Chapter 8
chapter
eight
“You can’t outrun what’s inside you.” – Cyrus
CYRUS
The punching bag swings on its chain, jerking back like it’s trying to escape.
Sweat drips from my jaw and splashes against the hardwood.
Left. Right. Hook. Jab. Rhythmic. Ruthless.
Probably wrong. My movements are sluggish.
My form is shit. My breathing is worse. But the pain in my knuckles, the ache in my ribs, and the fire in my lungs, that is real.
That’s mine, and it’s perfect. That I can control.
Unlike everything else.
My phone buzzes on the bench. I step toward it and glance down. Another barrage from Declan.
Declan: Are you out of your mind?
Declan: We need to fix this, Cy.
Declan: You just handed Malone a goldmine of bad press and jokes at your expense for months.
Declan: You need to apologize.
Declan: I know you’re getting my texts.
Declan: CALL ME! NOW!!!!!
I won’t. The screen dims before I can read the rest. It doesn’t matter. I already know what they say. The headlines are worse.
HAS VENOMOUS LOST ITS BITE? OR JUST SUCCUMBED TO THEIR OWN POISON?
Malone called me poison. Maybe he isn’t wrong.
And Haven…fuck.
I shouldn’t have said what I did. I knew the second it left my mouth I’d gone way too far.
But if it keeps her away, maybe it’s better. I’m a goddamn disaster, and she doesn’t need to be anywhere near my destruction.
The gym is dark except for one dimmed overhead light and the glow of my phone screen as more angry texts arrive.
The penthouse workout space is supposed to be boutique luxury.
Mirrors on three walls, a rack of dumbbells, a treadmill, a spin bike, and a punching bag bolted to the ceiling. I call it a prison with Wi-Fi.
I remember how awed I was the first time I stepped foot in a place like this. Now? I’d trade the luxury for the middle of nowhere, where no one knows my name.
My phone vibrates again, sounding like an angry wasp. Let him stew. Let them all stew. My fist connects again, the bag thudding into the wall behind it. I should ice my shoulder. Should hydrate. Should do a lot of shit. But if I start listing my mistakes, I’ll need another lifetime.
“Poison,” I mutter, slamming the bag again. “Fuckin’ original. Like I haven’t heard that one before.”
Footsteps echo along the hallway. I don’t bother to turn around.
It’s Eren. I can tell even before he speaks. It’s like he wanders around with a calming aura.
“You planning on putting that thing through the wall?”
I huff and stop the bag’s momentum before grabbing a towel from the cupboard.
“Can’t sleep,” I drawl.
“Clearly. And now the thumping is keeping me up.” Eren walks in slowly, holding two bottles of water. He tosses one my way.
I catch it…barely. My hands are shaking again.
His eyes narrow when he notices.
“You alright, man?”
“Peachy. Just wasn’t expecting you to throw a missile at my head.”
He looks me up and down. There is something on his mind, but will he ask?
“You looked really pale earlier on the bus. Thought you were gonna pass out before you disappeared into the back. Was it the booze or something else?”
And there it is.
“It’s not drugs, if that is what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not,” Eren says, and I relax.
“Told you, I wasn’t feeling well. Maybe I’m just tired or picked up a bug from someone at the party. And, it’s not like I sleep great.”
I’m lying to both of us. He knows it, I know it, but he chooses not to call me out on it.
“You said you were gonna call a doctor again if the painkillers didn’t help with the migraines,” he says, taking a stab at what is ailing me.
At least Eren doesn’t automatically think I’m using again.
I told all of them the same story…I’m in pain.
My head’s a warzone. Doctors are testing.
I’m not using, despite what my mother thinks, or what it looks like.
Weed—fine, maybe it’s a drug, but it dulls the pain enough to get me through a set. I don’t do it to get high.
“I did.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I will,” I mutter.
“You mean that, or is that just something you’re saying so I shut up?”
“Can’t it be both?”
Eren sighs and starts counting off my sins.
“You walked off the Jack Malone Show. Millions of viewers. One verse in, and you left them staring at their screens. You looked like you were about to collapse. Do you really think people aren’t going to notice?
Then on top of all that, you fucking trashed Haven, man.
I get that you two have history and shit, but that was five years ago, and she’s Gaillard’s daughter. What were you thinking?”
“I don’t care what people notice. I know that I’m not using. But…maybe, I went a little too far with the Haven stuff.”
“Maybe? Try did.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know man…Haven has always been nothing but nice. Nicer than you deserve for sure.”
I can’t argue with that.
“I don’t want the insane sexual tension between the two of you to ruin things. Don’t even try to deny it. And I won’t go along with any bullying. We aren’t in high school anymore. You can’t get rid of her that way, if that’s what you are thinking.”
My teeth grind together. Who the fuck is Eren to tell me how to treat Haven?
“I was pissed that Malone brought up Patrick. I’d just found out about Haven, and he tossed it in my face. Like fuck, give a guy a minute. How the hell did they even know?”
Eren crosses his arms.
“See, this is why reading the work emails is a good thing. Gaillard did a fucking press release. It’s big news that Haven, the boss man’s daughter, is working for LG Records. Of course, Malone was going to bring it up.”
Shit. I’m dumb. That much is obvious.
Eren doesn’t push, just sits down on the bench, and drinks his water. He’s good like that. He chooses to act like we’re just two guys in a gym instead of one unraveling rockstar and the only friend still willing to ask questions and believe the answers.
Ash shows up next, silent as a shadow, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“You’re not saying much,” I say.
He shrugs. “Not sure there’s anything to say at this point.
You’ve clammed up and pulled away. You’re obviously angry, and you act like we should just understand when you don’t really say shit to keep us in the loop.
You claim you’re not using, but all the signs point to drugs.
I don’t know what to believe anymore, Cy.
I want to believe you, I do, but you don’t give us much to go on. ”
That stings. It’s true. They’re not mind readers. But I can’t tell them what I don’t know.
Vex storms in like a hurricane, punches the bag I’ve been using, then hits me with his death glare.
“Well, look who’s vertical and pretending he’s fine,” Vex drawls. “You trying to punch your problems into submission?”
“Depends,” I say. “You volunteering?”
Vex grins, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.
“You haven’t changed since high school. You still try to solve every problem with sarcasm.
Do you think walking off stage makes you look badass?
Newsflash, frontman…you’re the problem. You’re not mysterious.
You’re a fucking mess. And unlike Eren and Ash, I do think you’re fucking using again.
If nothing else, the alcohol and pain meds you’re on are a fucking no.
You did that again the other night, don’t bother trying to deny it. ”
I look away. I probably should stay away from the alcohol and meds combo, but sometimes it’s the only thing that masks the pain—in my head, my heart, my body…you name it.
“Vex—” Eren tries to stop what’s coming, but nothing stops Vex mid-roll.
“No. He needs to hear it. The rest of us bust our asses while he spirals at every opportunity. Restaurants, red carpets, shitty motels, and even five-star resorts, now we can add live television interviews. Every concert is a coin toss. We all end up walking on eggshells, picking up pieces, trying to spin the garbage into a story the fans can stomach. Five fucking years and I’m tired of doing it. Really fucking tired.”
“What the hell do you want me to say, Vex? I told all of you that I wasn’t well. I told you I’ve been having migraines and pain. The doctors are running tests.”
“Then stop the partying, man. We don’t need to throw huge ragers just because Declan says it helps with our ‘image’. Fuck him. Pull your shit together, or I’m gone.” He stomps out, swearing all the way down the hallway.
Ash glances at me. “You alright?”
“No.” I grin. “But at least you asked.”
“Don’t turn this into a pity party,” Eren snaps. “We’ve all got ghosts, Cyrus. But you don’t get to burn the whole damn house down with all of us in it when we’re right here offering help.”
Before I can answer, Ledger steps in, practically dragging Vex with him.
“Everyone shut up,” he says. His voice is commanding like a coach or general leading his brigade. “This isn’t how we handle shit.”
Vex rolls his eyes. “No, we handle it by pretending everything’s fine until Cyrus overdoses or sets the stage on fire.”
“I’m not on drugs,” I growl. “I haven’t touched anything hard in two years. Not since…well, you know.”
I don’t want to rehash waking up in the back of an ambulance. I spent two months in rehab club med for that one.
“Fine, you’re not on drugs…yet,” Vex mutters. “We all know that is the path you’re on. It’s only a matter of time before you fall down that rabbit hole all over again.”
Ledger moves between us.
“Alright. Enough.” He looks at me. “You said you’d call a doctor if you didn’t feel better. Do it. Or let me.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“You’ve been saying that for months,” Ledger says, calling me out.
A mix of emotions flickers behind his gaze. Concern, doubt, fear. I hate it. Hate the way their eyes mirror mine. Hate that they care enough to be disappointed. Hate that I don’t have answers, and I hate that it scares the shit out of me.
I turn away.
“I’ll be fine. I mean if it was really bad they would be rushing me in for more tests. Right?”
“Push for answers. We just started a tour and you know how fucking grueling it is,” Ledger says.