Chapter 25
NIKKI
I think I’ve made a huge mistake.
It’s been a week since I’ve been home. Since I left Marek. And I’m not doing so great.
The crushing sadness I felt after he left that day hasn’t faded. I wasn’t prepared for this.
My plan was to come home, be independent, be brave, check my emails (haha, there’s more to it than checking them, but that’s a first step) and try to get my life back on track. I thought I’d gotten past the whole “my career is over” thing, but apparently not.
I’ve spent the last week in my pajamas, staring out the front window of my apartment at brick buildings or watching Crossroads of the Heart.
All those doubts and fears I felt after the accident came streaming back.
The guilt, the grief, the sadness. The feeling of failure and belief that I have no value if I’m not a success. If I’m not producing.
When Marek left, it felt devastating. But also… unsurprising. Because this is what I deserve.
I didn’t expect him to want something real with me. That’s not him. He was always clear that he only wants fun times and hot sex. When he told me he didn’t want me to leave, panic blew up inside me. I couldn’t let myself be derailed yet again.
Right now, though, I’m terrified. I thought I could give up one for the other, and I’m not sure I can. I’ve lost Marek. And I’ve lost my career. Which means I’ve lost my fans, my team, and probably my parents. I’ve lost everything.
* * *
One day, Mabel shows up at my place. I tell the doorman to let her in, but I’m suddenly in a panic. What is she doing here?
Mabel walks in with a smile that quickly slides off her face as she takes in my appearance. I look down at my pink flannel “rosé all day” pajamas with a juice stain on the front, and run a hand through my unwashed hair. “Uh. Hi.”
“Hi.” Her forehead pinches in the middle. “I love the look. It’s giving… hot mess.”
“Gee, thanks.” Then I sigh. “I know. I don’t care.”
“Nikki.” She shuts the door behind her, kicks off her shoes, and pushes me into my apartment. “What the fuck?”
“What?” I ask defensively, crossing my arms.
“What is going on? Marek said you were doing so much better that you left.”
I swallow and lower myself to my couch. “I… was doing better.”
She regards me searchingly. “What happened?”
I look down at my knees. “I don’t know.”
She takes off her coat, a cuddly-looking brown fake fur, and sits in the chair next to me. “I was surprised that you’d gone home. It happened so fast. You never even said anything the night we watched the game.”
“I hadn’t decided then. But I thought about things and I realized I need to move on.”
“Hmmm. Did your parents tell you that?”
“Not in those words.” I bounce one shoulder. “But they were pretty disappointed that I was still ‘lying around.’”
“Oh.”
“They have high expectations of me,” I explain.
I pause. “I have high expectations of myself. And I was letting all of us down.” Then I close my eyes.
“I still am. I thought I could do this.” The overwhelming helplessness and hopelessness plunges over me like a net trapping me. And I can’t fight my way out.
“No,” Mabel says, distress in her voice. “People who love you understand.”
“Who loves me? My parents. That’s it. I mean, you’re a friend, but we’ve only known each other a short time.
My fans supposedly love me. But I went online and all I saw on social media was people saying I was a coward for hiding and I was letting my fans down, too.
” I look up at Mabel, my mouth working into an anguished pucker. “I don’t know how to get through this.”
“Marek loves you.”
My eyes widen, fixed on hers. I rub my mouth.
Her teeth trap her bottom lip. “He does. I thought you both… watching you together, you were so connected. I thought you felt the same.”
My heart freezes. “I can’t… I’m not…” I stop, my throat squeezing shut.
Mabel waits, even though I know she’s not a patient person.
“I told him,” I finally choke out. “I’m a mess. He deserves better.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, nodding. “Lots of people love you, Nikki. Lots of people want to love you. But when you don’t love yourself, you push away people who try to love you.”
“I…” My sinuses sting. I rub my mouth. I don’t push people away. “That’s not…”
She tilts her head. “Think about it.”
* * *
I don’t want to think about what Mabel said. Just hearing the words was like pushing on a bruise. If I think more about it, it’ll be like poking an open wound. I don’t want to think about Marek loving me. Or maybe he doesn’t, because I’m not loveable.
Maybe getting farther away will help, so I pack up and fly to L.A. I let Blake and Harper know I’m coming, determined to be strong enough to get back to business. But I’m not. I’m not strong enough.
Harper lets me cry on her shoulder, then she picks up the phone and calls a therapist and pulls some strings to make an appointment for me.
She drives me there the next day. I don’t want to go.
But none of my excuses make any sense. I don’t have time.
Ha. The therapist will sit there and judge me.
I need to be judged. What good is talking going to do? That’s denial.
Dr. Eve Gamble apparently is experienced with people who don’t want to talk to a stranger about their shit. She doesn’t judge me. She listens and asks questions and sometimes I don’t know how to answer the questions, but I keep trying.
As the days go by, I spend time at therapy. At the piano, playing, singing, writing. Sitting in meeting rooms with Blake and Harper and my agent Anderson and Bruno. And I spend time sitting on my terrace overlooking the city and thinking.
One of the things Eve tells me is that helping other people is a way to use my guilt to honor the people who were lost or hurt at my concert, and give me a sense of purpose.
So I take that to the team and we start planning a benefit concert…
in Berlin. Can I go back there? Can I perform at a concert?
I have to.
There are lots of things I have to do that I’m not sure I can.
I find some music that I wrote last year.
A song called “No Matter Where” that I wrote around the same time as I wrote the songs for my album “Waiting for Stars.” “Charmer,” one of the singles from that album, ended up hitting number one on the Billboard Hot 100, which was what threw my life into glorious chaos.
I read the lyrics of “No Matter Where” and my heart contracts sharply.
It’s a good song. I mean, I love it because I wrote it, but objectively I think it’s good.
I didn’t end up including it on the album because it felt too personal.
Too vulnerable. But now… shit. I’ve survived a deadly disaster.
I’ve survived people saying I can’t cut it.
I’ve survived my own damn mind games. How bad can it be to share something so intimate? And isn’t that what the best music is?
My impulse is to immediately record and release it. But that voice in my head tells me not to be hasty. So I set it aside and explore other ideas.
Eve suggested I put my emotions into music.
“Whatever pain you can’t get rid of, make it your gift.
” Which is so obvious—I always do that! My songs are known for being somewhat autobiographical—about friends, romance, heartbreak, and more recently socio-cultural issues important to me—and vulnerable in a raw, authentic way.
But right now, my feelings are so intense and so sensitive that exposing them feels terrifying.
But isn’t that what the best music is?
Like I said, there are lots of things I have to do that I’m not sure I can.
One day after I see Eve, I pause outside the building housing her office. Across Larchmont is a tattoo shop. I’ve had this idea floating around for a while, but now that I’m practically right in a tattoo shop… I’m going to do it.
I cross with the lights at the intersection then hustle down the sidewalk.
I hesitate at the door. Am I crazy? This isn’t the place I got my other tattoos.
I don’t know anything about this shop. I don’t want to end up with a methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus infection. Or hepatitis. Jesus.
I pull out my phone and do some speedy googling. I read the “about” info—owned by a woman, that’s good—then reviews. All excellent. Okay. I’m going in.
The girl at the front smiles as I walk in, but when I tell her I don’t have an appointment, her face falls. “We’re all booked up this afternoon,” she says. “But I can book you in… let’s see…” She clicks a computer mouse a few times. “Next Thursday?”
I pout. “Damn. I don’t want to wait that long.” The fact that they’re booked up is a good sign, though.
“Are you…” She tips her head. “Nikki Sullivan?”
I duck my head briefly. “Yes, I am.”
“Oh, wow! So cool to meet you!”
“Thanks.”
“You know… let me just check with Ciara. Maybe we can squeeze you in.”
“Okay.” If my name gets me in here, fine. I didn’t push it.
She returns a moment later, followed by a young white woman with spiky black hair, a nose ring, and a lot of ink. “Hi!” she says. “I’m Ciara, the owner of Inkspire. Liv says you’re hoping to get a tattoo done today.”
“Yes.” I smile at her.
“Do you know what you want? I might be able to fit you in when I’m done with my current customer, but only if it’s something small. Anything bigger, we could start it, or make another appointment for you.”
“I’ll show you.” I still have my phone in my hand, so I scroll through my image gallery. “This.” I hold out my phone.
“Oh, yeah, that’s simple.” She nods. “If you don’t mind waiting fifteen minutes or so, we can do that.”
“Oh, thank you! I don’t mind at all.”
“I have forms for you to fill out,” Liv says. “We can get those done while you wait.”
I walk out of there an hour later with fresh ink and aftercare instructions. I did it.