To prevent any confusion, the POVs during this story switch between Adam and Christie. Just thought I would clear that up.
Adam
People think the life of a rockstar is all glam, glitz, and parties—well, I take that back, a lot of it is—but there's a whole other aspect that they don't see or understand. It's exhausting, it's hectic, but above all, it's lonely. I mean, sure, I'm with my band 24/7, and we all clicked like that, but it's not the same as being able to go home at the end of the week to the one you love, eat a homecooked meal with them, lay around and watch TV, and then have really amazing sex. You just don't get that on the road. What you get is people telling you what to do, fast food (and that's pretty hard when you're trying to take care of your physical appearance), crazy fans, and very little sleep. Lucky us, we play about five shows a week, so that gives us some time to recharge. Then again, there are always the interviews, TV appearances, and meet-and-greets, so after a while, Red Bull and Monster become your best friends. But the traveling itself, even without the performing, is pretty tiring. Naturally, I was thrilled when the tour took a month-long hiatus, and I could go home. Back to California, back to the sun, back to the sand, back to my apartment, back to my bed, and back to Christie.
Now, don't go getting all riled up; no, she's not my girlfriend, you all know the deal. One Adam Lambert's sexuality was the center of entertainment media attention for weeks. She's my roommate. We've been living together for just over a year now, and things have been great. It was kinda weird at first because I think she was a little starstruck when she realized who I was. At the time, she was a starving artist, just trying to get by with her open mic nights at the local coffee shops, and her bartending tips. I, on the other hand, was starting out after "Idol", which was almost like a dream, actually, and I was trying to get a record together, trying to make a name for myself. A while back, I had placed an ad in the paper for a roommate. About a week later, I got a phone call in response to the ad, and that's when Christie came into the picture. We split the rent, she bought the groceries and I took care of the laundry. I informed her that I wouldn't always be around, so she'd have to get used to being alone from time to time. And she was cool with that.
Of course, there were times when I was home, and that was almost more difficult than being on the road, since I had a limited amount of time that I wanted to spend with so many people. That time was either spent with her, my family, or Tommy. Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better roommate. She's one of those girls that could get along with almost anybody, even a freak like me—the gay guy who runs around kissing his bassist on national primetime television and earning a "reputation" through leaked photos of cross-dressing and making out with guys. When we had our first heart-to-heart chat, spilling anything and everything, I told her all these things and do you know what she said to me? Ha, she said, "Adam, honey, there's no crime in having a little fun with your life. You just go ahead and kiss whoever you want, whether it's Tommy, or me"—we both blushed at that, and she giggled, flashing that smile of hers that I love so much—"or, psh, the guy downstairs, for all I care. And I could care less what you wear. You wanna wear a dress every now and then?" She laughs then, and her smile reaches her eyes. "I'll even go shopping to find one for you!" But I declined, insisting that my drag days were over.
But nobody's perfect, right? Christie had some skeletons in her closet too. I was only slightly surprised to hear this, since I had already noticed the faded scars that ran up and down her arms and the backs of her legs, and who knows where else. I took her hand in mine, looked her in the eye, and asked, "Christine, what on Earth possessed you to do this to yourself?"
She wouldn't look at me as she softly replied, "It was a long time ago. I was…messed up, and I didn't know how else to deal with how I was feeling. I hated myself. I thought I was ugly. I didn't deserve to be happy…" she trailed off. "And so I hurt myself. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I-I couldn't help myself!" Her voice cracked just then and I could tell she was trying hard not to break down. That's when she slowly turned her green eyes up to look at me. "But I'm not that person anymore, Adam," she whispered with a slight shake of her head. "I'm not."
I still held on to her hand, smiling sadly. "I still don't understand why… Chris, honey, look at you!" I pulled her into the bathroom, turned her to face the mirror, and placed my hands on her shoulders. "You are beautiful. When I look at you, all I see is a beautiful, funny, sweet girl who made some bad choices, just like me, in order to find herself. And look at me: I'm touring the country—touring the world—with my band, making music, doing what I love, living my dream. Do I have flaws? Hell, yes! Tons of 'em!" I placed my hand to her cheek. "But you…you may just need a little more time. It's like that song goes: 'Don't be afraid of what's inside,' " I sang softly. "'Gonna tell ya, you'll be alright, in the aftermath…' "
And then the tears came. She lurched forward and cried into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her slender waist, gently stroking her light brown hair. I felt her small frame trembling with sobs. "Shhhh, it's okay," I whispered. "Everything's gonna be alright." I had no idea how wrong I would turn out to be.