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WitFit Jan/Feb 2013
90's Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll
Word Prompt: Retrieve
Dialogue Flex: "I'm glad you're feeling better."
-PoM-
There's this state of suspended reality when news is so crippling you can't begin to fathom it. As Edward sprang off of the bed and hurried around the room, I sat there in shock and clutching a sheet to my chest.
Tyler was dead?
There was just no way. I'd seen him the night before—he'd given me a hug when Edward and I walked into the party. He'd picked me up and twirled me around and told Edward he was a lucky guy to have a girl so pretty. I'd blushed because that was sweet and flattering, and I'd kissed him on his cheek for saying so. He'd been so happy, smiling and posing for pictures with everyone, stoked that some of the bigger names in the Seattle area music scene were there and they knew who he was.
Tyler. Dead. Tyler was dead.
My voice got caught in my throat as I started to ask Edward if he was sure, really sure, and I slumped down, words forgotten anyway.
"Where's my wallet?"
I looked up, used the sheet to dry my face. "What?"
"My wallet. I need my wallet. I have to go."
"Oh, here, let me help you find it."
Sheet forgotten forgotten, half on and half off the bed, I propelled upward and started overturning stacks of clothes strewn around the room. Vaguely I realized Edward was dressed; the button down shirt I'd thought he looked so nice in last night unbuttoned this morning, in a pair of jeans that had been on the floor since he'd worn them home from the tour.
I found the wallet under my shoes from last night and held it out to him.
"Give me a minute to . . ." I looked down. "Yeah, I need to get dressed." The first bit of clothes I grabbed was once of his concert tees, which I tugged on. "Do you want me to drive?"
Edward stopped rooting around in his wallet, looked at me blankly. He looked like he was in as much shock as I was, but I knew it was probably worse for him. He'd known Tyler for a long time. They hung out a lot. Wrote songs together.
My breath hitched as I thought about never hearing another of Ty's songs.
I wouldn't see his face again when I came home from work to find him and Edward camped on the couch, instruments in hand and pieces of paper spread around them like snowdrifts.
"No. I . . . I have to go now. I'll call you soon."
And then he was rushing from the room, leather jacket in hand. The door in the front room slammed closed, and I was left with silence.
Tyler was gone.
Edward had left.
I was here.
My butt landed back on the bed and I crumpled, sobs coming fast and hard as the awful reality of the situation finally began to sink in.
The back door opened, sound amplified and spilled out, and a lanky guy, anxious looking and with hair too-long and halfway formed into dreads, stepped onto the porch."Hey," he said.
"Hi."
His features lit from the glow of a pipe as he inhaled. There was a peaceful quality about him in that action. His body settled, relaxed into the worn brick behind him. He passed the pipe my way and nodded when I declined, not at all put out.
"That's cool. I'm Tyler."
Wisps of vapor circled him as he raised his head to the sky and sent his smoke toward the heavens.
He'd been so kind to me from the moment we met. Told me sweet things about Edward that I couldn't even get out of Edward himself. Talked obscure music with me that no one else cared about. Told me my cooking was excellent every time I forced him to eat with us even if it was only spaghetti noodles and Ragu sauce.
When he was himself there was always a smile on his face for everyone, a bit of praise for anyone who helped the band in any shape or form. Praise for the guys because they were his family.
I didn't know what to feel. So many emotions were present and they all were too much. Too daunting. Too real. Too heartbreaking. My body shook with the force of my cries, breath heavy in my lungs and heart rent in half. I shook so hard I thought I might puke.
Eventually I got out of bed and wandered aimlessly toward the living room, but it hurt to see the empty couch. I stumbled in to the kitchen, spotted the phone on the wall. I couldn't call anyone from the one in the bedroom now, not when Edward had destroyed it. I picked it up, dialed a number, and then had to disconnect when shaking fingers pushed the wrong buttons. I tried again.
"This is Rose."
Finally. "What happened? How did this happen? I can't . . . Oh my god, Rose."
She sniffled. "I don't know, Bella. Emmett left a few minutes ago to go to Jasper's and wait for information. They just . . . they all need to be together right now and I didn't want to intrude on that."
Her voice was raspy, like she'd been crying, too.
"Do you know anything yet? Anything at all? Edward wouldn't tell me anything beside that Ty was . . . Like, who found him, or how . . . how did he die?" The last word came out strangled.
"I don't know much more than that, really. I know he OD'd at his place and that Ben found him this morning."
OD'd. Overdosed. I didn't want to picture Tyler that way. Cold and stiff and not full of life. Maybe slumped over himself. A needle in his arm or . . . or . . .
I started to cry again. Over the phone, Rose's sobs were just as bad as mine, and I wished I was at home with her because I didn't want either of us to be alone right now.
"Was there anyone with him?"
"Not as far as I know."
"I thought I saw Lauren last night, but she wasn't there when I looked again. Oh my god, I should have said something, told you or Edward or somebody. He was doing so good. I mean, he was clean."
"Don't do that, Bella. Don't. Addicts are never more than one hit away from dying. The desire to get lost in their own world is never completely gone. And I'm wrecked about this, I really am. I loved that kid, but I'm not surprised. Tyler knew the dangers but getting high was more important. You cannot blame yourself. No one can."
"I can't even fathom this right now."
"My phone's been ringing off the hook already. Everyone wants to know if it's true. I can't even imagine how it is at Jasper's place right now."
"Oh, god," I said, worrying for the guys' sake. "I hope someone is there to take care of the phone calls and they don't have to do it."
"I know. It's just—it just sucks." Her breath caught in her throat. "Look, chick, I hate to cut you off but I need to get going. I talked to his mom and I'm going to go sit with her. Lord only knows if she has anyone to help her out right now."
I hadn't even thought about Tyler's mother—what a jerk I was. She was nice, came out to shows in the area when she had a night off her job at a gas station. She was one of those mothers sort of like mine: perpetually youthful, fun and loud and someone you could have a few beers with. She was always in the middle of a new boyfriend, and she had this laugh that bordered on obnoxious, but it was infectious, too.
"Is she . . . okay? I mean, of course she's not. Why would she be?"
"She's a wreck. When I talked to her she was in hysterics. I'm going to go sit with her, make sure she gets to talk to the police and gets her questions answered."
My fingers traced over the faded wallpaper. Rose was always so much in control, so level headed and calm. She got done want needed done, took care of everyone. I admired her for that, always had.
"Okay. If there's something that needs done, something I can help with, will you call me?"
"I will. Has Edward left?"
"Yeah. He's on his way."
"Okay, I'll talk to you soon."
When the line clicked, I hung up and then tried to figure out what it was I needed to do. There was no sense in going home because I'd be just as alone there as I was here, and I wanted to be here in case Edward came back and needed me. So I brewed a pot of coffee and then picked up our clothes from the party. I did the dishes and put everything in the kitchen where it was supposed to be. I headed for the bathroom and picked up the dirty towels and recapped the shampoo bottles.
And then I went into the bedroom and picked that up, too. And then I ruined the freshly made bed by flopping facedown onto it and I cried.
-PoM-
The lights outside bathed the bedroom in odd swatches when I heard the door to the apartment open. I sat up and cocked my head, and then heard him shuffling around.
He was standing in the living room when I got there, a tired look on his face. His whole being radiated numbness—shoulders slumped, eyes staring at the wall. It scared me to see him so despondent.
I moved from the hallway and waited while he dropped his jacket in the entry way and then sat down on the couch. He lit a cigarette, exhaled the smoke in a sudden, fast rush.
"He had a gram of fucking smack next to him. Like his body could even handle that much dope. The stupid bitch just left him there, didn't even call anyone for help. I'm amazed she left the drugs there and didn't take them to put into her own veins."
My insides churned at the reference to Lauren. I sat beside him, wanting to reach out and place my hand on his leg, or do anything to comfort him, but he held himself stiff like he couldn't deal with being touched.
"They know it was her?"
He scoffed. "Of course it was her. Jasper talked to one of his buddies earlier when word started to get around. Guy saw them leaving together last night."
He stubbed out his cigarette, lit another.
"And Ben found him?"
"Yeah. They were heading down to Portland today because Ty wanted to go see about a bass in one of the shops down there. Owner got hold of him while we were on the road, thought it was something Ty would appreciate. Ben got there, saw the door was wide open, found him in his room. He tried to revive him, called 911, but it was too fucking late."
"Jesus," I breathed. "I can't—" Not wanting to add to his pain, I cleared my throat. "Do you need anything? Are you hungry or thirsty or . . ."
"No." He tapped his lighter on the arm of the couch and leaned back, closing his eyes.
And meanwhile I felt like shit because I didn't know what to say to make any of this better. So I sat beside him and stayed quiet, lending comfort in the only way I knew how by just being there to let him talk.
His hand shifted to grab mine after a few minutes of silence. I threaded my fingers through his, stroked the back of his knuckles.
"I'm sorry, babe," I said, wishing I had the magic words to make his suffering go away.
"It's so surreal, ya know? When we were on the road this last time . . . he was almost his old self. Writing and making plans for the future. Having a blast. And we watched him, made sure he was straight and not hanging out with the wrong people. I didn't do a good enough job, I guess, didn't watch him closely enough."
My eyes watered again. "Ty was his own person, Edward. He always said that he owned his problems. You can't blame yourself."
"I should have done something sooner. Hauled his fucking ass to treatment."
I placed my hand on his shoulder. "There was no guarantee that taking him to rehab would work, or that he'd even go in the first place. My dad told me once that when an addict is clean for a while, the first dose can be fatal because their bodies aren't used to it anymore. "
"Just don't."He pulled away from me and stood to walk into the kitchen.
When I followed he was at the window, fist resting against the wall and head bowed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just don't think you should take this onto yourself.""
He turned to me, eyes glassy, "But he was my responsibility and I failed him. Don't you see that?"
I didn't. We all held a piece of it. But Tyler held the largest part, and that was why it was so devastating.
"But you didn't. You didn't put the baggie in his hand. You didn't force him to put a needle in to his arm. You were there for him and he chose to ignore that."
Edward turned and walked by where I was standing in the doorway. He spoke without looking at me, and his voice made my insides turn to stone. "I'm going out."
"Edward—"
He grabbed his coat without looking at me and left.
The night passed slowly after that. I watched television to pass the time, not really paying much attention until a clip on the local evening news ran about a gathering of people at the fountain in Seattle Center holding a candlelight vigil.
The sight of easily a hundred people—or maybe more—was touching and I wished I'd known about it sooner. The anchors with their helmet-sized hair were that sort of fake-sympathetic that grated my nerves, though, and I switched the television off after the piece had ran and they'd moved on to local sports talk.
Edward leaving here in such a bad mood worried me. I didn't like him snapping at me when all I wanted to do was make him see things from another side, because it sounded to me like he was placing too much blame on himself. And yet I also regretted the words I'd chosen because maybe he just wasn't ready to hear them yet.
Sometimes, figuring out the right thing to say left me wishing I had just not said anything at all.
Rose had called earlier, assured me that he was fine when he'd shown up at Emmett's place. Apparently they'd headed down to the beach at Golden Gardens, so at least I knew he wasn't out there alone tonight. We'd also spoken about Ty's mother some and made plans to go see her together tomorrow, and then she'd gotten off the phone to go pass out.
When the clock switched over to midnight and there was still no sign of Edward, I finally crawled in bed.
Sleep was elusive, though, so I watched the shadows on the ceiling change, praying that Edward was okay.
I'd never, ever seen him so upset, and while maybe not as much as him, I was hurting, too. The entire day had been spent either alone with no word on what the latest news was, or with me floundering for the right words to say and flubbing them, anyway. I was processing the loss of Tyler, too.
It was close to two a.m. when the door to the apartment opened. As quiet as he was trying to be, I was awake and could hear him enter the bedroom and start to drop his things on the dresser.
And, from the strong smell of smoke and whiskey, I knew he'd dealt with his pain by trying to become oblivious to it.
"You don't have to leave the light off, I'm awake."
I shifted my body, turning away from the window I'd been staring out and toward the bedroom door. He left the light off anyway and stumbled to the bed, removing his shoes and going down to boxers and a t-shirt. He lay back on the bed next to me, close but not touching.
"Did you know they had a vigil for him down at Seattle Center?" I asked, hoping to get him to talk to me.
After a few seconds he answered. "Yeah. Em and I actually ended up going."
Oh. Again, I wished I'd known . . . or that he'd have asked me to come, too. "How was it?"
"Pretty cool. Ty would've loved it. Little fucker." He closed his eyes and a grim smile painted his lips.
"I bet he was there, ya know? Ghosting around and stuff. He wouldn't miss a gathering of people like that." I took a deep breath and scooted toward him, fingers dancing on the skin just below his sleeve. "I'm so sorry, babe."
With a deep sigh, he turned his head and rolled to gather me in his arms. I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as he hugged me, and kissed his collar bone. His body quivered, and I thought he might be about to break down, but he took a deep breath and then kissed my forehead instead.
"I love you."
"I know," he replied.
I fell asleep listening to the thrum of his heart, a bass line of its own.
-PoM-
The sheets were cold beside me the next morning when I woke. Edward had obviously been up for a while, so I took my time in a shower and getting dressed, and then I headed toward the kitchen where I heard him rattling around.
He was pouring a cup of coffee when I cleared my throat.
"Morning. Want a cup?"
"Thanks," I said, tentatively.
The smile he gave me wasn't quite his usual, but it least it was there. When I sat down at the kitchen table he sat across from me, notepad in front of him.
"I've been going over what we need to do. We don't have any shows for a few weeks, so we're going to have to find someone quick to fill in. Get some rehearsals in."
I furrowed my brow and watched him scribble something down.
"I think there's a guy available from Log Jam that might be able to do it. I was thinking about the kid from Fish, but then again . . . no."
The words were rushed, moving from one option to the next with no room in between to counter them. I knew he was trying to cope by not thinking about Ty but the band instead, and if it what he needed to do to was ignore the elephant in the room for a few days until he was ready to talk, I would, too.
"Well . . . um, how about Leah?" I offered. "She's talented and I'm sure she already knows quite a bit of your material. Her and Ty hung out a lot last summer."
He looked up from the notepad. "That's not a bad idea. Do you have her number?"
"Sure, but she's probably working this morning."
"Maybe I'll head over there . . ." He got up again, movements hurried. "You want to go down there with me?"
"Um, sure. Let me get dressed."
-PoM-
The next few days Edward turned in to a workaholic. He made plans for practices, called around to Rose to find out what needed to be done. Every once in a while I'd catch him hovering over his notebook, still at last, but he never wrote anything down.
There were no tears. He got aggravated at little things and was quick to choice expletives when he got irritated, but it was the most I'd seen from him emotion-wise.
And that worried me. The busyness I understood to some extent. Keeping his mind going probably made him push darker thoughts away, and that was all well and good, but he wasn't really dealing with it. He wasn't one to show his internal stuff—it all came out in his music—and I wished he'd channel some of his grief that way. But after the blow up the night of Ty's death, I was reluctant to offer any more opinions.
Ty's mother had stopped by Edward's two days after her son's body had been found carting a box of stuff. There were notes and drawings and random sheets of music she wanted Edward to have. He'd retrieved them last night and they sat in a neat pile in front of him on the coffee table—untouched.
I stayed close, not hovering but making sure he had something to eat or an ear to bend when he needed to bounce ideas.
But he hadn't gotten mad at me again. He was distant but there, and it seemed my being around was good enough for right now, so I worked on my own things. Peter, who it always seemed was giving me time off, was letting me work from home on a blurb I had been working on for another album review.
I walked over to where Edward was sitting on the couch. "I'm gonna head down to the office for a bit then stop by the apartment to get some clothes."
He didn't look up but mumbled through then pen in his mouth. "M'kay."
I turned to leave and he shot his hand out, pulling me by the waistband of my jeans back over to him. His fingers curled under my t-shirt, slipped inside and stroked my back. . "See you when you get home?"
I smiled at him, leaning down to kiss his lips. "Yeah."
Later, at my own apartment, Rose and I were curled up on each end of the couch together under a blanket.
"How's everyone doing?"
"Em's wrecked, but, honestly, I think he sort of expected it, too. Jasper's being all introspective at the moment; I think it kind of hit him hard. And poor Ben's a mess. I would be too if I found someone like that."
"Yeah, Edward's not taking it to well. I mean, he acts like everything's okay but I know he's not dealing with it well. And he won't talk to me at all about it at all."
"Everybody handles grief their own way. Especially guys. Girls cry until their soul is clean and guys aren't programmed that way. And they're in a band. When things are good, they share the praise . . . but they also have to share the blame, too. I just hope it doesn't take him down the wrong road."
"You and me both."
-PoM-
Wow. Love, love, love your comments. . Thank you to anyone who has pimped this out—so cool. And lots of new readers! Would love to hear where you heard about the story in your comments!
Song – Garden – Pearl Jam
Thank you nic for listening to me babble. xo