Easton makes a face, and maybe it wasn’t only a few weeks agothat I made a mistake but yesterday too. I can’t undo yesterday’s mistake, not so easily. The other one, I can.
“So please, tell me the truth,” I urge him, straightening my shoulders. There’s a faint rushing sound in my ears. “Tell me why you got so angry. What did I do wrong?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He paces the room, agitated, kneading his hands. “You have nothing to do with this.”
“But it felt that way.” I can’t suppress the hurt undertone in my voice.
“No, I mean it. This is all... Fuck, Rayne, you really have nothing to do with it.”
“Then what was it?” I instinctively take a step toward him. “Can you just tell me? I want to understand. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and honestly, all I could think of was...” I go quiet as Easton’s head goes back with a groan.
“Don’t do that. Don’t worry about it. I totally overreacted,” he says. “It was stupid. Honestly.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you.” I reach out both hands to him. “Just tell me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I... oh, fuck. It’s about me, okay?” He looks at me, and a tight knot forms in my stomach. “It’s about me and my complete inability to do anything meaningful.”
“What?” I don’t understand a word he’s saying, because if there’s one thing he isn’t, it’s incompetent.
“We’ve been treading water for months. We can’t find a label, and it feels like no one knows we exist! I’ve been trying for ages to write a song that I really like again. One I can believe in. But I can’t do it, and then you show up, and we sit in my van and write a song that’s fucking perfect! But it’s your song, not mine. BecauseI just can’t do it on my own. That’s why we’re going to be stuck in this house in this city forever, and we’ll never get to live our fucking dream!”
I stare at him, stunned. He’s said before that he feels incompetent, and I thought I understood because I feel the same way about myself, far too often. I guess I was wrong. I had no idea the extent of his feelings, and I’m probably a pretty crappy friend because I’ve been focusing on my own problems the whole time instead of seeing his.Reallyseeing them.
“Easton, I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts me. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault I feel like a total failure because I need you to write a song that wasn’t even my idea.”
His words cut deep into my heart, and I hate that he feels this way, because it’s not true.
“You’re not a failure, and you don’t need me.” My voice has gone quieter and sounds terribly hoarse. Easton grimaces in pain.
“Yes, I do. I need you, but I hate myself for it. I don’t want to use you. I want...” he goes silent when I flinch. “Shit, that’s not the way I meant it. I meant—”
“It’s okay.” I dismiss his apology, even though what he said hurt somewhere inside. This is all getting completely out of hand, and I’m starting to worry that I made a mistake, that we can’t fight after all, because if we do, nothing will be the same as it was before.
“No, it’s not okay. I want to record this song, Rayne. I want to go to the studio with you and the guys and record it because it’s great. But we can’t afford it, and you—”
“I know,” I say. I’m starting to comprehend what his problem is.Even if I don’t understand one hundred percent, because I’m not in his financial situation and never have been, I still get it.
“You suggested it like it was some small thing. For you it is, and that’s really okay. But right now, it feels to me like we can’t do this without you. And that’s damn unfair to you and the guys, because it’s selfish. I’m selfish and too proud to just get over myself and say yes. I don’t want to need youthatway. I want us to...” He trails off, his chest rising and falling heavily, breathing too fast.
What was he about to say? I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but I can’t get the words out, because that’s not what this is all about. Why is it so damn complicated again?
“We’re friends,” Easton says, his voice breaking. My heart breaks too, just a little too much. “If we take this song to the recording studio and you help us to record it, then... what if something changes? We’re not starting in the same place, Rayne. You’re... who you are, and I’m—”
“So are you!” I interrupt. Tears fill my eyes. He has to stop before he says something else that he doesn’t really want to say.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t! I can’t help who my parents were. I can’t help that my father earned a fortune that belongs to me now because he died. I am who I am, that’s true. But so are you! God, Easton, do you know what I’d give to have a dream like yours? Or your talent? A family? I would give every damn penny I own to get my parents back. I would giveeverything, but I can’t!” My voice breaks, and I lose control. I know I have to get a grip on myself, but I can’t. Easton has gone white, and I just hate this. “I’m totally alone in this stupid world, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. But yesterday, when we were working on that song together, I hada feeling for the first time that maybe I am good at something. Even if it only works with you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I understand everything you just said. I really understand, but it still hurts! And of course it’s unfair. Just because it helps me doesn’t mean it has to help you. But do you know what hurts the most? That you can’t see for yourself how good you are!” I try desperately to find the right words.
“Rayne—”
“No, I’m not done yet!” I shout. It’s terrible, but I can’t stop now. I have to make him understand. “You’re so damn good! I listened to your songs every day for months, because I needed to hear your voice. Because your voice does something to me every damn time I hear it. You’re special and you have talent. God, you’ve got so much talent, and that’s not going to change just because songwriting hasn’t been working out for a few months. My dad didn’t write all his songs by himself, either. I don’t think anyone can. And even if they could, who cares? It’s not important. That song we wrote yesterday isn’tmine. It’soursong, and if you ever say again that you’re useless or that you can’t do it, I’ll have to slap you. Because it’s just not true!” Breathing heavily, I fall silent, my heart pounding so hard against my ribs that it hurts.
I only realize I’ve moved closer to him when I see that my hands are twisted in his shirt, tugging at the soft fabric. His fingers close around my wrists, and at first, I think he wants me to let go, but instead he just holds me tight.
“I’m a bigger asshole than I thought,” he says quietly, and I can’t help but laugh a little, in spite of it all.
