Chapter 20
Somewhere in Arizona
A,
I actually fell asleep at a decent time tonight, but I’m awake again because of a nightmare. Why do we even get nightmares past the age of five? It’s fucking annoying.
I’ve had this dream—nightmare, whatever—so many times. It all feels so real, like I’m reliving our last night together all over again. I wake up because I can’t catch my breath. It’s like I’m so hungry to breathe and just can’t get enough air.
When I think back to that night, I don’t really know what I was thinking. I know I left a hole in your wall and just left. I tried to get as far away as possible as fast as I could to keep you safe.
I lied to you. When I walked out, you didn’t follow. I drove. I told you I wouldn’t. I rarely stop thinking about it. I don’t know if I’ll ever drive again.
You begged me not to leave. I got back in my car and ripped out of your parking lot. I hated myself. I hated everything. I was so far gone. I called Ari and tried to get him to talk some sense into me. That’s all I remember until there was glass shattering, and the airbags went off.
I didn’t see it. I didn’t see anything, really. The road went hazy. There was a ditch, and I drove straight into it. The world went upside down.
Ari heard it all happen over the phone. He called for help.
I punctured my lung. Ripped my fucking leg open on a piece of the windshield. Some medic told me I was lucky to be alive. Lucky? I ended up in a hospital bed for six weeks and couldn’t sing properly for months.
Management handled the legal mess, as usual. The press caught wind of it, but we spun the story and said I had pneumonia. I guess it’s not that far from a punctured lung.
I’ve got an official DUI on my record, but they buried it. No press, no scandal.
By the time I was healed, it was time to record the new album.
Just the usual rockstar bullshit, right?
I’m sorry,
Jay