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I can’t write her a letter claiming I love her now though. She won’t believe me. And I wouldn’t blame her either. Besides, she deserves to hear those words in person.
What I can do is apologize. And explain.
I start again.
Dear Mercy,
I’m not allowed to speak to you on the phone yet. Apparently, I whined about the no phone situation a bit much since I returned to my room to find a pen and paper on my desk.
I’m not the songwriter of the band, but I’ll try to put my thoughts into writing. I hope you read this and don’t burn it the second it arrives. I wouldn’t blame you, though. I was a complete and utter asshole to you.
I’m sorry for the way I treated you. If I’m completely honest – something these doctors in rehab say I should be – I don’t remember the night very well.
The guys filled me in. Who knows how they know every single thing that happened – the gossip gals probably have our house bugged – but they did.
I can’t believe I called you a bitch.
I scratch those words out. It doesn’t matter what I believe. And saying I can’t believe it kind of nullifies the apology. It happened. I need to own up to my behavior.
I’m sorry I called you a bitch. I know the word is a trigger for you. I’m learning all about triggers here.
Speaking of triggers…
My dad rang me that day. He wanted me to buy him a new car because the Mercedes I bought them is too old now.
I’m not trying to excuse my behavior – there is no excuse for it – but maybe an explanation will help you understand why I did what I did.
I’ve always drank a bit too much. It’s easy to get carried away when you’re on tour and alcohol is shoved into your hands at every turn. Fame is intoxicating – pun intended – when it first happens and before you realize it’s all a smoke screen.
But when my parents sued me I started drinking more to numb the pain. Their lawsuit felt like a rejection of my love for them. Why else would they demand money from me? And insist they were the only reason I became famous?
If they loved me, they wouldn’t have sued me is what I thought. There must have been something wrong with me to prevent them from loving me.
And so I drank.
Dr. Stu says I need to learn coping mechanisms to stop myself from reaching for a beer whenever I’m triggered. I’m not there yet but I’m not leaving this place until I am. I’m pretty sure the good ‘ol doc is hatching a plan, which involves me phoning my parents before I’m allowed to leave. Something to look forward to.
I’m sorry again for the things I said. The way I acted. I can’t apologize enough for how I acted.
Or for breaking your trust. I promised not to drink as long as we were dating and I broke my promise. Can you ever forgive me?
I cross out the last question. I want Mercy to forgive me and give me a second chance more than anything in the world. But it’s too early to ask for her forgiveness. I need to show her she can trust me first.
I miss you, sassy girl. I miss the twinkle in your eye before you sass at me. I miss watching you try to bring Mercury into line. I miss your insistence on listening to country music. I miss how fast you drive. Your smile when you switch on the car engine. I miss how you refuse to care I’m a rockstar. Have you googled me yet?
I’ll write again soon.
Yours always,
Guitar man
I fold the paper and stick it into the envelope.
Step one in my plan to get my girl back is underway. Go to rehab and get sober.
Step two is to get Mercy to forgive me. This letter is the start.
Step three is for Mercy to give me another chance. No sense worrying about a second chance until she’s forgiven me.
