raising my hand, I feel the wetness against my cheeks. Looking into Josh’s kind eyes, I plead, “I see him underneath it all. He acts like he doesn’t care, but he does. I know, deep inside of me, that he does, but I don’t know what to do when he seems to not care what happens. He has had issues with drugs, and I don’t know if he is still using or not. And I don’t think he cares about me, and it doesn’t seem to make a difference to my heart. I don’t know what to do?” I shrug my shoulders, smiling through my tears.

When I finish, Josh steps forward and envelops me in a big bear hug. I can’t control the sobs that come one after another as I bury my face into his shoulder. My entire body shudders from the force of my crying. I wasn’t this upset when I found out about Tag’s betrayal.

“Shh,” he says, comforting me with soft pats of his hand to my back. “That’s a tough row to hoe. It’s going to be hard because he’s already failed you in the trust department. Did he have these problems the first time you were together?”

I pull back from his embrace, momentarily confused by his words. Wait…he thinks I’m talking about Tag. “No, this is someone entirely different,” I tell him, shaking my head.

“Oh. Okay. How long have you know this other person?” he asks, sincerely looking at me.

“Less than a week. Days?” I say, seeing the shocked expression in his eyes.

He takes a minute before responding. Stepping back, he places both of his hands on his hips and nods. “Syn, please don’t take offense, but how old are you?”

Crossing my arms, I shrug and reply, “Nineteen.”

“Nineteen,” he repeats. “Are you sure it’s love and not lust? Please hear me out,” he says, reaching to touch my shoulder. “Sometimes we meet people and have this instant connection. I’m sure, in some cases, it can turn into love, but that’s after getting to know someone so intimately that you’re willing to take on their internal struggles as your own. Listen, you are very talented, young woman with boundless opportunities at your fingertips. So many people lose themselves and forego their future in hopes of changing someone who has no desire to alter their life. Don’t get caught up in following someone you love straight to your ruin. I see it all the time, and I would hate for that to be you.”

I understand what he is saying. How can I possibly think I even know Rhye? He even said the same thing yesterday; however, my soul screams from its very depths that I do.

Turning away from Josh, I begin walking again, hearing him catch up to me. “I can’t explain it. I wish I could. These emotions that I have for him are so incredibly overwhelming. So real and confusing most of the time. Look, I know I’m young, but I can’t control what I’m feeling. Then, I meet you, and here I am spilling my guts to a stranger. What a week,” I say, laughing at myself.

“First off, I’m very good at my job as a listener, so don’t feel guilty about that. Second, you can trust me. I know that doesn’t mean much in the business you are in, but I have no interest in repeating anything you’ve said to me today. I’d rather have you as a friend,” he says as we walk along the sidewalk.

Glancing up at him, we smile at each other. I feel a kinship with him. “I’m not sure how your life coaching works, but if you’re not busy tonight, I would love it if you came to hear me sing. It’s only a song, but maybe afterwards I can buy you a Coke and you can tell me your life story. I would love to have you as a friend.”

Reaching his hand out to me, we shake. “It’s a deal, but how about breakfast first? I’m starving.”

I agree, and we stop by a small café a block from our apartment building for coffee and pastries. We sit outside at the small bistro table and chairs. At first, Josh tells me about growing up in Texas, and then we both discover we enjoy people watching as Nashville wakes before our very eyes. After we finish, we head back to our building and share the elevator up.

Walking down the hallway, Josh clears his throat before saying, “Listen, I meant what I said earlier. You can’t change someone that doesn’t want to change. Please be very careful who you give that beautiful heart to. Okay?”

I sadly smile at him. “I wish it was that easy.” He nods and leans down to give me a quick hug.

“I’m across the hall if you need to talk. Deal?”

“Deal,” I say before reaching down to retrieve my key and opening my door. “See you tonight.”

“I’ll be there,” he says, turning to unlock his door.

I walk into my apartment to get dressed for rehearsal with the band today. Josh was exactly what I needed this morning, an ear to listen. Not that I feel any clearer on what is going on. In fact, he said the opposite of what I wanted to hear. I need to slow things down and see where it goes from here. If it can possibly go anywhere.

My fingers strum automatically over the guitar strings. I start every fucking song that I’ve ever played, most I even wrote, and nothing happens. The words are trapped in my throat, refusing to be released. I can’t stand this gut-wrenching pain at remembering the times Chris and I played them together on stage or killing time on the tour bus. Sitting side by side, we would try new riffs for wherever we were playing that night.

My chest aches at these thoughts that come in waves. I had another nightmare last night. This time, Chris and I were in our old apartment in L.A. arguing about him going back to rehab. Of course, he had a bleeding bullet wound to the head the entire time we fought. He called me a hypocrite for being on the same shit. I was, but not as bad as Chris. He was so fucked up on a continual basis that he couldn’t even hold his guitar on stage. I had no choice. The only thing I had to threaten him with was firing him from the band. So, I did.

In my dream, everything that happened in reality was out of sequence. That night, I had bought some bad shit. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. The coroner’s report listed all the crazy shit that was evidently in it. I remember feeling more jacked than I ever have. At one point, I remember getting my gun because I thought someone was coming to get me. I laid it down when I felt like I had to puke. Then, sometime later, Chris had it, threatening to kill himself if I kicked him out of the band. I told him to do it, knowing he wouldn’t have the balls to anyway. And I was wrong.

The red blood and grey matter from his brain, splattered across my face. I tasted the faint hint of copper in my mouth, and I fucking lost it. I’ve never told another person, but I considered grabbing the gun and doing the same damn thing. Just ending it. Sometimes, I think the only reason I didn’t was because I blissfully passed out, and I hate myself for it.

Hanging my head down, I start to play once more. I have to do this; otherwise, I need to find another gun. What else is there? I think about what asshole Josh said the other day, something about finding a way to get over it and learn to live with it. Yeah, I get that. I can’t continue to live like this. Everything is coming undone for something I can’t change, something I wish I fucking could.

I finally feel…no, I know, I’m supposed to be singing on a stage. One of the first songs I wrote with Chris was “Desperate for You”. Once we made it to the big time, we revamped it a little bit and played it in our set. It never was a big hit, but it made it on our second album. I actually smile thinking about how Jay, from back in high school, inspired almost all my shit then. God, she drove me fucking nuts, but I was desperate for her.

As I sit on my bed, with my guitar in my lap, I clear my throat one more time and push the words forth from my mouth. “I watch you in silence, knowing I’ll never be what you need. And it kills me not to be able to follow you, and to see what you see. I try not to come undone, never to show how I feel. Tomorrow will be another day, and we’ll never be real.” I make it to the chorus to sing, “I’m desperate with wanting, and I’m desperate with need. I’m desperate for you. I’m desperate for you.”

I extend a couple of chords, closing my eyes to lose myself in my music. The feeling of completeness in this moment humbles me. I can’t forgive myself for what happened to Chris, but I can live with it. The bastard would probably kick my ass if he knew I hadn’t kept on playing. Before drugs, before anything, came the music. That was his motto. It’s my motto now. As much as I want that next hit, that next high, I have to remember that. For Chris.

My vision swims, and I blink back the liquid forming in my eyes. The sound of a knock at my door makes me jump, remembering where I’m at. It can be only one person. Goddamn Josh.

The door swings open, and he leans against the doorjamb. “Am I interrupting you?” he says, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, get the fuck out,” I say, ignoring him to play my guitar.

“Nah, no can do. The car service called and said they will be downstairs in an hour to pick you up for your performance tonight.”

“Message delivered. Now get the fuck out.”

“You know, I’m supposed to go out with a friend tonight, but I could cancel and come check your show out instead. Moral support and all that.”

“You know, you’re really not my type. If that’s your deal,” I say, looking up to see which way the wind blows with him.

“Trust me, feeling’s mutual. I already know your type, and if I were you, I would make sure to wrap it up extra safe. No, I’m actually trying to do my job, and if I were you, I would take advantage of the situation. You and I both know that if you keep living the life that you are, it will be a short one. If you haven’t used since you arrived, then this is a good time as any to change your life. The question is, ‘what do you want, Rhye?’”

Laying my guitar on the bed, I stand and stretch. “I want to get this record made and get the hell away from your psychoanalysis bullshit. Go babble your shit somewhere else.”

“It’s easier to stand with someone than alone, and I don’t scare off that easily. You know where to find me,” he says, turning to leave.

Damn, he gets under my skin. I fucking want to choke him out. I mimic him saying, “It’s easier to stand with someone than alone.”