Page 73 of The Comedown

“It’s us,” he says, glancing at me.

Sure enough both stick figures have microphones in their hands and they’re on a stage, facing each other. The one I’m assuming is me has a big mass of hair on its head and extremely long, pointy high-heeled shoes. The one supposed to be Julez has gigantic muscles that make me laugh out loud. Julian is surprisingly strong for his build, but…a bodybuilder he’s not.

“Since you can’t come see us in person, Paisley,” Julian starts, and I hold my breath until he adds, “because you’re not old enough, I drew you this so you can at least see what Collette and I look like onstage together.”

“I don’t know,” I say, leaning toward Paisley conspiratorially. “Don’t you think Julez drew himself a little…larger than real life?”

Julian gasps, then proceeds to flex dramatically. His leather jacket doesn’t so much as budge which makes us girls laugh even harder.

Paisley’s eyelids flutter like a butterfly settling on a leaf, so I stand, saying, “We should get going.”

Gazing down at Paisley’s frail form, I consider how short life can be. Not just in general—eighty, ninety years is nothing in terms of time overall—but how much shorter it is for some, like Paisley. Why her? Why not someone who doesn’t give a shit about the life they were handed? Paisley hasn’t even started her life, not in comparison to almost a century, and here it is slipping from her grasp before she gets the chance.

I look up at Julian again, wondering if this is all sinking in yet. I hope so. His life is too precious to throw away. All life is.

Julian comes over to join me, and we give Paisley and her mom a final goodbye, knowing we’ll never see the little girl again. Not because she’ll make it out of this hospital bed and go on to live a full life where a random encounter with a rapper and a popstar barely register, but because she most likely won’t.

After leaving Paisley’s room, Sue informs us our car is already waiting downstairs, leaving Julian and I to take the elevator alone. Before the doors are even fully closed, he’s got his palm up to his mouth. I expect it to be there a while since that seems to be his habit when he’s nervous—chewing on his ring—but his hand comes away just as quickly and I see his Adam’s apple bob from a swallow. He took something. After watching with his own eyes, innocent, selfless children fighting for their lives, he’s still willing to jeopardize his.

He didn’t learn anything.

Usually I leave here feeling grateful—sad, but grateful. Now I’m just aggravated. No, I’m pissed actually.

Julian guides me to the back of the town car, meanwhile mobs of paparazzi surround us, screaming out the stupid couple name the media’s given us. There are families upstairs taking out second and third mortgages this very minute to extend their children’s lives by days—days—and these dipshits are down here more concerned with finding out if two people famous for using their voices in an impressive way are together or not. Clickbait’s the biggest motivator anymore, not human decency.

As I’m getting in the back seat, questions pelt me from all sides about my “pregnancy” with Julian’s baby and I flinch as if I’ve been slapped across the face. I figured they’d find us at the hospital, but I didn’t anticipate them alleging I’m pregnant because of it. And with Julian, someone that took that opportunity away from not only himself but any woman in his future who might want to have his children. The same someone that can’t even manage his own life, let alone the life of a baby.

“Jesus fuck. That was rough,” Julian says once the doors are closed and the car is moving. “You okay, P—”

“I’m fine.”

He scoots away from me like he’s scared, like I just uttered the code to a nuclear weapon, and maybe I did. I feel volatile right now.

I feel…disappointed. In Julian. In myself. In humanity.

I need a break from all of it.

On the highway, Julian points out the window at a billboard, saying, “Aw, shit. Look at that.”

I barely glance at it. It’s us from the promo shoot. The pose where Julian’s naked with both of us “holding” his package as my back is to the camera and my head’s cranked over my shoulder.

“Damn,” he says under his breath, so I look again, longer this time. Julian’s not looking at the camera in the billboard photo; it’s a shot of him staring directly at me. At my lips.

“I’m not staying for your set tonight,” I tell him suddenly.

Julian finally tears his gaze from the billboard to study me, his hand coming up to hover near his mouth.

“Why?”

“Because…” Because on a day where the world feels desolate and everyone on it appears broken, performing with Julian—something that makes me feel whole and happy—seems wrong. Because the more I’m around him, the more I want to be around him, but I don’t even know who he really is. And neither does he.

With his hand still in front of his mouth, Julian threatens, “I’ll shut every hotel in LA down, Collette.” It comes out low and menacing, reminding me of the night at the strip club when he lost his temper because he thought I was going to sleep with someone…someone else. Of course, that’s what he assumes now. That’s what everyone’s always assuming about me.

“You can certainly try,” I murmur just loud enough for him to hear. “But by my estimation, your motor skills should be slowing down any minute.”

“They’re working fine now, so if you need to catch a dick that fucking bad—”

My gaze flies to his, and without blinking, I say to the driver, “Sir? Would you mind pulling over? I’d prefer to find my own ride.”