7 #2
"I…" I trailed off, at a complete loss. "You're literally so fucking annoying, mate, I can't even look at you right now.
We busted our asses for years to build all of this, and you're just fucking everything up.
At the height of everything—the band, the tours, our relationship.
And you expect me not to be hurt by it. It's not how any of this was supposed to be—"
"Rafe…I don’t know how else to say it. It's just not that deep—"
"Do you have any idea how fucking condescending that is?!”
Finally, he relented, standing to face me. "Look, alright…I’m not tryin’ to be mean, I swear. You're gonna be alright, Rafe. I promise. Nothin's gonna change between us. You hear me?"
I shook my head, tears leaping to my eyes.
I couldn't begin to articulate the nightmares I'd had for weeks about losing him.
And I feared that if I voiced them, they would materialize and become reality.
I saw things like him dying, and me stuck halfway across the world, unable to say goodbye.
Saw him walking away from me in public spaces.
Saw him blocking my number, refusing to reach out again.
And sometimes I saw him ringing me up to tell me she was pregnant.
Anything that could put a wall between us.
"Hey...?" he whispered, shoving me so I'd look at him again.
His eyes were empty and unkind. "Nothin's gonna change between us, ever.
It's us, Rafe. You and me against the world, remember?
Haven't I always been there? Haven't I always taken care of you?
" I nodded. "Then I'll always be there, yeah? Whether I'm standin’ right in front of you, or 20,000 fuckin’ miles away.
You know you're the only one who can call me whenever—even if it's the middle of the night.
Don't I always pick up? Over everythin’? "
I shut my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks.
He brushed them away with his knuckles, whispering: "Look at you.
You're mad. You're stressed." He squeezed my shoulders from the front.
"I'm right here, Rafe. You're always on my mind.
You know that? Always, always on my mind.
We're gonna be alright. Just give it time. We don’t have to figure it all out right now. "
I took a trembling breath and nodded, disturbed by how easily I’d been placated. He crushed me and I inhaled the sticky sweetness of his perspiration. The room seemed unnaturally silent, apart from our breathing.
"I love you, ok?" I said, withdrawing with an anxious exhaustion. "I love you so fucking much, Rome..."
"Love you more."
"And what about her? If you're not here with me, then you're going to be with her every day. And then you're gonna get married behind my back, just like you got engaged. Remember? You didn't tell me anything, remember? You’d already picked out the ring and everything—"
"I did tell you—"
"After it’d already been decided and after you picked out the ring.
I bloody looked up and it was all over the media, and I had to sit through those stupid fucking questions, and people asking if I was happy for the two of you.
Mate…it's gonna happen again. I can feel it. I'm gonna open my phone to headlines that you’re married, and I’ll flip my fucking lid—"
"Babe, you're overthinkin’—"
"I'm not, I swear to God I’m not, Rome. I can’t stop seeing it. The two of you. This is real." I distanced myself to remain firm, crossing the room. “It’s over…”
"Babe..."
"Don't call me that…” My eyes flashed. "All I want to know is: Are you getting married when you leave?"
He leaned back against the desk, hands grasping it on either side. “Fuck if I know.”
"That’s not an answer! Why won't you just fucking tell me if you are?!” I screamed. “Fuck’s sake, I swear to God I'm losing my fucking mind!"
I stormed out before he could spin the situation further. Halfway down the hall, I took off running and didn't look back.
***
I wanted to blackout. I wanted to get absolutely pissed and sleep for a week.
At the very least, I didn't want to be sober again until we left Thailand.
I linked up with my sister, Rose, and a few crew members and headed to a local bar.
It was supposed to have karaoke and top shelf booze.
I wasn't much in the mood for singing, so I was relieved to discover they didn't have a karaoke setup any longer.
At this hour the crowd was pretty thin, which was an added relief.
Our team secured a few tables in the rear of the room, and I sat with Rose and the tour photographer, Sal, upfront.
She took the seat across from us on her own, smiling through the long dark bangs and reminding me of home.
We discussed the humidity and some of the upcoming gigs.
We were able to request whatever tunes we wanted, as the bartender was keen on American music and offered vast catalogue.
He keyed our selections up without delay—letting them blare from the overhead speakers as we imbibed.
First up was "Trouble" by Ray LaMontagne. I was in one hell of a mood.
"That one nearly hit me in the mouth, did you see it?" I asked drowsily, referring to the debris thrown onstage. "It was like a glow-stick or something."
"No, but I unfortunately did see the bra," Rose snickered, her blue manicure glinting in the lamplight. "That one took me for a loop. I didn't expect you to catch it!"
"They've caught enough bras to open a Victoria’s Secret by now," Sal muttered, swishing the amber drink around his glass.
"Any panties?"
"Well, shit, Rosa..." I gasped.
"Look, one, that’s not my name. And two, what should I have called them? Knickers?"
"Mate, you're starting to sound like Mum."
"I honestly don't know whether that's a compliment or if I should resent it."
"Take it or leave it, Rosa," I grinned, nursing my drink.
“Still not my name—”
"And don't act like you're not always trying to put on a posh accent to make me look like an idiot when we have company—"
"I'm not company," Sal said.
"He's not," she chucked a thumb in his direction, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a humph. "And I'm not posh either. You've just...I dunno...sort of picked up loads of different accents in your travels. Not my fault you sound like an identity crisis."
"Yeah…I'm starting to sound like some sad American jackoff—wait…why the hell were we talking about panties anyway? I don't wanna think about your panties, mate."
"Not mine, ya knob. I meant are there any thrown onstage?"
"God, I hope not!" Sal shuddered, crunching on a few pretzels. "I've a feeling those might be a little more soiled than the bras—"
"Full of sweat and other…secretions," Rose grimaced with a laugh. "Y'know...from watching you guys all night…"
I pretended to gag.
"Anything you two wanna check out tomorrow?
" Sal asked, his eyes already rimmed with red.
The pink lids looked nervy and raw. "We’ve got a couple days before we head to Seoul, and I figured loads of sight-seeing to do.
" He was my adoptive dad on the road, seeing to it that I never strayed too far on my time off, and anticipating all my needs since I was seventeen.
"Everything," Rose nodded, bangs falling into her face.
“I wanna see everything!” She tore into her appetizers—a heap of cauliflower buffalo wings.
"I read somewhere about the sky-train, we could get across town in no time flat...
make a day of it. And I was thinking about a little boat ride, if the weather permits. "
"A boat ride sounds perfect right now," I muttered. "Good thinking."
"Yep. Get some scenery in, make some memories. The last time we were on a boat was with dad. Remember that?”
“Yeesh, don’t remind me.” I was only six at the time and had become violently seasick in the little skiff. Puking off the undulating side until I thought my head would explode. The fishing trip had to be postponed after that.
“I want to absorb as much as possible while I'm here. I’ve already picked out a place for dinner tomorrow. I heard they serve good pork and a mean noodle!"
"Mmm, love a good noodle."
She winked and shot an air gun at me and reminded me so much of myself I snorted.
"Ah, the street food," Sal added. “Primo.”
"Good and greasy!"
"What about the other boys?” she wondered. “Want ‘em to tag along? Where are they anyway?"
"God knows. Gone their separate ways," I shrugged. "Roman and Alex might be together, I think. They usually are. And, no, I’d rather it be just us."
“Fine by me.”
Half tipsy and following my interrogation of Rose about everything going on back home, I got up and requested Leonard Cohen’s “Last Year's Man.” It's the first thing that popped into my head, as it was Roman’s favorite.
Whenever we fought, I listened to his music to try to channel him.
The version of him I preferred. The romantic, the poet.
The mood of the room shifted as the melodies unfurled across the dank low lights, surprising the locals.
I sang the first verse off-key and everyone gaped at me.
Apparently I was in the mood for karaoke after all.
"Oh God. What's happening here? That needs to stop immediately!" Rose cringed, flushed from the warmth of the bar. She also always got rosy-cheeked whenever she was tipsy.
"No, it's happening. Right here, right now," I spun clumsily, nearly knocking over someone’s drink at a nearby table.
"You're actually insane!" she squealed, and I found it hysterically funny. I plopped back into my seat with a cackle.
"Who doesn't need a little Leonard Cohen from time to time? He’s always good. Timeless, mate. Truly timeless."
"Eh...not always," she laughed, eyeing me. "Don't get me wrong, he’s definitely good, but always? Kind of a bummer, if you ask me."
"Alwaysss good." My drunken breath filled the booth and she fanned it away.