“You know?” He laughed to himself, shaking his head. “My mom could’ve been saved. She didn’t die immediately. If only she’d had the mercy of a selfish prick, she could be alive today.”
Another fist, this time to my stomach. I folded in two, coughing whatever oxygen I had in my lungs. Shit. Guy had some strength in him. I jerked back, my eyes blurry. I could still see him. I could still fight back. I could maybe even take him. My sister’s words came back to haunt me.
I’d lost the girl.
I was a monster.
And that was how Indie was going to see me. For the rest of our lives.
Craig tackled my midsection and threw me sideways to the floor. I made no effort to fight him off, letting him pound his fists into my face repeatedly, until I stopped feeling anything from the neck up. His face—at this point nothing but a pink swollen thing spitting animalistic growls—was contracted in pain. I wondered if he realized how alike we were. How we loved the same girl—granted, in very different ways—and how the same girl loved us, and wanted to save us, mainly from ourselves.
“Where is she?” I repeated, coughing up blood. Their mother could have been saved. I hadn’t known that back then. And if I had—would that have changed the way I’d reacted when Fallon came home that day? Yes. It would.
I’d begged her to tell me the truth. “Come on, darlin’. We can fix whatever shit’s happening, but I need to know.” I’d replayed that night countless times in my head since it happened. Even before Indie and Craig walked into my life. The answer had always been the same.
I would have compromised my relationship with my girlfriend and gone straight to the nearest police station to file a report. I couldn’t have done more than that—she’d been adamant that she hadn’t hurt any people, and maybe she’d been high enough to believe it at that time. But I wouldn’t let her get away with it, because that was where the spiral had begun.
That was the final step into the abyss. From there, everything fell down and crumbled like an elaborate beautiful castle made of fucking cards.
I had started snorting cocaine.
And speed.
And drinking even more than I ever had before.
I’d distanced myself from Fallon, not quite willing to let her go yet, but depressed enough that I didn’t want to touch her anymore.
I couldn’t write. Not anything decent, anyway.
Cock My Suck, my failure of an album, was supposed to be a huge fuck you to the Suits I worked with, but really, it was a massive, angry dick pissing on my own career. Because it was full of angry, empty, soulless songs.
Maybe I had invited Will Bushell to take Fallon away from me. Could I really blame her for choosing him? I hadn’t wanted to touch her. I was always too busy to actually deal with her. And he was responsible, smart, sober, and savvy. But this was ancient history, and now I had my future to worry about.
“I hate you so much,” Craig spat the same words his sister told me in my face, yet again not answering my question. It was weird, how I couldn’t feel my flesh anymore, but I did feel his warm saliva dripping on the side of my cheek.
“I know,” I ground out. Despite everything, it hurt to hear it. Not that I normally cared. I had people telling me I ruined music, people making voodoo dolls of me, and endless stalkers trying to harm me, and their existence was meaningless to me. But this was different. This was the guy whose sister I was in love with.
That was the first time the thought hit me fully, a wrecking ball straight to the brain, denting it well and good in the shape of Indie. I was in love. I’d known it, I’d felt it, but using the exact word at the exact time made everything clearer.
“You need to go to the hospital.” Craig sniffed, righting himself with a high stool by the kitchen island and standing up.
I made a humph noise, not bothering to move. The floor felt quite comfortable at that moment.
“Where is she?” I asked again.
He shook his head like I was a lost cause. “Seriously, man, what the fuck? Why didn’t you fight back?” He started coming back to my vision inch by inch. He looked like hell with stubble and dripped sour sweat right into the open wounds on my face. But he’d asked a question, so it was only fair I give him an answer.
“Because I love her,” I said. There was nothing to worry about when you told the truth. The truth was factual, and facts are things you can’t change or bend to your will. “Because I love your sister and because I deserved to get my arse kicked,” I finished.