22. Antonio
22
Antonio
W hat now?
The engine hums as I sit in the car where I parked outside the mansion, staring at the steering wheel. I can't seem to shake off the fog of confusion and guilt that's settled over me since I read the articles and found out Cassie killed herself.
I need a new phone.
I remind myself that since I already know this much, it can’t hurt to learn more. I take a deep breath and start the drive to the nearest electronics store, my mind drifting.
The drive feels interminable, each passing street blending into the next as my mind races. I pull into the parking lot and turn off the engine, taking another deep breath. Get in, get the phone, get out.
Simple enough, right?
Inside the store, everything feels distant. The bright lights and bustling shoppers are just a blur as I make my way to the phone section. I pick one at random and an internet MiFi, the whole transaction hazy. The cashier's cheerful chatter registers as I pay and head back to the car.
Sitting back in the car, I tear open the packaging and set up the phone. Logging into my Google account, I retrieve my stored contacts. My fingers hover over the screen.
Do I want to do this?
But I have to know. I need to understand what happened. I dial Nicole's number trying an internet call as the electric store didn’t sell sims.
Not that I could have gotten one. I don’t have an ID here.
Cassie’s best friend is taking her sweet time to pick up, and I am about to give up as each ring stretches into an eternity until she accepts the call. The words rush out of my mouth in my desperate need of answers.
"Hey, Nicole. I've been seeing a lot of stuff online. How did all this happen?" My voice is steady, but inside, I'm anything but.
"Antonio? Is that you?" Her voice is strained, filled with an undercurrent of anger and sorrow.
"Yeah, it's me. What happened? I just saw the articles online and read what everyone has been saying."
There's a pause, and then she cries. "It's my fault, Antonio. I got drunk at a club. I was so angry. I said some stuff to a friend, but I didn't think other people would hear it."
Her guilt hits me like a punch to the gut. She blames herself, just like I do. I should have been there. I should have known.
This is my fault, not hers.
"Nicole, it's not your fault," I say, but my words feel hollow. "You didn't know this would happen."
"But it happened," she snaps. "And now she's gone. I was so stupid. I just... I can't stop thinking about it. Why do I deserve to live when she's not here?"
The exact thoughts I have.
Her words cut deep, each one a reminder of my own failings. "Nicole, please, don't do this to yourself."
Consoling someone with words you don’t believe, Antonio?
"I can't help it," she sobs. "Every time I close my eyes, I see her. I hear her. And it's my fault she's gone. My family is on my case, trying to make sure I'm okay, but how can I be okay?"
I feel my own eyes sting with unshed tears. "Nicole, listen to me. We both made mistakes. But blaming yourself won't bring her back."
"I know that," she says, her voice breaking. "But it doesn't stop the guilt. It doesn't stop the pain."
Don’t I know it?
"I'm sorry you found out like this," she continues after a moment. "I really think you should have stayed away from the internet. You shouldn't have come back online."
She may be right.
Her words hang in the air, and before I can respond, she hangs up. The silence that follows is deafening.
I sit there, staring at the phone, my heart heavy with the burden of the guilt I share even though I know there was nothing I could have done.
My mind drifts to Colette, her blue eyes and bright smile a stark contrast to the darkness I'm feeling.
I miss her so much.
She has become the light in my life, the one who saw the real me beneath the rockstar facade.
I wonder what Colette is doing now.
I picture her in her studio, engrossed in her latest graphic art project. I can almost see her frowning in concentration, a stray lock of blonde hair falling over her forehead. I doubt she’s painting now, though; she must have found out I left. Perhaps she is searching for me.
I want to return to her. She would know what to say, how to make me feel better. But I'm afraid to drag her into this mess. She's been through enough with her own family. I have to deal with this on my own.
I wonder why I feel so bad about everything. Even if we had something that I thought would last in the beginning, it wasn’t all rosy. Cassie was terrible to me, I remind myself. The memory of my ex is a bitter taste in my mouth. Yet, despite everything, her death still stings. There's a part of me that mourns her, not because of what we had, but because I truly loved her.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. But the pain is relentless, a constant, gnawing presence that won't let go. I grip the steering wheel so tight, my knuckles go white with the strain.
I need help, but where do I turn?
Nicole's words echo in my mind, “It doesn’t stop the guilt, it doesn’t stop the pain,” her pain mirroring my own. Realizing Colette's absence hits me anew. A fresh wave of grief washing over me. How do I go on? Will I ever be able to move past this and be the man she wants? What if we turn out to be bad for each other like Cassie and I were?
Desperate for some semblance of support and clarity, I decide to call my manager, Ricky. He’s the one who saved me when I OD’d. The phone rings, each beep echoing in the silent car, my heart pounding in my chest. When Ricky answers, he sounds cheerful.
"Who the fuck is this?" Ricky's voice is casual, almost amused.
"Yo, man, it's Antonio. What are you up to? What's going on? The whole thing has spiraled out of control," I blurt out, my voice shaking with emotion. "I just talked to Nicole, and everything's a mess. I don't know what to do."
"Antonio? Amato? Oh wow, bro." There's a pause, then he continues, "Why are you calling me? Like, you don't remember I'm not your manager anymore?"
I blink in confusion, surprise clear in my tone. "You're...you're not?"
"What? Man, I quit," he says, sounding almost amused. "I know you're in rehab and everything, but I'm definitely not sticking around for your comeback tour."
What the fuck is he saying?
"But why?" I stammer. "I know things have been rough, but I thought you'd be there. You've always been there. I always planned to return to music, and I thought we would do it together."
Ricky just laughs, the sound hollow and mocking. He sounds high or drunk, his voice slurring. "Man, why would I keep limiting myself? Do you really think I was put on this Earth just to serve you?"
Serve me? I never treated him that way, I think to myself.
He's still laughing, and it feels like a knife twisting in my gut. "Anyway, thanks for the big break."
This sounds so crazy. What big break?
"What are you talking about?" I ask, confusion clouding my thoughts as I hold the phone tighter.
"You do not know how much money I've made, man," Ricky says, his tone gleeful. "Who knew people love celebrity drama so much?"
Now, my head is spinning. What celebrity drama?
My blood runs cold. "What are you talking about?" I demand. “What celebrity drama?”
“Your celebrity drama, of course,” Ricky slurs his words. “When my journalist friend approached me for info, I was unsure at first, but after seeing the bucks on the offer, I spilled the beans faster than a waitress in heels on freshly mopped tiles.”
“I thought Nicole was the one who spilled the secret? When did you become such an asshole, Ricky?” I ask, beyond shocked.
“'Don't get your panties in a twist too early, Amato, because that's not all,” Ricky says, his tone dripping with smugness. “I realized I shouldn't limit myself to just my friend, so I gave pieces of all the info to different sources and made a bank!”
Asshole! I scream in my head, although my clenched jaw keeps the word from coming out from my lips.
Rage surges through me, hot and blinding, the pieces slowly clicking into place. "What? Nicole thinks she's the one that caused it, and she’s been blaming herself. So, it's been you all this whole time?"
"Oh, she did kind of corroborate the story," Ricky replies nonchalantly. "People heard her talking about it. So, when the news came out, they were like, 'Oh, I heard her say that.' Maybe that's why she thinks she's the one who did it. But yeah, man, it was all me."
This piece of shit!
"You bastard!" I yell, my grip tightening on the phone. "Do you have no conscience? How could you do this?"
Ricky laughs again, the sound cruel and mocking. "Conscience? Man, this is business. You think the world gives a shit about your feelings? Get real."
"How could you betray me like this?" I shout, the words ripping from my throat. "I trusted you! You saved my life once, remember?"
Was it all pretense? Did he save me only to keep his golden goose alive?
"And now I'm rolling in wealth," Ricky says coldly. "Thanks to you. So really, I should thank you."
I feel my world crumbling, the betrayal too much to bear. "You son of a bitch," I whisper, my voice raw with pain.
"Look, Antonio, you were always just a stepping stone. Don't take it personally," Ricky says, his tone dismissive.
Motherfucker!
"Don't take it personally?" my voice shaking with fury. "You ruined lives! Cassie's dead because of this!"
"She was on a downward spiral anyway," Ricky says. "I just sped up the process."
No, No, No. How is this the Ricky I knew?
I feel like I've been punched in the gut. "You're a monster," I say, my voice a whisper.
"And you're a washed-up rockstar," Ricky retorts. "So, I guess we're even."
FUCK!
I can't take it anymore. I end the call, throwing the phone onto the passenger seat in disgust. The silence in the car is deafening, my thoughts swirling around in my head.
How could he do this to me?!?
Betrayed by someone I trusted, the pain feels insurmountable. Ricky was more than just a manager; he was someone I believed in, someone who saved me when I was at my lowest. Now, the revelation of his betrayal cuts deeper than any wound.
All this time, I thought it was my fault or Nicole’s slip-up, but it was him. Cassie's dead because of him, and he doesn't even care. How could I have been so blind? Everything I confided in him, every secret, every vulnerability, he used it all for his gain, for some payday.
The realization is a bitter pill to swallow, and the anger within me feels like a raging storm, each wave crashing harder than the last.
The urge to numb the pain becomes overwhelming. I start the car, driven by a need to drown out the tormenting thoughts. The engine roars to life, but I don't have a destination. I just need to drive, to get away from the crushing weight of my thoughts.
As I drive aimlessly, memories of Colette flood my mind once more. I wish I could be with her right now. She’s the only one who seems to know what I need. The only one I can feel safe with.
What would she say if she saw me now?
The darkness threatens to consume me, and I know I need to fight it. But right now, it feels impossible.
I drive, my thoughts a tangled mess of rage and sorrow. I need to find some semblance of peace, of clarity. But as the miles blur together, it feels like I'm running from something I can't escape.
The betrayal, the guilt, the grief—it's all too much. I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to hold on, but it feels like I'm slipping.
What now?
The question looms large, but all I have is the road ahead, and the hope that somewhere, somehow, I'll find a way through this.
I navigate through the city streets, driving aimlessly, searching for an escape. My hands turn automatically as my thoughts jumble up in my brain.
I can't face this sober.
I make my decision. I need to shut it all off, just for a while. I try to think of my rehab and techniques. I work on staying in control, but it is a losing battle.
I already decided.
I park in a sketchy part of town, the surroundings a stark contrast to my life at Shadow's Bend. The buildings are dilapidated; the streets littered with debris and the occasional shadowy figure. I step out of the car and look around the street. Raven Cove, the sign reads. This place is unfamiliar to me. I should be worried, but that is none of my concern at the moment.
What would Colette, Henry, and Leo think if they saw me now?
The thought of their disappointment gnaws at me, but I push it aside. I walk through the grimy streets, my eyes scanning for a familiar face. I find a dealer standing in a dark alley, his eyes hidden under a hood, his clothes tattered and stained.
“You got a gram?” I ask once I am within earshot.
"Got what you need?" the dealer asks, his voice a low rasp.
"Yeah," I reply, my voice hollow. "How much?"
The transaction is quick and impersonal. I hand over the money, and the dealer slips a small bag of pills into my hand.
What am I doing?
The question feels distant, the answer irrelevant. With the pills tucked safely in my pocket, I head towards the nearest bar. It’s dimly lit, the air thick with smoke, and the inside smells of cheap alcohol. The patrons are a mix of lost souls and hardened regulars, each nursing their own demons.
Just like me.
I slide onto a stool at the bar and order a drink. The first sip burns my throat, but it dulls the edge of my pain. I order another, then another, the alcohol blurring the edges of my anguish.
Just keep drinking. Don't think. Just drink, I try to convince myself.
I take the first pill, washing it down with a swig of whiskey. The effect is almost immediate, a numbing sensation spreading through my body. The world around me fades into a haze, blurring into weird shapes and colors.
I drink more, the room spinning as the substances take hold. The faces around me turn into squiggles of color, voices merging into an indistinct hum. I feel detached from reality, floating in a sea of intoxication.
This is what I needed.
I don’t want to think right now, but even in my stupor, the pain remains a constant, gnawing presence.
It's not enough.
I open the bag and take another pill. The numbness intensifies, but so does the darkness inside me.
Why won't it stop?
I drink until I can't remember why I started. The night wears on, each moment a blur as I drown myself in alcohol and pills. Despite my efforts to escape, the darkness inside me only grows.
FUCK! The pain is relentless. I take another drink, the liquid still scorching my throat, but it's not enough to burn away the guilt and sorrow.
I don't deserve to feel better. This is my punishment.
My head droops, my vision going blank as I struggle to stay upright. The bar, the people, the noise—they are all distant. My consciousness is slipping away.
Maybe if I take one more...
I reach for another pill, my movements slow and uncoordinated. But as I take it, I know deep down that no amount of pills or alcohol will erase the pain. The darkness is a part of me now.
Why can’t I escape?
I close my eyes to hide from my shame.
I'm sorry, Colette. A single tear slips down my cheek. I'm so sorry.
And then, mercifully, the numbness overtakes me, and I drift into oblivion, the night swallowing me whole.