“Did you see this?” Tyler barked, marching into my living room. He held his phone out toward me as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Un-fucking-believable,” he grumbled. “She’s a freaking snake! I’ve always known she was a snake, but this is bullshit.”
His nose flared as I took the phone from his hand and read the headline.
Cam Jones Tells All about What It’s Been Like Living with Oliver Smith
Oh boy.
“You read that? Don’t read that,” Tyler said, snatching the phone from my grip. “It’s trash. She’s trash. Why would she even do that? What would make her go out to do that kind of interview?”
“I broke up with her a few days ago.”
He looked at me, and his eyes flashed with glee. “You broke up with her? There is a God! You broke up with her!” he repeated, jumping up and down with bliss. Then, his joy seemed to dissipate as another reality set into his head. “Oh no . . . oh no, oh no, oh no . . .”
“What is it?”
“What is it? Dude. Cam is crazy. And now she’s out there getting exposure on your breakup. Who knows what she’s going to say?”
Before I could reply, my phone had started ringing. Kelly’s name popped up across the screen, and I answered. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh my goodness, she’s insane!” she exclaimed—speaking of Cam, I assumed.
“Yeah, I saw the article.”
“The article? No. She’s on Channel Five right now doing a sit-down interview.”
Within seconds, Tyler had switched the television on, and there she was, holding a tissue in her hand, speaking to the interviewer through her sniffles. Screw her singing career: Cam should’ve gone into acting.
“So, you’re saying living with him was like living with darkness?” the interviewer asked her.
“Yes. It wasn’t always like that. I knew Oliver suffered from depression, but I never thought he’d go to the level of belittling me in the way he had. He was cruel with the name-calling, saying I was worthless, putting me down on the regular.”
“That’s awful,” the interviewer said, reaching out and placing a hand of comfort on her knee.
“Yes, it’s . . .” Cam paused her words and turned to look away, seemingly emotional. “I’m sorry, it’s just so hard to talk about. I did everything I could for him. We were all mourning the loss of Alex. I wished I had someone to lean on during all of this, but Oliver was so cruel.”
“Did he ever hit you?”
“What kind of fucked-up question is that?” Tyler shouted, gesturing out of frustration at the television.
Cam looked up from her tissue, and the pained expression in her eyes signaled exactly what she wanted it to be seen as—as if I were abusive. As if I were a reclusive monster who’d made her life a living hell.
She didn’t answer the question with her words, but oddly enough, her silence gave all the viewers exactly what she wanted them to receive. They’d think I was a monster. An abusive one at that.
Tyler shut off the television and kept cussing beneath his breath. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, marching back and forth. “This is complete bullshit.”
I didn’t say a word, because what exactly could be said? My mind was spinning fast, coming up with all of the opinions that were being formed about me. I felt the heaviness of it all. I felt the disgust of others thinking that anything that Cam said held an ounce of truth. They thought I was abusive. They thought I was cruel. They thought I was the monster, when truthfully, I had just rid myself of the beast.
I don’t want to be here.
“She’s the fucking devil!” Tyler hissed. “How could she say any of that? I’m gonna get on the phone with PR and see how we spin this bullshit. Dammit. It’s going to go viral. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I gotta get to work. You good, Oliver?”
No.
But of course, I lied. “I’m fine.”
“Okay. I’m going to head off and do damage control. Keep your phone close and stay off-line, okay? Don’t read any of that shit.”
After Tyler left, I tried to turn to music to quiet my thoughts, but it didn’t work. I was spiraling deep into my mind, so I turned to my next fix: alcohol. At that time in my life, I was trying to drink away reality for a short period of time. I’d started drinking by myself to find a numbness, because my thoughts were growing wild. But instead of being a smart drunk, I was an idiot.
I went online and googled articles about Alex & Oliver. I read people’s comments on Cam’s interviews. I looked up old YouTube videos of our concerts. I watched Alex do some of the best guitar solos in the history of forever, and I fucking hurt.
The alcohol that night didn’t bury my emotions; it released them like a river of sorrow. I felt the pain of Alex’s loss tenfold, and then I found comments on Twitter blaming me for his death. Blaming me for being an abusive asshole. Blaming me for being me.