Page 159 of The Comedown

More because now I don’t just feel powerless, I am powerless.

If I’m not really in control, what’s the point in pretending I am?

What’s the point of any of this?

Nothing I do matters.

Julian

Where the fuck is she? And why couldn’t I come?

After almost getting into it with three of Bodee’s meatheads, all I wanted was to be there for Collette. And keep Holter safe, even from Bodee. And beat Bodee’s ass…again. But now, here I am, alone in my hotel room, looking like a dumbfuck who couldn’t pull off even one of those things.

It might not be so bad if there was something to drink around here.

I completely fucked myself by calling ahead and asking the hotel to remove all the alcohol from my suite. That’s what I get for assuming I could do it. For assuming I could just…not drink. I thought I’d give it a try for Collette.

But I am a dumbfuck, a sober dumbfuck which is honestly worse because a drunk dumbfuck at least has an excuse.

I need a drink just from Collette throwing the term tour-mance in my face. Is that really what she thinks this is? If so, I’m an even bigger dumbfuck than I thought for not letting that shit be known sooner. I don’t know exactly what we are, but tour-mance…no. We’re not a fucking tour-mance.

We can’t be. Whatever’s happening between us feels so much stronger, so much deeper, than the tour-mances I’ve seen. Those are like friends with benefits. This ain’t that.

I’ll tell her that myself when I see her.

Where is she? She turned off her phone, so I know she’s gotta be upset still. Upset with who though?

Bodee obviously.

Fucker.

But why was she upset with me at the end there? I wasn’t the one running or hiding. I was ready to own up for everything I did in the photos. It’s a new concept for sure—me being responsible—but I was down to take a crack at it. I’m not used to facing my past mistakes. It’s like looking in the mirror after spending a long day in the sun. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the hazy light at first, but when they do, who you see looking back at you is practically unrecognizable. I don’t rehash my fuckups because I don’t want to. I don’t like how they make me seem, how they make me feel. And usually, I don’t have to.

It wasn’t until today that I figured out why I haven’t had to. Slade’s been covering my tracks all along the way with a thick coat of legal jargon, so I didn’t need to take responsibility for any of the shit I’ve done, or the damage I’ve caused.

Now that I do finally have a reason for facing myself—my past self and my present self—in the mirror, I wish I wasn’t doing it alone. But I am. Alone. Alone and unsure. What the fuck do I do?

What the fuck can I do? Every idea I had Collette shot down.

I’d do anything to make Collette’s pain disappear. I’d do anything just to have her, period. Even when shit is falling apart at the seams, she takes the edge off the harsh bite of reality I prefer to avoid at all costs. It hurts feeling this much, especially after going so long not feeling at all. I don’t know how people do it every day.

I just wish Collette was here.

Pining. I’m motherfucking pining. Perfect songwriting mentality. Writing a song won’t get us out of this though.

I don’t know what will, but I know it ain’t sitting in this hotel room by myself pining.

The next instant, I’m already down the hall and in the elevator, staring at the framed poster of the onsite gym I was just telling Holter about. I wish he was here, too. He’s not even my kid and I feel like a piece of my body’s missing not having him around. The pain I’m feeling…Collette’s must be a thousand times worse right now.

Out of all the snapshots Bodee was able to get his hands on, I know that motherfucker’s seen plenty of good ones, too. The ones where Collette wakes up early after performing late into the night just so she can take Holter around whatever city we’re in, showing him how different the world works outside the snow globe of privilege his mom’s career has afforded them so far. She works hard at her job, but goddamn, she works even harder at being a good mom.

I pull up the album on my phone that’s full of pictures I’ve taken of Collette and Holter, landing on one of my favorites. One day, between sound check and showtime, I found them both snuggled up together on this tiny-ass couch in her dressing room. They were passed out, but Collette stirred when I opened the door, instinctively pulling Holter closer to kiss his temple. It was one of those moments that you know is special and not everyone gets to experience, so I took a picture so I could always remember it. I actually thought about getting it tattooed on the back of my leg but haven’t yet since that might be weird. For Holter. Not for me. I’d love to have that kid close to me forever.

Later, when Bruce, our tour manager, found me still watching them, telling me he needed Collette for hair and makeup, it took everything in me to wake the two up because if it were up to me, choosing between work and family, I’d choose family—even one that isn’t mine. That’s why it was easy for me to tell Collette to call Bodee’s bluff. I’d sink my entire career for either of them, but it’s not just mine on the line. It’s hers. And her boy. Not just her boy…Holter’s her whole world.

I see why she didn’t risk it…now. On the beach I was hopped up on adrenaline, not thinking everything through.

It’s probably why Collette was pissed at me. I’m not much of a plan-of-attack type of person. I’m the guy that starts swinging through the fog before it even has a chance to clear. If I hit something, fucking great. If I get hit, so be it; at least I didn’t go out like a punk. But the shit that went down today? I gotta be smarter. Bodee Keys didn’t get where he is today by swinging blindly, and he’s not gonna get taken out by someone doing it either.