Page 192 of The Comedown

“You need help.”

“So do you.”

A puff of disbelief leaves my lips drier than before. “Excuse me?”

“What about your addiction?”

“It’s not—”

“Could you give up touring?”

I seal my lips together, not sure how to answer him. Not sure I can answer him. Could I?

“You’re worse than I am because you’re still bullshitting yourself into believing you’re not an addict. First step in recovery, Poohbear…admitting you have a problem.”

Is my constant touring a problem? Yes. Deep down I know it is. There are so many things over the years I’ve missed out on because of touring. So many milestones I’ll never get back.

So many gigs I put first.

But is it an actual addiction?

I just thought I was doing what I had to. Bodee tried to bury my name, so I fought to keep it alive. Days turned into months, and months turned into years, then before I knew it, over a decade had passed and here I am, still fighting like I was in the beginning. When will I be able to stop?

Or I guess the better question is, when will I allow myself to?

“You can’t, can you? It’s why you cry yourself to sleep when you’re home, because you know as much as you want to stop touring and give Holter a stable home life, you can’t.”

A searing flush races through my body, making me feel feverish. How does he know I do that? He’s never even been to my home.

Did Holter tell him? If so, does that mean Holter knows I cry at night?

Of course, he does. He’s observant and I’m a bad mom.

Am I a bad mom? I’m not a great mom. Not nearly as good as I wish I could be. Not nearly as good as I could be.

I’ve only ever tried to protect Holter, but maybe I went about it in the wrong ways.

One of the many topics Holter and I discussed earlier was my work schedule. He tried to use my ankle as an excuse for me to get out of touring for a while, and even seeing the hope on his face, I outright downplayed my injury to him. To my own son, who was thrilled by the prospect of having me home with him a while longer.

I chose touring over him, and it wasn’t the first time. I almost chose touring over Julian, too.

I did choose touring over Julian. I knew he didn’t want me to go on another tour right away and I was willing to do it anyway.

First step is admitting it. I do. I have an addiction.

My twisted, hollow stomach cramps with more than just day-long hunger pains.

I have more than one addiction.

“I don’t know what you want from me. You’re breaking up with me, but you want me to stop touring. Do you truly not want us to be together? What the fuck do you want, Julian? Tell me.”

“I want you to get everything you want.”

“I want you.”

“You want me…but. You want me…but sober. You want me…but on your terms.”

“I want you. But—”