Not this nightmare.
God, the melancholy was going to consume me if I didn’t pull myself out of it. I couldn’t let Raleigh ruin everything, especially now that I’d gotten out. “Okay, well. I’m home. Happy?”
“Not really. Why are you home? I’ve been getting calls from dickheads named Ralph and Persimmon. How is that even a name? It’s a fuckingfruit.”
Her name was actually Paisley, but I knew who he was talking about. They were from the label—walking robots in the shape of humans whose sole purpose was to make sure their artists didn’t create a major crisis.
Like I’d just done.
I pushed away from the cabinet I’d been digging through and started down the hall, freezing when I reached the mirrorhanging at the very end of the corridor. Fuck, I’d forgotten about that thing. Raleigh had seen it sitting on the side of the road one afternoon when we were in Boston. It was remnants of an estate sale, and he couldn’t stop driving by it, so eventually, we stopped, and he shoved it in the trunk.
I swore it was haunted, but he insisted on hanging it up. “It gives the place character. And if there is a ghost, you’ll have someone to keep you company when I’m busy.”
Fucking, he meant. When we were not on the road and he was out at clubs getting laid by people who weren’t me.
I sighed at my reflection. I looked like the ghost in the mirror now. I was pasty, hair greasy, face unshaven for far too long. There were bags under my eyes that no cream could tackle, and my cheeks were hollow from not eating for days.
When was the last time I’d had an actual meal?
“Hello?”
I realized Tollin had still been talking. “Sorry. Um…”
“Are you okay?”
“No. Not really.” It was time to rip the Band-Aid off. “Raleigh and I are…it’s…over.”
He was quiet for long enough to tell me he was trying to think of the right words because he was happy, but he didn’t want to rub salt in my wounds. I didn’t blame him for taking pleasure in the split. Raleigh had made it his mission in life to keep space between me and my family. He didn’t like the idea that they loved me unconditionally when he hadn’t been given the same, but he couldn’t offer it either.
“What are you going to do. Did you leave the band, or…?”
“I don’t know. I need to look at what my options are,” I told him. “If I leave, it’s going to cost me. But I think it might be worth the price. I can sell this not-a-home to pay for it.”
“Look, I’m sorry about making you feel bad about?—”
“No,” I interrupted quickly. “The truth is, this has never been home. And I’m sorry I didn’t call you before. I just needed a minute to deal with everything.”
I forced myself to turn away from the Victorian Ghost trapped in the mirror and went into the kitchen. I had tea, at least. The kettle was half-full, and the water level window had condensation from the last time I’d boiled it.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Tollin asked, his tone hesitant.
I sighed and leaned against the table, rubbing at my eyes. “Same shit, different day. I don’t know why this one broke me, but…” I paused and took a deep breath, my throat a little tight. “I think I just had this moment where I realized it was never going to change, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of spending the rest of my life like this. I deserve better.”
“I hate to say this, but I’ve been telling you that for years,” Tollin replied softly.
I hated him for pointing that out, but it was true. “I’m not going to argue. But I don’t have a good answer for you—or anyone. I stayed until I couldn’t. Now I’m gone, and I don’t know what the fuck comes next.”
He was quiet for another beat, then said, “Tarik called me this afternoon. He said he’s sent you a few emails, but you’re not responding. I think he’s kind of freaked-out that you’re not okay. He said he has a proposition for you, so I told him I’d call and ask you to check out his message.”
Abandoning the tea, I walked into the living room and dropped onto the couch, pulling my laptop close. I’d been avoiding my inbox for a good reason. Luckily, I had friends and family filtered into a specific folder, and Tarik counted, considering we’d known him since high school. He and his wife lived six blocks from Tollin and Lyria.
And yep. There was his email. A few succinct lines without any pomp or circumstance.
Atlas: How would you feel about an unplugged show at the Blue? Their NYE performer cancelled, and they asked me if I knew anyone. You can play those songs you’d been working on. We don’t have to announce your name either. It can be one of those anonymous shows.
Something in me blazed to life—a fire I hadn’t felt in years. An anonymous show, just me, just my voice and my words, and not needing to worry about Raleigh and what he’d think. Just me, and being able to pour out every ugly thing I was feeling so I could hopefully relieve some of the pressure sitting on my chest.
“Did you get it?” Tollin asked. Shit, I forgot he was still on the line.
