Page 51 of The Comedown

“Fuck them. They can wait.”

“No, they really can’t. Those people paid money to see you, and if you don’t get back out there, we’re going to have to refund that money.”

His bloodshot eyes flare. “That’s what you really care about. The fucking money.”

That’s his takeaway from what I just said?

I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, and judging by Julian’s response, he doesn’t either.

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs. “I’m not going out there.”

“Yes, you are. You have to.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

His lost eyes touch on mine before plummeting to the floor like a meteor. “Because I don’t have anything to come back for.”

The anguish in his gaze combined with the pure vulnerability in his voice guts me because I know exactly what he means. It’s a feeling I know all too well. We all do at one point or another. The times when I can’t bring Holter along with me, I leave my shows and return to empty hotel rooms filled with deafening silence. To go from thousands of people screaming your name, idolizing you, to just…nothing. And it’s not just after shows, it’s even worse after a tour wraps, each and every time. When a tour ends and all the adoration goes with it, you’re left feeling sad and empty. Insecure, unfulfilled, neglected. Not good enough. It’s another comedown, different from the one I described to Julian last night, yet similar in many ways. It can be fucking brutal. It’s also incredibly hard to navigate in the beginning, especially alone. Craving that affirmation but getting none, sometimes it can lead to searching for it elsewhere. Avenues that are only temporary fixes, like drugs and alcohol—partying.

With Julian constantly surrounded with people, even when he’s not performing, you’d think he’d never get the chance to feel lonely, but I’d be willing to bet lonely is all he ever feels. Because those people don’t want him. They want from him. And he thinks I do, too. Still. I thought that by not taking from Julian, I was proving I didn’t, but his pain runs deep. Nobody can pour from an empty cup. If I truly want to help him, I need to give.

“Hey,” I say, lifting his jaw with my middle finger, then keeping it there when he meets my eyes. “How can I help? What do you need from me?”

The pulse against my fingertip is like a lightbulb sparking back to life after sitting dormant for too long.

“Do you know any of my other songs?”

“I can keep up.”

“Let me show you my world.”

My smirk matches his. “There’s nothing I don’t know about this world, little lamb.”

“Then be my queen.”

I pull my hand back a few inches.

He leans into my touch again, whispering, “Just for tonight.”

I nod. “Okay. I’ll go out there with you.” Taking the roach from him, I drop it, then extinguish it with my boot’s sole. “But only with you.”

“I’m not—”

“I know.” I know he’s not sober right now, but beneath the Julez façade, there’s still a flicker of Julian—he wouldn’t be talking to me like this if there wasn’t—and that’s enough. All I need is a flicker.

“Give me a minute to change, then I’ll be out.”

“You look perfect to me.” I go to argue, and he adds, “Exactly how you are. I want you exactly how you are.”

“Careful what you wish for,” I tell him, shaking my head and turning around.

“The crop of all the other cream,

she actin’ like a simple wish,

not knowing she’s my number one dream.”