11. Creed
Chapter 11
Creed
(AGE 27)
T wo Weeks.
Two. Fucking. Weeks.
Fourteen endless days have passed and I could fucking kill my band manager right now. Wrap my hands around his fat, greasy neck and squeeze until the lights go out behind his beady little eyes. He insists that it was his assistant’s fault that there was such a colossal fuckup with the mail. But he doesn’t have a fucking assistant and what he doesn’t realize is the importance of me getting my mail on time.
One, I pay my own fucking bills, and just like any other adult, I gotta pay that shit on time. Two, it’s been months since I’ve received a letter from Collins and I was getting worried sick, knowing the struggles she’s been going through and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it since I’m not blood related to her. That fuckup of a slip has haunted me every damn day for years.
I stopped responding to her letters because the guilt of what she was going through was just devouring me from the inside out, and I didn’t know what to say anymore to make things right with her.
I had slammed the door to my bus in Steve’s face so I didn’t have to listen to his blubbering as he handed me a giant stack of mail with trembling, stubby fingers. I start shuffling through the mail, my eyes scanning for a particular pink envelope with those fucking signature lightning bolt stamps. How the fuck she still has them after all these years baffles me.
I’m getting nervous that there’s nothing there from her until a flash of black catches my eye. Black? I pull the envelope with that signature stamp and rush back to my bedroom to read it. I share my bus with Riley, and I don’t want anyone barging in on me reading one of Collins’ letters. Not that Riley barges. He’s too respectful for that shit.
Some of the things she tells me can be borderline traumatizing for even me to read and I sure as fuck don’t need any of my bandmates setting their eyes on the private details of her life.
I settle with my back against the headboard of my bed in nothing but my boxer briefs and run my fingers through my damp hair. I had just stepped out of the shower this evening when Steve knocked on my door with two weeks’ worth of mail in his hands.
A nervous energy rolls through my body and has me ripping open the black envelope and I prop my elbows on my bent knees as I unfold the paper, something falling from the fold, but I ignore it for now and start to read.
Dear Creed,
This is actually my hundredth letter to you, and honestly I don’t know why I even bother anymore. You’ve stopped answering and I just don’t see the point in writing anymore when it feels like no one hears me…
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, my heart squeezing painfully, feeling like it’s in a vice grip as her words sink in. I stopped responding but I didn’t realize how much she needed the contact.
The more I read her letter, the more worried and anxious and angry I feel. Worried because she was a good kid with a pure soul who had been dealt a shitty hand in life, and I hate that I couldn’t take her in and care for her. Anxious because it’s been two goddamned weeks since she mailed this letter. And fucking angry at myself for ignoring all the signs she’s been sending in these letters, and angry because I want to kill this Guy fucker who has custody of her.
Get me out of here, Creed. Please.
Her written cry for help throws my mind back to a moment eight years ago when she got lost in the woods at Bear’s parents’ house. How she clung to Asher, then to me. I was a wreck then, too, from all of the images of her face contorted in fear, screaming out my and her brother’s names as she wandered aimlessly in the woods until Bear found her.
“Fuck!” I yell it this time. I notice she’s left her phone number at the bottom of the letter and I waste no time in sitting up and searching frantically for my phone. My hands are shaking uncontrollably when I find it and dial her number.
With every ring, the words of her letter play on repeat in my head…
He’s the kind of pig who thinks he can put his hands on me without any repercussions…
Her phone goes to voicemail. “ Goddamnit, ”
I dial again .
I’m scared, Creed…
Voicemail.
Again.
I’m trying to make it to my eighteenth birthday…I’m losing hope…
I’m begging you to help me…
Voicemail. “Come on, Collins, please. ” I beg, sending my voice out into the universe in hopes getting my fucking desperation to her, needing her to answer. “Fucking answer, Stardust . Come on…”
I dial again.
I just want to disappear…
The phone clicks, like someone answers but nothing happens. I’m met with silence. I check to make sure I dialed the correct number. When I confirm it’s correct, I take a breath, trying to calm myself, but my voice still comes out rough and raw.
“Collins…”
I sag back onto the edge of my bed, waiting for her to speak. There’s a pause on the other line that feels like an eternity, before hearing her voice for the first time in eight years.
“Creed,” She rasps, her broken voice sounding all woman.
Holy. Fuck. I don’t know why the fuck I expected her to still sound like the ten year old kid that tagged along with Asher and me all those years ago, but Collins’ voice is anything but.
Her voice is obviously deeper, but still has that husky rasp to it when she speaks. When she was seven or eight, Asher and I had rushed her to the ER when we came home from a week-long boys camp for high schoolers. We hadn’t heard from his mom all week and thought everything was fine. But Asher called me as soon as I’d walked through my front door after dropping him off, saying something was wrong with Collins. He thought she had severe laryngitis. We found out that she had vocal nodules that went undiagnosed and untreated, developing into vocal fold polyps and required surgery to have them removed. Her dad dropped off their mom and she waited with us. She felt so guilty that she’d missed the signs.
I felt no pity for her because I knew she purposely spent her days doped up on too many pain meds to escape her own reality, and neglected Asher and Collins on a daily basis because of it.
Her piece of shit dad refused to pay for the therapy required once Collins was healed, and as a result, her voice remained raspy. It didn’t stop her from laughing or yelling or singing though. Nothing brought her spirits down when Asher and I were still there. She was always so understanding and optimistic for a better tomorrow.
“ Stardust , you there?” I ask quietly. There’s a noise on the other line that sounds either like a gasp or a quiet sob, but I can’t really tell. A little dumbfounded at hearing her voice, I wait silently to see if she’ll say anything else. I glance over and notice the object that fell from the letter in the middle of my bed. I pick it up and it’s like all the air is sucked from my lungs.
It’s a polaroid picture of Collins laying on her back in the grass, her long white-blonde hair fanned around her like a golden halo, one arm stretched out before her as she snaps the photo. Her green eyes illuminated by the flash of the camera have them nearly sparkling. The features of her once round face are now sharp, defined, and beautiful. She’s not smiling, but she’s not frowning either. My eyes involuntarily get stuck on her lips that rest in a perfect, full pout that sits just below an adorable pert nose. A small septum piercing glints beneath her nose as well. She’s got more freckles smattered across her high cheekbones and nose, and a few more dot her forehead than she had when she was a kid. In the photo she’s wearing a loose-fitted tank that says Fuck This Life in a blackletter text with a skeleton’s hand curled into a fist with the middle finger pointed. The sleeveless top shows off what looks like to be an elegant floral tattoo that trails down her exposed left shoulder to nearly her elbow.
I feel like I have no idea who the fuck I’m looking at right now. Certainly not little Stardust . Definitely not the little kid with tangled hair and pallid skin, wearing poorly fitting clothing that looked as if a unicorn vomited all over them. No. This…fucking woman is temptation personified.
I look down from the photo to notice that my dick has started to harden behind my boxers.
Uh.
No.
Fucking nope.
Nuh-uh.
Suppress that shit right away.
When I feel a little more in control of myself, I glance at the picture again, my eyes settling on her face, her bright green eyes. Her almond shaped eyes look so expressive, yet at the same time she looks… empty. Though her eyes are bright, they look far-off, vacant.
She sighs and the soft sound breaks me from the trance I’ve fallen into while staring at this polaroid of her.
“What do you want, Creed?” She whispers, breaking me from the trance this picture of her has put me in.
I have to force myself to look away from this whole new person in the polaroid I’m currently gripping tightly to focus on what she just asked me.
What do I want? She fuckin’ serious?
The letter is two weeks old and not only had she fucking begged me for help, she had also mentioned it was her birthday soon. I pull my phone away and swipe to check the date and sure enough, it’s May 28 th …Collins’ birthday.
Her eighteenth birthday. She’s officially aged out of the foster system, and it hits me that I can finally get her out of that shitty town to start over, but would she even let me at this point? She seemed so fucking disappointed in me in her letter, and then I never answered her because I didn’t even have my fucking mail. I push away the guilt that gnaws at my gut at not only forgetting that today is her birthday, but also that awful feeling of failing her when she needed me.
Fuck. What is wrong with me?
“What do you mean, what do I want? I just read your letter, Collins.” I scrub a hand down my face before spinning the silver hoop in my nose. A nervous habit of mine as I start talking frantically. “I’m fucking worried about you and I want to help you. I can get you out. Keep you safe. Please. Tell me. Where are you? I can even get you into a hotel under a different name so you’ll be safe until I can get to you. Just tell me where you are Collins, I’m com?—”
Her laugh cuts me off, but it’s quiet and humorless. Haunting. “Keep me safe? You’re a little late for that, Creed.”
I drop my phone at my side as I send a silent “ Fuck! ” into the silent space of my bedroom before lifting it back to my ear. I hate that this is how I’m hearing her for the first time in eight years. Completely devoid of emotion. Jaded. Empty.
My heart fucking sinks.
“What do you mean too late , Stardust ? Tell me where you are.” I repeat, putting her on speakerphone to text Bear to have him reserve our band’s jet so I can fly out and go get her.
Hearing her sharp intake of breath over me calling her by her nickname has a small kernel of hope sprouting in my mind. But she quickly quells that emotion when she speaks.
“I mean just that, Creed. It’s a little too late for that. But it’s okay,” She placates, “Because I survived. On my own . And…I aged out today. I fucking saved myself .” Her voice cracks on the last word before a sob wrenches through her.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound and hang my head. “I—I am so, so fucking sorry, Stardust ?—”
“Don’t,” She interrupts. “Don’t fucking call me that.” She rasps, her voice low and angry. “That nickname belonged to a girl who believed in salvation and happy endings. She doesn’t exist anymore.”
What the hell has this girl actually been through? The thought of her being hurt and taken advantage of is enough to get my blood boiling. Right now she has every right to be fucking pissed.
At me.
At Asher.
At the entire goddamned universe.
She didn’t deserve to live the life that was dealt to her and the people who she relied on most had failed her.
“Please, Collins,” I plead, “Just…just let me get you somewhere safe. If you want, you can stay with my band and me, we’re in New Mexico right now. Or…or not and I can send you anywhere you want to go, you name it, just?—”
“No,” she answers quickly, cutting me off. “I don’t need your help. Or anyone else’s for that matter.” She exhales heavily before continuing. “I made it out on my own, Creed. My life up to this moment has only proven that the only person I can rely on is me . That I can save myself. I don’t need anyone to save me. Not anymore, at least. Not Asher, and not…”
Me .
“Collins,” I breathe, wishing I could see her face. To hug her to me and reassure her that everything will be alright and that I would keep her safe.
“Look, I’m sorry about the letter I wrote.” She says quietly before hiccuping. “I—I didn’t mean to put that responsibility on you when you owe me nothing. Things that…went down in my life…they didn’t happen because of you and I shouldn’t have put that burden on you by asking for help.”
I sit in stark silence for a moment, the only sound is the rapid whooshing in my ears from my pounding heart. The silence must stretch on longer than I thought because I hear her cautiously say my name like it’s a question.
“I don’t know what to say, Collins. Except that I’m so, so sorry that we left you alone for so fucking long. I wish I could…fuck, I don’t know. What can I do, Stardust ?” the nickname slips from my lips before I could stop it .
“Creed, it’s okay. There’s nothing you can do now, and that’s okay.” She coos in such a soothing tone even as her voice breaks, and it feels like a dagger in my gut. The moment throws me back to when she was just a kid who always accepted life the way it was with an understanding far beyond her years. Everyone else’s happiness and contentment was always her number one concern. If we were happy, she was happy, no matter the sacrifice. “I’m sorry to have ruined your night by causing you panic. I…um, I’ll be alright. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you called me before…” she trails off.
“Before what?” I shoot off from my bed suddenly, as if I could reach her, to keep her from saying what I think she’s going to say. “Collins?” I can’t tell if her name comes out more as a question or a warning.
She huffs another humorless laugh, then sighs, the sound defeated. I hear a woman’s muffled voice announcing seating sections for a west coast airline in the background. She’s at the airport. Then a shuffling noise comes over the phone, like she’s shifting around. “Look, I gotta go.” She pauses. “I want to thank you for listening to my words all these years. Those letters…it gave me a safe space to not feel so alone. You know, I’ll always be thankful to have known the real Creed St. James.”
“What the hell are you saying, Collins? Where are you?” I rush out, my heart pounding in my chest. I scramble for my clothes, ready to call a fucking cab to get me to the airport. “Why the fuck does it sound like a final goodbye from you?”
“Because it is.” She says, her voice resigned. Before I can get another word out, I hear more shuffling sounds before her voice sounds through my phone one last time. “Goodbye, Creed.”
“Collins, wait!” Beep. Beep. Beep. I look at my phone as the call disconnects and I curse as I dial her number again and it immediately goes to voicemail. “Fuck!”
I dial ten more times and get the same result. Trying another method, I pull up the internet browser on my phone and look up the nearest airport from Stutton and dial .
“Stone Ridge International Airport. How may I direct your call?” A woman’s voice answers.
“I need you to look up a flight passenger for me. Collins Weston?”
“Are you the ticket holder?”
“No, but?—”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t give you that information.”
“You—you don’t understand. She’s my…” what? She’s my what? I glance at the polaroid still pinched between my fingers and my stomach gives an odd twist and dip at the sight of her face. A feeling I’m sure as shit not ready to dissect right now so I file it away for later…or never. Whatever. She’s not my fucking sister that’s for sure, but this lady doesn’t know that. Just as I open my mouth to say so, the operator on the other line speaks up.
“Look, I can’t give out anyone’s information if you’re not the ticket holder or don’t have the ticket number. Unfortunately we do have a busy call queue, so if you don’t have any further questions for me, I’ll have to let you go.”
I hang up before anything else can be said and with a curse under my breath, I dial the number of the one person I haven’t spoken to in five years, hoping like fuck he’ll answer.