Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
Eric
? Tear in My Heart – twenty one pilots ?
Amy and I were inseparable from that night forward, but we kept our relationship private for months.
With her band about to break through, she was worried people would assume that any success they had was because of our relationship, and I understood her hesitation with going public.
She and her sisters had worked their asses off for this opportunity, and they deserved to be recognized for the hardworking powerhouses they were.
The single we’d recorded that night, “Shadows of the Past,” hit number one after only two weeks on the charts and stayed there for eleven weeks.
The label wanted to cash in on the buzz surrounding the song, so they announced that Murphy’s Law would join our fall tour, and the idea of Amy and I touring together had us over the moon.
If we were still keeping things quiet once rehearsals started, we wouldn’t have to work as hard to hide that we were spending time together.
If some paparazzi photographed us leaving the arena together or grabbing a bite to eat, we’d be able to play it off as a working relationship.
I’d been ready to go public for months, and honoring her boundaries by not being seen with her in public was starting to become more and more difficult.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said one night as we laid in bed together, her head on my chest, my fingers threaded through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp.
“What if we went public at the Grammys?” She sat up and looked at me, the sheets falling away from her bare chest, making it harder to concentrate on the conversation I was desperate to have.
“Are you serious?” she asked.
“It’s been five months, and I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of hiding.
I’m crazy about you and I want the world to know how goddamn proud I am of you.
Of everything you’ve accomplished. How proud I am to call you mine.
” She smiled, which I took as a good sign, so I continued.
“We’re both nominated. We can plan it so that we all arrive at the same time, and once we walk some of the carpet with the bands, we can break away and walk the rest of it together. ”
She chewed on her lip for a moment, considering.
“I guess it would be good for the tour,” she said, shrugging.
“Fuck the tour,” I said, sitting up and placing a hand on her face, running my thumb over her cheek. “I don’t give a shit about the tour, or the album, or the single—none of it matters to me more than you.”
Her mouth crashed into mine and I moved my hand from her cheek to the back of her head, holding her to me. She pulled away first and smiled as she rested her forehead against mine.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
I’d been to the Grammys three times prior to our nominations for “Shadows of the Past,” but I’d never been as nervous as I was that night.
The guys wanted to do a few shots before we left Josh’s hotel room, so I stepped into the hall to do a few breathing exercises I’d learned after I started seeing a therapist about my anxiety when we weren’t touring.
I’d been doing well since I completed rehab a few years ago, but our last tour was the longest one we’d ever done—ten straight months on the road with no breaks—and I started to feel the pull again as soon as I’d gotten back home.
My sober coach recommended therapy, and it had been helping a lot more than I imagined it would.
When the guys were ready, they met me in the hall, and we made our way downstairs to the car that was waiting for us. As we got closer to the venue, my heart beat faster and faster in my chest, and by the time we pulled up to the red carpet, I was sure I was going to pass out.
Then I looked out the window and saw her and all my nervous energy disappeared.
Amy and her sisters had just stopped at the first group of paparazzi on the red carpet, and she looked incredible.
They were all wearing some variation of black and purple—keeping with the theme of their debut album cover—with Amy wearing a strapless, black leather corset that looked uncomfortably tight (sexy as fuck, but very obviously uncomfortable), and deep purple wide-leg pants.
Her hair, which she’d changed from dusty pink to jet black a few months ago, hung in loose waves to her waist, and her makeup was dark and dramatic.
She posed with her sisters, working the cameras like she’d been doing this her whole life. Like she was born for this.
The guys and I took our spot on the red carpet behind them, both groups working our way down the line of photographers and press and closer to the doors. Then, just as we’d planned, her sisters continued on and through the doors, and she turned and approached me.
The guys peeled off to follow Amy’s sisters into the arena, hugging her as they walked by.
And then there we were. Just the two of us. She ran her hands up my chest, I put my hands on her waist, and then I leaned down and kissed her.
To say everyone went ballistic would be an understatement. People had been shouting our names before, but they were downright screaming them now. So many cameras flashed, I was suddenly thankful that I didn’t suffer from epilepsy.
I pulled out of the kiss first, looked down into her beautiful brown eyes, and felt my heart sink in my chest.
Her normally clear eyes were glassy, and her pupils were dilated. I swallowed the hundred questions I wanted to ask, knowing this wasn’t the time or place, and focused instead on posing for the cameras.
Once we gave the cameras enough, I threaded my fingers through hers and we walked inside. As soon as we were relatively alone, I pulled her aside into an alcove.
“Amy?” I asked, she looked at me and grinned.
“Hey handsome,” she said, the words slurring slightly. To anyone who didn’t know her, it’d be hard to tell she was on something. But I knew her, and I knew something wasn’t right.
“Are you…high?”
She giggled.
“Well, I was feeling a little nervous, so Stella gave me something to help calm me down.”
Fucking Stella.
Stella Murphy was the eldest Murphy sister, lead guitarist for Murphy’s Law, and the one person Amy idolized.
Stella was very open about her fondness for drugs and alcohol.
She’d been arrested for possession multiple times and had so many DUIs that she no longer had a license.
Not that that stopped her from getting behind the wheel anyway.
Long story short—Stella Murphy was a trainwreck, and thus, my least favorite person on Earth.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she said, swatting at the air. “It’s fine. It’s nothing serious. No different than having a few drinks. Stella said it’s totally safe. It’ll just take the edge off. And you know what? She was right. I feel pretty fucking good.”
I ran a hand over my face, considering my options.
Option one: Ignore this and continue on as planned, which didn’t sit well with me. I was just starting to claw my way out of my own dependencies, and it terrified me to imagine Amy—an incredibly talented, driven, good woman—venturing down what could potentially be an even more dangerous path.
Option two: Find Stella and chew her irresponsible ass out, which would ultimately do nothing but upset Amy.
Or option three, and the one I wanted more than anything: Get Amy the fuck out of there and away from her sister and this whole messed up idea that a few pills one time won’t turn into something you can’t pull yourself away from. Grab her by the hand and run. Run away and never look back.
Not exactly a viable option for obvious reasons.
“Promise me this was a one-time thing, Amy,” I said, placing my hands on her face and forcing her eyes to mine. “Please.”
“Don’t be such a hypocrite,” she said, pulling away from me.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“If you expect me to be okay with you, an ex-alcoholic, lecturing me about taking a few pills, you’re out of your goddamn mind.
” My mouth hung open in shock. “I’m fine,” she continued.
“And I don’t know about you, but I’m here to actually enjoy myself.
So, if you don’t mind, that’s what I’m going to go do. ”
She turned and walked away without another word, and I felt like someone punched me in the stomach when I watched her snag two drinks from a tray on her way through the crowd.
****
Eric hasn’t looked at me in over twenty minutes. His eyes are fixed on his hands as he twists one of the rings on his fingers. Tears sting my eyes, and I feel like an asshole as I study him, realizing how hard this is for him to re-live.
“Was that the first time she’d used?” I ask.
“As far as I know, yes.”
I knew we’d have to talk about the beginning of her battle with addiction at some point, but maybe it was too early. Or maybe…maybe this is something that will always haunt him. No matter how much time passes.
“You blame yourself, don’t you?” I ask. He nods. “Hey,” I say, reaching across the table and placing my hand over his. “There is no way you could have known how bad it would get.”
“But I did, Ty,” he says, pulling his hand out from under mine and standing.
“I wasn’t exaggerating. Something was screaming inside me that night.
Alarm bells were ringing.” He takes a beat and starts pacing.
“As soon as we were inside and I had her alone, I knew she liked it—the way it made her feel—and when you like it, you chase it.” He’s quiet for a moment before he continues.
“And it doesn’t matter what anyone says, or how much time passes, I will never forgive myself for not doing more. ”
“What more could you have done?” I ask, my heart breaking seeing him like this. “You took her to rehab. You were there when—”
“I gave up on her,” he says, raising his voice. “I was fucking selfish, and I abandoned her. I knew I couldn’t be around someone who refused to change, or else I’d fall right back into it. I put myself before her. I—”
“That’s not being selfish, Eric. That’s surviving.” His eyes dart to mine. “If you hadn’t stayed sober, maybe you wouldn’t be here.”
“And maybe that would have been for the best.”
My throat grows thick with tears and my chest hurts as I listen to his words.
“Eric,” I say, my voice no more than a whisper. “Please tell me you don’t actually believe that.” He turns away and rests his hands on the kitchen counter. “I think it’s important to remember that you were both adults. You made your choices, and she made hers. She was the one who decided—”
“You weren’t there, Tyler! You didn’t know her!” He shouts and turns to face me and I’m so surprised by his outburst that I flinch.
He’s right. I wasn’t there, and I didn’t know her. All I know is what I’d read in the news articles. Not the most reliable source, considering I have someone right in front of me telling me what she was really like before…well, before everything.
I lower my head and press stop in the Voice Memos app before folding my notebook closed and standing from the table.
“Tyler, I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step toward me, but I take a step back, and he stops. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”
“No, it was my fault. I crossed a line, and I shouldn’t have said what I said.
It wasn’t my place. I’m sorry,” I say, my voice wavering as I fight to hold back the tears threatening to fall.
“You’re right, I wasn’t there, and I don’t know.
All I know is…” I stop, forcing my eyes to meet his.
I want him to feel my next words. To know how much I mean them.
“I don’t want to think about a world without you in it. ”
Desperate to put distance between us, I walk back to my room and close the door.