32. Jonah
32
JONAH
I sleep alone. We speak in formalities. I avoid her.
I spend the flight to Amsterdam with my back to her seat, so I don’t spend the whole trip staring at her. I take long, frequent smoke breaks just so I don’t have to be in the suite with her more than necessary.
I feel low.
I feel so fucking low that I long for the anger. I want to be mad. I want to hate someone. Something. I can’t.
When Theo died, he was gone. I wasn’t reminded constantly of what I’d lost. The grief, at times, was unbearable, but losing Claire is different. The guilt is still present. I still dwell on my mistakes. I’m still filled with regret. But this is a whole new kind of pain.
It’s anguish. It’s torture.
She’s right here in front of me, and I feel like I’ve carved my heart out and given it to her. She has it in the palm of her hand; I have to watch every day as she holds it. I don’t even want it back. She can keep it. It never did me any good, anyway. It made me want her when I couldn’t have her. It made me think she could be mine. It lied.
Death would be better.
“Have you looked at the calendar?”
I don’t glance up from my book to lie to her. “Yes.”
“Good.”
I can tell from my periphery that she goes back to staring out the car window. I don’t care where we’re going. I’ll smile and be a good boy. I’ll play my part, and in six days, Claire and I will go our separate ways. She says it’s just for the band’s break. I know better. That three weeks will never end. Even if she wants to come back, I won’t let her. I can’t do this anymore.
The car stops, and Claire gets out without a word. I finish the page I’m reading, dog ear it to hold my place, then switch my eyeglasses for my sunglasses before climbing out after her.
I step beside her with my head down. When she starts to walk, I follow. I zero in on the click-clack of her heels, but I keep my eyes off her legs. I stare at the pavement instead.
“They already have your acoustic guitar, and I sent ahead a bag of gifts with it. Small stuff. Dolls and cars and things. You have three rooms you’ll have to visit and play for privately, so you’ll have to wear a mask for those patients.”
My body tenses, and my breathing speeds up. My feet slow, but she keeps talking.
“For the rest, the nurses have set up like a little party. Snacks and your gifts. You’ll put on a concert of sorts, I guess. I told them absolutely no press, and I’ve already had the whole ward set up with extra security. It’s peds. Mostly young kids, but there are some teenagers. I think the oldest is seventeen, and he’s a huge fan.”
I stop. My thumb starts to sting. I keep my eyes on the pavement.
“Did you forget something? We’ve got—” She must pause to check her watch. “—ten minutes.”
I don’t move. I hear a small gasp, and then she walks closer and grabs my hand. She cups my hand in between hers and rubs at my thumb. The one I’ve already picked raw.
“Jonah, what’s wrong?”
Slowly, I bring my eyes up to survey the building in front of me. As soon as I read the words on the side of the building, I can’t breathe. They’re in Dutch, but I don’t have to be able to read them to know. I know it in my bones. This is a children’s hospital.
I feel dizzy. I blink twice to clear my vision, and then I shake my head.
“I can’t go in there. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
I close my eyes again, pull my hand from hers, and turn back to the car. The click-clack of her heels gets louder as she chases after me. The sound blends with my rapid heartbeat.
I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here.
“Why? What can I do?”
I reach the car and pull on the handle.
“Unlock it,” I shout to José. As soon as I hear the car beep, I yank open the door and get back in.
“Jonah.” Claire leans into the back seat and gives me a concerned, confused glance. “What is going on? This has been on the calendar for weeks.”
I rest my head on the seat back and try to calm my breathing. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, trying to force away the visions.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t check the calendar. I should have. I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
Another pause. I drop my head between my knees and jam my hands into my hair. I pull. I should have kept the pills. I should have read the calendar. I’d have been prepared. I should have kept the pills.
“Okay. Just let me make a couple calls, and then we can go back to the suite.”
I don’t answer. The car door shuts. I hear the hum of her voice as she talks on the phone. I count backwards from one thousand and pick at my thumb. I should have kept the pills .
The car door opens, and she slides back in.
“Okay, Sav and Mabel are coming to fill in. If anyone asks, you have food poisoning. Hey.” She grabs my hand again, halting my picking. “Stop it. You’re bleeding.”
I ignore her and start on the other thumb. I should have kept the pills.
“Jonah, stop.” She grabs my other hand. Both of mine are in hers. Then she’s so close, I can feel her breath when she speaks. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
I shake my head. “I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” My heart is beating so loud. I can hear my blood rushing through my veins. I might have a heart attack. My chest is going to burst. “I can’t be here. I can’t be here.”
“We’re going back to the hotel now.” She brings my hands to her lips and kisses them. “We’re going back. Just breathe, okay?” She inhales, then exhales slowly, her breath dancing across my knuckles, cooling and warming. Calming. “Breathe with me. Just breathe.”
I do. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on Claire’s hands wrapped around mine. On her body beside me. On her scent.
She’s here.
She’s here, but she’s not mine. Theo’s dead. I’ve fucked everything up.
I should have kept the pills.
I jolt upright, my chest heaving.
I rub at my eyes, but I still see him. I still see him dead and gray in that hospital bed. Head shaved. Face swollen. My mom’s voice echoes in my ears. The sound is so real, she might as well be standing beside my bed.
It should have been you. It should have been you.
It should have been me.
I press my palms into my eyes until I see white, but the images don’t leave. They mold and blend, adding Claire. Claire laughing. Claire crying. Claire dead. Claire fucking my father. Claire standing over my dead brother’s body. Claire’s voice chanting over and over.
It should have been you.
I fist my hair and yank on it. The voices just get louder. The images get brighter.
I roll out of bed and, on instinct, go for my stashes.
I rip through my clothes. I check every pocket. Every pair of socks. Nothing . I unzip the liner of my suitcase. Nothing . I tear open the liner of my guitar case. Nothing . I dig through my toiletry bag. I dump out every ibuprofen bottle I have. Nothing . I lift the mattress. I pull back the sheets. I take the cases off the pillows. Nothing . The drawer in the bedside table. Nothing .
I check every one of my usual hiding places, and I come up empty.
I’ll call a friend. I’ll text the roadie. I grab my phone and head out of the bedroom, but I halt at the foot of Claire’s bed.
Claire .
I scan her side of the room in the darkness, zeroing in quickly on her suitcase. I rush to it and rummage through it. When my fingers wrap around an orange prescription bottle, my body almost collapses with relief.
“Jonah?”
I freeze. Slowly, I turn and face her. She’s in her pajamas. Her hair is mussed from sleep, and her face is creased with worry.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
I wipe at my face. I didn’t even realize I was crying.
She scans my face, and then drops her gaze down my body. Her posture stiffens when she sees the prescription bottle.
“Jonah, are you...?” She lifts her eyes back to mine. “Are you trying to take my medication?”
I clamp my eyes shut. I fist my hands against the tremble and shake my head. I don’t even know what to say to her. I can’t even apologize. In this moment, I’m only sorry that I got caught.
“Yes.”
I brace myself for anger. I’m ready for her to scream at me. To call Hammond or Sav. To leave me. But then she crosses the floor, and her hands cup my cheeks.
“You’re sweating.”
Her voice is soft and sweet. No anger. Just concern. She slides one hand to my heaving chest and rests it above my heart. I’m sure she can feel it racing.
“Is this about today? Did you have a nightmare or a panic attack or something?”
I open my eyes and hold her gaze. I inhale shakily. “Yes.”
The hand she has resting on my chest slides to my shoulder, then down my arm, stopping at my wrist. When she tries to take the prescription bottle, I let her.
“Are you having withdrawal symptoms?”
I force a swallow and nod. “Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll call Hammond to get a doctor.”
“No.” I grab her wrist before she can step away. “No. Don’t tell him. It’s just...” I close my eyes again and try to slow my breathing. “I can do it. I’ve done it before. The hospital just...”
I shake my head. My voice is hoarse and strained. It doesn’t sound like mine, and I can’t find the words. I just see Theo in that hospital bed. I see me in that bed. I can feel the IVs. I can hear the monitors. There are too many memories. Too many.
My pulse picks up speed again, but she moves her hand back to my cheek.
“The hospital triggered you.”
I nod. “Yes.”
When Claire urges me forward, I open my eyes and follow her to her bed. She sits on the mattress, so I sit beside her, and she takes both of my hands in hers.
“How long have you been off of it?”
I know she means the pills. I clear my throat. “Been tapering since Scotland. Completely off since Sunday.”
She stiffens. “You’ve been detoxing this whole time?”
I huff out a laugh that makes my battered body hurt. The headaches. The irritability. The increased anxiety. All compliments of the comedown.
“Yeah. Sexy, right?”
“Jesus, Jonah. You should have told me. You’re not supposed to do that without medical supervision. Does your therapist know?”
I huff out another laugh. My therapist didn’t even know I was still using.
“I’m fine, Trouble. I’ve done this before. The hospital just...”
I groan, then squeeze her hands just to make sure she’s real. I turn slightly so I can rest my head atop Claire’s, and she leans into my chest. I inhale lavender and sugar, and I don’t let go of her hands. When I speak again, my voice is steadier.
“Everything is louder when I’m clean, anyway, but withdrawal amplifies things. Feelings. Worries. Fears. Everything is sharper. Stronger. The hospital would have bothered me no matter what, but right now...”
“Because you’re detoxing, it was worse.”
I hum. That’s putting it lightly.
“You’re supposed to manage your stress levels during detox. I picked one hell of a week to get clean.”
I say it as a joke, but I can tell from the way her body slouches that she doesn’t take it as one.
“I’m sorry. First my fall, and then the children’s hospital. God, I’m supposed to be helping, and all I’m doing is making things harder for you.”
“No. This isn’t on you.” I release her hands and wrap my arms around her. “You’re here. It helps more than you know. Just be here.”
“Okay. I’m here.”
Claire presses a soft kiss to my throat that I feel in my chest, then we sink into silence. I listen to her breathe. I imagine my heartbeat thrumming with hers. Our bodies syncing completely. Until every function of hers is in time with mine. She calms the storm in my head. The blood in my veins.
I love her. The thought makes my eyes burn with tears.
“Hey.” She leans back and looks up at me. “Want to play chess? I have this gorgeous new board I’m dying to break in.”
I give her a small smile and nod. “Yeah, Trouble. I do.”
“Good.” She stands, then gives me a smirk. “But put some pants on first. You’re naked.”
I laugh. I’d forgotten I was naked.
I walk to my side of the room and pull on some athletic shorts and a T-shirt while Claire sets her chess board up on her bed. I take some ibuprofen and try not to think about where Claire hid her Xanax. I don’t want to know. I don’t trust myself yet.
I can’t be with an addict.
Her pained words have been circling around in my head since she said them.
I’ve never considered myself an addict. Not even after almost dying from an overdose. When I was in rehab, I lied. I said what I needed to get released. I told myself I didn’t belong there. I thought just because I’m able to taper off and go a while without using that means I’m in control.
I’m not.
Something always brings me back to the pills. Anything to blunt my emotions. Anything to fog up my memories. Anything to dull reality.
Even after weeks of tapering, after wanting so badly to get sober and stay sober, I’d have taken those pills tonight without a second thought.
I’m not in control.
The truth is, I am an addict, and that truth just makes me want to turn the room upside down in search of Claire’s Xanax.