Page 182 of The Comedown

Tonight, I’m finally breaking out.

We get in position just as the spotlight comes on to shine on us both, then she sings while we stare into each other’s eyes. Hers are red with tears stuck to her extra-long lashes, while mine are closed up tight, hiding my next surprise.

The rigging jerks her from my loose hold, up and behind me to the other side of the stage, and I pivot, facing the crowd to sing alone while members of the stage crew hustle in the darkness to pull Collette down and secure her foot under one of the footholds sticking out of the hardwood flooring. Even knowing what’s coming, my body blindly senses Collette’s every move, wanting to go to her, wanting to call this whole thing off.

But I can’t.

The stage goes dark, and another three steps back with three additional to the left, then I’m with her again, pretending to hold her. I can’t actually hold her for this to work and I can’t be the one to catch her either. Not that I ever could. I have to let her be free.

I have to let her be free.

Our spotlight flashes on, and we sing our verse together, except Collette’s foot accidentally slips out from under the foothold keeping her grounded before planned, and she goes flying out of my “hold” early.

Automatically, I reach out because my body does still call to hers, but just as quickly, Collette pulls her hand clear of mine, hitting her notes perfectly despite the sudden, unexpected pressure on her diaphragm. Always the performer. Always on point. She was made for this life.

She can recover from anything, while I swallow handfuls of pills hoping I won’t.

That’s why it has to be me. I knew that. I know that.

Collette gets moved to her next spot okay, and going even more off-script, I walk right for her, bringing the spotlight with me.

The crew members are supposed to unhook the carabiners from the harness around her middle so we can finish the song standing together, but I get there before they can, forcing them to scatter away from the light. Leaving the carabiners attached, I wrap my free arm around Collette for real this time, my palm flat against her tight white bodysuit as I press her body to mine.

Other than her eyes going wide, there’s nothing else she can do, so she sings and I sing and we sing until the very last note of the final verse, then I pull her free of the foothold, and with one last searing gaze into her silver-green eyes, I take her mic, and let go, sending her airborne.

“No!”

Her natural blonde hair blowing out around her shocked face, Collette disappears from sight, and I face the audience as they sit frozen, trying to decide if that was part of the choreography or if something went wrong.

“Bodee Keys sleeps with underage girls, and his manager, John Davies, is a rapist.” My deep voice booms, putting an end to any shy, awkward applause. “Together, they coordinated a rape on a woman who was not only sleeping, but also pregnant.” I have to pause for the gasps of outrage. “They avoid going to jail because when Bodee Keys isn’t setting up sexual assaults, he’s blackmailing and paying people off to get what he wants. Members of the academy of this show, judges, people everywhere are in Bodee’s back pocket, giving him the freedom to do whatever he wants to whoever he wants without—”

My mic shuts off, my spotlight goes black, and I’m pretty sure they cut the feed because I can hear a shit-ton of production members storm the stage, ranting.

Under the cover of darkness somebody screams, “He swindled fifteen thousand dollars from me for a fake business venture!”

A woman calls out, “He roofied my friend!”

About a dozen or so other female voices speak up, saying, “Mine, too!”

Damn. He’s even worse than I thought.

Someone in the crowd chants, “Arrest Bodee Keys!” and it spreads like wildfire, the entire auditorium repeating it over and over again.

Some of the overhead lights slowly start to grow brighter, so I spin around to face where Collette went, knowing she can see me. I make a gun with my hand one last time, putting it up to my temple instead of under my chin, then I pull the fucking trigger.

On the outside, me and Collette are different. On the inside though, we’re the exact same. We’re both junkies, searching for the next high that’ll hopefully mute the pain. Whether it’s for a night, a week, a lifetime, we both crave that escape so bad, we put it above all else, even when we know we shouldn’t. Hers is touring, mine is the kind of mental oblivion only drugs and alcohol can provide. And since neither of us is willing to give up that escape completely, the cause of the pain will continue to haunt us. To rule us.

But I just took out both our ghosts—my career as well as Bodee’s, so now she alone holds the keys to the kingdom, and she’s free to run it however the fuck she wants.

Collette never needed a king to prosper, I only cleared the way for her to.

Collette

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He could. He did.

Why did he?