2. Nothing is the same anymore
CHAPTER 2
Nothing is the same anymore
CALUM
I slam the door to the dressing room close. Mum walks in later, an apology already on the tip of her lips. Where’s that idiot Scott? That fool, Jerry, was only supposed to ask questions on the list. We were supposed to announce the date of our new tour. But the prick kept coming at me like I seduced his wife. I run a hand through my hair, and my fingers brush the mass of ink nearly stretching to the nape of my neck. He was right about a scar, but how did he know?
No one outside the band should know.
My chest sags as I drop onto the high stool in front of the mirror and stare at the ‘handsome’ man the fans love. I press two fingers under my eyes, then lower them to stretch my lips into a fake smile. I’ve done it long enough for the fans to think my smiles and laughter are real.
I’m not as happy or content as others who have had nothing but back-to-back success in a short term. Something is not right, and I don’t know what. Nothing is the same anymore.
No one talks about last year’s accident or provides useful details when I ask. They can’t explain the flashes. I haven’t told them about the girl in my dreams. The girl with pink hair and blue eyes who smiles at me. God, she’s pretty. And the dreams with her are the only times I’m ever truly happy.
Mum stops behind my chair to massage my shoulders. I place my hands over hers to stop her movements and tip my head back to offer her a small smile. “Are you okay?” she whispers.
“Yeah. Shitty interviewer.”
“Scott will fix it,” she says. She looks at the door that creaks open. Sam walks in, and Lucas follows behind. “Look who’s here.”
Mum exits the room, and they plop onto the spinning stools beside me. Lucas offers me a smile laced with concern. Sam only stares. I wave it off. “I’m fine,” I murmur. “I’m cool.”
“We didn’t know Jerry was going to be like that, or we wouldn’t have agreed to it,” Sam says. The deed is done. We’ll leave it to our social media manager to handle the comments that will arise. Bloggers will have a field day dissecting that sorry excuse of an interview and trying to mislead their fans. Good times. “The interview was shit, anyway. I’m famished.”
“We should get out of here,” Lucas says.
Lucas’ hazel eyes scan the room for hidden cameras. We are constantly monitored, but nothing seems out of place. It’s more mirrors than walls, and our bodyguards would have checked.
I shoot to my feet. “Yeah,” I say. “We should leave.”
We exit the dressing room, and our bodyguards fall in line behind us. I used to think we were popular as a teen band, but now it’s insane. When your single hits a million streams in a day, you can bet the world turns its attention to you. If you are as brilliant as Scott, you will take advantage of that to release the next song as a band and solidify your spot in the music world.
James, one of the two bulky bodyguards Scott assigned for today’s interview, steps forward to skim the premises before opening the elevator. Five of us enter the metal box. As it pings to signify our descent, I poke my chest twice.
“I feel weird in here,” I whisper. Lucas leans on the wall, and Sam frowns. Standing side by side with identical scowls and hair colour, they can almost pass for twins. “Very weird.”
My chest is where it hurts the most. I don’t get it. The accident affected my head, so why does my heart hurt? Mum swears nothing else happened. I don’t even have the phone from before the accident. I have nothing.
“Exhaustion?” Sam suggests.
Lucas slaps him on the belly. “Na, I doubt it. Must be blue balls from passing up on all that pussy. Jerry might be a dick, but are you gay? You know you can be whatever you like, yes?”
Because Lucas can’t keep it in his pants, he thinks we are like him. To be fair, he doesn’t go after the ladies. They troop to him. Fame is like an addictive drug, and they want a taste of it.
The elevator stops. We exit the box, and I say, “Do you know any pink-haired lady?”
“Pink?” Sam mutters.
“Yeah. I think we used to be friends.”
Lucas’ laughter fades when he realises I’m dead serious. We walk past the rows of cars in the lot, heading to the back, where a tinted grey BMW is parked. Lucas places a hand on my shoulder from behind. I halt. The guards also stop but keep a safe distance to give us privacy.
“No, we don’t,” Lucas says, looking at Sam as if to confirm. “You had no pink-haired friend. Are you sure you are not having one of those flashes again? Do you need to see the doctor, Cal?”
“No.” I shrug Lucas’ hand off me. “I’m cool.”
On cue, their gazes zero in on my arms. I flex my hands to show them I’m fine, at least to an extent. The tremors started a day before the paralysis, but they worsened after I blacked out at our first Halloween party.
The morning I woke up and realised my arms were paralysed, I went through all the stages of grief in five minutes. The doctor blamed it on the negligence of the medicals who attended to me first after the accident. There should have been some follow-up that never happened after I got better.
How the hell was I supposed to know what to do when I barely remember most of the past? Or at least the part I should remember. Traumatic retrograde amnesia , or whatever the fuck the doctor called it, got me real good.
A tap on my shoulder snaps me back to the present. I step back as Sam straightens up. Dude was breathing down my face. His brows furrow, and he crosses his arms on his chest.
Worry slips into his eyes. I’m fine.
“Cal, are you sure you are okay?” he asks.
No. “Yeah. I’m cool.”
“I called you twice, and you didn’t hear me,” he says. I shrug, and he squints. I zoned out. Sue me. I resume the walk to the car and open the backdoor before James does it. Sam joins me in the backseat and passes me a bottle of water. “Are the headaches gone?”
“Honestly? I don’t think they will ever go.”
The doctors said it would fade in time, but it hasn’t. Now I have these dreams with the pink-haired girl, and the headaches feel like someone is splitting my skull open with a blunt knife. Even with that, I’m grateful I no longer have to deal with the blackouts, and my two arms function to a great extent. Plus, I remember some things. The music never left me. I have more reasons to be thankful.
“Where’s Scott, anyway?” I ask.
“Fixing the damages. He will be all right,” Lucas answers from the front seat.
Eyes shut, my head falls back. The car moves. Moments later, it stops and someone joins us at the back. From her perfume, I know it’s Mum. She quit her job to be a part of the team. I think it’s her excuse to fuss over me. I don’t mind. It feels good to have someone on my side. A woman who doesn’t want me for my money or dick. Fame does come at a significant cost. But I have a feeling the pink-haired girl would want me for all I am. The real Calum Dissick.
We arrive at the boys’ place first. Sam and Lucas live in the same apartment complex while I stay on the outskirts. We exchange bro hugs with a promise to see each other later in the week, and they exit the car. Mum closes the gap between us once the driver resumes the ride home. She usually rides with Scott. Something must be wrong if she chose to endure a trip with us.
“Are you sure you are okay?” she whispers.
Her tired blue eyes roam my body for any signs of invisible illnesses. When we have a tour, the entire squad takes the hit, but three of us have it worse. Jerry didn’t give us a chance to announce the tour, our main reason for the interview. Next time he invites us to his show and Scott tries to goad us, I’m turning them down on the spot. Sam and Lucas can go without me.
Mum presses the back of her palm to my forehead, and I chuckle. “Cal, I’m worried.”
Isn’t she always?
I’m a twenty-three-year-old man, and she’s always fussing over me. I should be grateful. If the pink-haired lady were so important to me, she would have been by my side like Mum has.
A pang shoots straight to my heart and erupts in my chest. Thinking about her also hurts.
Did she do something bad? Unimaginable? Is that why Mum never wants to address the past? She claims the doctor says it might alter my progress. But that sounds like horse shit to me.
“I actually don’t feel good, Mum. I feel weird.”
“Weird, how?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I continue. The car slows to a stop. I stare out the window to the place I call home. The tall vinyl fence provides a genuine sense of privacy. Once I walk past that gate, I forget about the world. But calling it home feels wrong, and I don’t know why. I don’t know a lot of things these days except the music. And on most days, the music doesn’t make me feel as whole as I try to make it seem. I open the door and put a foot out. “Something is off.”
“Off?” Mum calls out behind me.
I race to the entrance, trying to outrun the image growing in my head. The small white gate swings open. I walk straight to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of cold water. It helps.
Mum enters, drags a stool beside me, then heats some food. If she weren’t living with me, I would be with the boys. I can’t ask her to leave, and I can’t move out. She has given up a lot.
“What’s off?” she asks while sifting through her handbag on the marble counter. “Cal?”
The microwave pings, saving me from her question. When she gets into detective mode, she won’t quit until she has her answers. She retrieves the Tupperware and dishes the spaghetti into smaller plates. I play with the food, roll it around my fork, then drop it back on the plate.
Her eyes follow my every move. Where is her husband? His name is a distant memory, a dot in the blackness that occupies my head. I still remember her smile when she announced the marriage. How could they break up so fast? What the fuck happened?
“Calum,” she says. Her voice is firm. My head raises. “We were having a discussion.”
“Yeah.” I raise the fork to my mouth and force myself to swallow. She has been honest with me. It’s time for me to repay the kindness, so I whisper, “Something feels wrong with me.”
“What do you mean?”
Mum grips the counter, her dinner momentarily forgotten. I take a bite from the heap on my plate, and she slowly does the same with hers. The clank of our forks against the plates fills the odd silence.
“I don’t understand why my heart hurts so much, Mum,” I finally say. A dent appears between her brows, and she lets her fork drop. “Or why a part of me feels like it’s missing. I don’t…”
The second Mum taps her temple, I shake my head. This has nothing to do with my head and everything to do with my broken heart. That itself is strange. I’ve not dated since the band got back together. Never had a girlfriend. The boys are secretly convinced I now like boys. But it’s a private joke between us, none of Jerry’s business.
“It might be the, uh… accident,” she says. Right. It is always the explanation. I have heard it more times than I want to. “It badly affected you. You need to focus on your music, Cal.”
Mum touches my forearm. I nod and pick up the fork. “Yeah, music.”
“They can shift the tour for another month if you’re not up for it,” Mum offers. Her smile is soft as she squeezes my hand. “Your health is more important. And you also need to shave.”
“Do I?”
The silence stretches as we finish up our meal. Mum clears the counter and loads the dishes into the dishwasher. Beside the sink, she says, “It’s time for a new look, don’t you think?”
A gentle hum from the washer takes over. I don’t like her doing the chores, but arguing with her is pointless. She returns to my side and drops onto the stool. My heart skips as her eyes lock onto mine. I have a feeling she will make a request I hate, but I don’t try to stop her.
“Don’t you agree? The beard needs to go.”
“Maybe.”
“And a girlfriend needs to come,” she whispers.
My eyes squeeze shut. “Mum.” It’s a warning.
“Hear me out. Scott also thinks the same.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Language,” she chides. I shrug, unable to bring myself to care about my tone or manners. “You are releasing a love song on Valentine’s Day, and you don’t have a girlfriend, Cal.”
“Sam and Lucas don’t have girlfriends,” I point out. She sweeps my hair back to show my face. I’m not doing this with her. “It’s not my song, Mum. It’s the band’s song. Our song.”
“Their sexuality is not in dispute.”
Throwing my hands in the air, I ask, “Where do you want me to get a girlfriend from?” We both know how introverted I’ve become. If I’m not at the studio, I’m with the boys or here in the home studio. I haven’t made any new friends. “It’s not like we can shop for one, Mother .”
Mum laughs. “That’s why you have me and Scott. We will handle it.” A groan tunnels out of my lips. Sometimes, I’m certain I’ve lost control of my life. She wants the best for me. Scott does as well, but they make some horrible decisions on behalf of the band. I don’t want a fake girlfriend. I don’t even want a real one. “It’s just for a short time. You can break up after.”
“The fans will figure out it’s a stunt,” I say. “They will talk.”
“And? We need them to keep talking long enough until the song drops,” she says. “I know it’s not the kind of publicity you want, but it’s free publicity. You can break up after Easter.”
“Before.”
“Okay. Before Easter. Any specifics?”
“What?” I ask. I toss her an annoyed look, and she tries desperately to keep her smile.
“For your girlfriend,” she says. She rubs my arm, and I calm a little. “Do you have a type?”
The mention of that word starts a throbbing in my temple. I massage my forehead to ease the thumping in my skull, but it only worsens. Pressing my fist to my temple, I close my eyes.
“The headaches?” Mum asks in a whisper.
“Yeah.” My fingers drum against my temple. I need to sleep. If I’m lucky, I’ll see her in my dream. She rubs my arm, and my eyes open. The concern swimming in her blues elicits a tiny smile from me. I pull her in for a brief hug. “I’m fine, but I think I need to see the doctor.”
“Do you need me to come with you?”
“No. No need.” Making my way to the door, I continue, “It will be a quick trip.”
Following after me, she asks, “Are you sure?”
She steps to the right at the same time I do to block me from leaving the kitchen.
“I’m sure. Just focus on getting this girlfriend, okay?” Outside the kitchen, I turn to tell her, “And Mum? She must have pink hair and blue eyes. Those are the only specifics I care about.”
Her face pales. Before she recovers, I hurry to my room. Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I ignore the messages and missed calls from Scott. If it’s important, he will forward it to Mum. After a quick shower, I dive under the cover. Sleep refuses to visit. I skim through my messages to tire myself. There are a few audios from Tessa. She wants to know what’s up with her man. Did Ben talk to me? Why is he so jittery? How the fuck would I know that?
Ben is probably nervous about proposing to her. She graduated last year, while he had a year left to go. The man has been wanting to propose to her since high school. He’s most likely thinking of doing it before his graduation. He’s a goner for Tessa. Stars in his eyes level.
Tessa need not worry, and I’m in no mood to play the good friend. So, I ignore the messages with a promise to myself to reply tomorrow. I hit the wall switch, and the lights dim. Music plays in the background, the voice different and opposite of the genre I represent. I’m not a huge fan of myself. I close my eyes for a short period, and the next time they open, it’s morning.
After my morning routine, I drop a note for Mum to let her know I’ll be at my usual coffee shop. It takes a few minutes to reach the shop, and in a few more, I have my order.
Steam rises from the mug to the ceiling, and I wrap my palms around the porcelain to warm them. My phone buzzes on the table. I ignore it. The bell dings each time someone enters or leaves, but I don’t look up or glance at the door. It’s a family-owned shop with little to no visitors. I never bother with a disguise when I visit. It’s why I love stopping by this place.
I trace the intricate details on the white tablecloth. The action unlocks more foggy memories and feelings. This setting feels familiar. Like I have done this before. I frown at the empty chair opposite me. I’ve done this with her . But if she’s real, Sam and Lucas would know her.
What if my mind is playing tricks?
The hot coffee burns my tongue. I ignore its sting and bite into my doughnut. She’s not real.
Light footsteps approach me as the morning wears off. A clap has my head rounding up. The intruder smiles. I dart a frantic look over my shoulder to confirm the smile was directed at me.
Laughing, she drops her purse on the table and leans in to plant a kiss on my cheek. I freeze. I’ve never seen this lady in my life. Is she someone from the past I can’t remember? I drag my seat back, my coffee spilling on the tablecloth as I snatch it out of her reach. First, she kisses me, and now she wants my coffee? I’m still in shock as the lady tucks a piece of pink hair behind her ear. Wait, the lady in my dream also has pink hair. Am I hallucinating again?
The cold from the open window proves this to be real. I cough into my fist. “Who are you?”
Her gaze wanders. I try to follow her line of sight, but her fingers tangle in my beard. She slides her hands up to cup my cheeks. Bile rushes to my throat, and my heart beats faster.
Alarm bells blare nonstop in my head. I need to leave.
“Yani, your new girlfriend,” she replies. “Your mum gave me your location.”
She blinks, and I finally notice the eyes. They are blue. Pink hair and blue eyes.
Mum listened. Why am I not excited? Because she’s not the girl of my dreams.
Her thumb brushes my lips with a familiarity that annoys me. I grab her hand, and she laughs. Leaning into me like we are doing something romantic, she winks. She’s a great actress, but I’m not interested. Before I can say that, she smashes her lips on mine in an unrequited kiss.
“Smile for the camera, babe.”