4
Jem
I dreamed about Liv.
I fucking dreamed about heragain.
The dreams had stopped—the images looping around my head like a continuous horror movie retreated a month ago, the spectre of her death finally beaten. Last night I was there again. In the hotel. Drugged to the eyeballs trying to wake up my dead girlfriend. My broken girl who looked the calmest she had the whole time I’d known her.
Calm? No, dead because of my drugs.
What really sucks is because my subconscious has such a tight grip on the memories, the fact I was high at the time is no defence against the torture I deserve. So much of my life back then is a hazy blur, but that day is seared on my mind forever.
Liv follows me everywhere the day after I have the dreams. Glimpses of her tucked into the armchair in the corner of the lounge, strung out, or reading, catch my eye but she’s never there. Screaming arguments encroach my memories, followed by images of holding and wanting to save her. Liv was twenty-one, a woman but still a little girl in so many ways, stunted by her past.
Days like these, the oblivion found in a bottle seems the lesser of two evils—alcohol or drugs. Neither is in the house but both are in easy reach. Alone, unable to distract myself away from the coiling nightmare tightening around my chest, I move closer to walking out and buying something to numb the pain.
Padding the room in circles in my bare feet, I scroll through the contacts on my phone. If I walk out of the door now, I’ll return with something to obliterate the world.
Therapist.Too tired for that shit.
Bryn. The Blue Phoenix drummer is in the country, or he was last week, and he’s always ready to listen. I dial and wait, willing him to answer quickly.
“Jem?”
“Hey, Bryn.”
“You okay, man?” asks my new go-to guy now Dylan’s on his endless holiday with the love of his life.
In the past lead singer Dylan would be the first person I’d call. Not anymore. My relationship with Dylan is rocky at the best of times, we’ve only recently started talking again after my attempt to ruin his relationship with Sky.
“You back from overseas?” I ask.
“Yeah. What do you need?”
A shitload of drugs. “Fancy another trip to London? I’m scouting bands for Steve. Wanna help?”
Bryn makes a soft sound. “Steve has you looking for bands? In clubs?”
“Yeah, I can handle it, Bryn. When we go back on tour, I need to be confident I can stay clean around this stuff.”
“Hmm. Isn’t this a bit soon?”
I settle onto the sofa and rest my head on the back, staring at the ceiling. Maybe. A month since I came back from Thailand, from my discreet rehab centre—as if the world didn’t know where I was. Back in my house in Notting Hill, I focus on writing new tracks but without the rest of the band to work with, I’m disconnected.
The way Ruby Riot’s music vibrated beneath my skin last night is the most excited I’ve been about music for a long time. They remind me of the raw Blue Phoenix, a perfect blend of talent and synchronicity between the musicians. Hell, if I can focus on helping them successful, that could keep my mind off my other addictions
“So, come babysit me.”
“Seriously, Jem, think about this. Third stint in rehab; make this one count.”
“So you don’t want to come over? I’ve found a good band. Check them out online: Ruby Riot.”
“You’re complimenting a band? This is worth seeing.” Bryn chuckles. “Okay, I’ll come over this evening for a couple of days.” He pauses. “You obviously need me to.”
Trust Bryn to spot my real reason for calling.
Bryn’s decision to stay lifts some of the darkness and compulsion to blot out the world. He’ll be here in a few hours which means I can’t exactly greet him when I’m stoned, can I?