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LadySharkey1 rocks my world by being the most amazing, kick-ass beta I could ever imagine.
24.
Rehab was fucking hard.
And it wasn't like Edward had expected a walk in the park, either. Though—really—since he wasn't all that addicted to alcohol, or even to the drugs he'd taken, he his expectancy of rehab may have been a little low.
And sure, the first part of the journey (the 'clean up your fucking addicted ass' stage) had been easy enough to have him borderline cocky.
But then, the 'kicking the habit' stage knocked him down a peg or two.
Hell, it knocked his ass right off that damn ladder altogether. Because phase two came the talking, and if there was anything Edward hated to do it that was it! He usually let his lyrics speak for him and they were a lot more fucking poetic than the kind of shit his shrink wanted to hear.
All the questions she asked about his parents, his sister, his groupies, his bandmates…himself…irked him. He didn't want to hear them and he sure as fuck didn't want to answer. So the first two weeks of rehab passed in a fury of red-hot temper tantrums and many slammed doors abruptly ending his sessions.
Until the guy in the room next to him managed to smuggle in a dose of heroin one night and overdosed in his bathroom, only a few fucking feet from where Edward was sleeping.
That was when it hit him like a fucking ton of bricks.
It could have been him.
That was a message that resounded through his brain. It could have so easily been him. He might not have been as big of a fan of brown sugar as the failed actor who had been his neighbor, but if there was one thing they had in common, it was their inability to quit falling back into addiction; to look for chemical ways to solve their big, fat, fucking mess of a life. Before Bella, it had been drugs for him, after alcohol.
And during…her?
As Edward tossed and turned the next night, the deafening silence coming from the empty room next to his leaving him wide awake, he realized that if he wanted to stay alive, he'd have to find a way to become stronger than that monster inside of him. And that monster wasn't the addiction.
It was the trauma that fed it.
From that point on, Edward's resistance slowly vanished and he began to treat his extended stay in rehab seriously; his therapy sessions grew in intensity as they delved deeper and deeper into the wounds left behind by the accident his parents died in, and the harsh, unhealthy upbringing he received from his grandparents. He finally opened up about his life in the music industry and the things that drove him towards drinking and drugs in the first place.
And, for the first time in his life, the weight on his shoulders was slowly starting to diminish into something that he could stand to bear without relying on his standard avoidance tactics.
But it wasn't easy sailing from there. Navigating his past was like walking across a minefield without a map; his daytime sessions triggered brutal nightmares which, in turn, made him crave a quick fix or even a moment of nothingness all the more.
It was at those times that he knew he wasn't anywhere near ready to go back into the world again.
A world where alcohol and pills and needles and powder were so easily available that it was almost like it was setting him up to fail. His job didn't exactly help either, as it was more likely to bring him into an environment where all the bad things were readily available on top of removing him from the stability he needed to ground his new life on.
It could be done, though.
There were more than enough examples out there of musicians who had flourishing careers while staying away from the excesses that came with fame and life on the road. There were even who'd indulged in all sorts of debauchery before straightening themselves out and trying to remain on the good side of things.
There were also those who'd failed.
He couldn't do that, though. Closing his eyes, there were always those images of the red-stained sheet on the sidewalk and, most recently, the sheet-covered stretcher being wheeled out of a bedroom almost identical to his.
Moving backwards wasn't an option.
It would only lead him further away from her…and that much closer to death.
And he had much more to say and do before he kicked the bucket; he had records to complete and songs to share with the world. But most of all, since he could feel himself getting stronger and more apt to the task of being a man, he knew he had to make amends for all the rotten things he'd done in the past.
He'd start with his sister.
But his goal—the shiny beacon beckoning him at the end of his journey—was Bella.
He knew that the chance her heart was still free was slim to none. And, hell, the chance of her even listening to what he had to say wasn't all that big to begin with! Edward had to try, though. He had to at least put in the effort to explain what he had done and why; to let her know that he might have been a spineless, miserable fuckhead, but that he hadn't been a user or a heartless junkie. To tell her that even in the blackest moment of her life, he had her best interest in mind.
And he hoped she could find it in her to forgive.
Hope.
Edward didn't dare to even entertain the notion. How could he, after everything he'd said and done? When the time came he would give her the explanation she deserved and leave her in piece to enjoy the new life she had undoubtedly built for herself in the city.
When he finally walked out of rehab, he felt himself a changed man; scared shitless by the thought of having to prove himself in the real world but finally feeling like he knew himself well enough to at least give it a try. He'd spent all of the holidays behind those doors, only speaking to his sister on the phone for a couple of minutes before joining his fellow ex-junkies in what could only have been called the saddest two meals in his existence. There had been great food in abundance and the staff on duty had tried their best to make it feel like home but deep down, every sad sack at that table knew they were only there because they'd failed their loved ones and didn't deserve a place at a proper holiday table.
Not yet, at least.
And so as springtime came around, and his doctors deemed him stable and strong enough to venture out into the real world, a scene eerily similar to one months before, played out as his manager picked him up from rehab.
"It's good to see you again, Edward." Aro nodded appreciatively, immediately noting the changes in his client. Gone was the hard, angry young man with a gaunt, unhealthy glow to his skin. Instead, his eyes were clear and his cheeks carried a healthy flush from both the chilly early morning air and the many outdoor activities the rehab facility offered.
"It's good to be a free man again," Edward lied as he climbed into the back of the car. Truth was, he had been scared to death to cross the threshold into the real world again. "Anything good happen while I was away?"
Aro chuckled, wondering whether to just dive in with the happy news or give the man some time to adapt. In the end, though, the memory of all the hard times caused by that very same man, decided it for him. "Well, you'll be happy to know that in your absence, James decided to move on to greener pastures."
"He left?" Edward sighed, more relieved by this piece of news than he could have ever imagined. He hated the man—and part of him had always hated James—but over the years he'd grown so dependent on him that there had always been something to keep him from firing the good-for-nothing piece of shit from his band.
Aro sighed, chagrined by how the whole sordid sequence of events had cost him not just the one but two of his clients. "While you were in rehab, he somehow managed to worm his way into Siobhan's camp and tricked her into his bed." Aro couldn't suppress a growl at the memory of how his young, bright-eyed client had started to look worse by the day without anyone being able to tell him why, as James had been careful enough to cover his tracks. "They got married after two weeks, arrested for possession after three, and right now their divorce is pending while she's in rehab and he's behind bars."
"Wow." Scratching the back of his head, Edward tried to put his mind around the image of Miss Goodie Two-Shoes and the other half of the Twenty-first Century Toxic Twins.
As for James' behavior? That didn't surprise Edward one bit. The rats were always the first ones to leave a sinking ship and if there was anything he'd learned about his former guitarist, it was that he was vindictive enough to carry out a scheme like that if it meant he'd get even with the man he held responsible for his fall from grace.
"Yeah," Aro added morosely. "All in all, the bastard has cost me more money than I ever cared to spend on a client, let alone a tolerably mediocre guitarist."
"And Laurent and Victoria?" Edward wanted to know. It wasn't because he felt the slightest urge to rehire any of them (should he ever come into a position to hire a band again) but they had been a part of his life for years. He still cared for them, even if he didn't want them close to him.
"Last thing I heard, Laurent was heading back down south, while Victoria's dad was coming to pick her up and hopefully cart her off to some high-priced mental hospital." Aro sighed, chagrinned to have to revisit this unsavory chapter in his career yet again. "I heard she took James' marriage rather hard."
Edward nodded, feeling sorry for his former drummer even though she was much better off without that slimy weasel of a man. "So how are things with my career? Anything left worth saving there or should I just start applying to a local Starbucks now?"
"I think that might be a little premature," Aro replied dryly. "Your old record company got out of their contract, but there are others that have stated an interest. Still…I think we should go a different route; gain some buzz and generate interest around you again. I mean, the good kind of interest this time, before we sit down to commit to any of them."
Edward chuckled, his manager's game so obvious it was almost transparent. If there was anything he could count on where it came to his manager, it was that money was always his motivation. And if Edward could generate some good buzz around him before starting contract negotiations, that would only drive up his price…and Aro's cut.
Not that Edward minded Aro's game plan. As scared as he was about starting the whole circus back up, he was itching to make music again. "So what exactly do you have in mind?"
Aro chuckled. "I don't have anything in mind, dear boy, I already have it all on paper; signed, sealed and delivered." His laughter deepened at the puzzled look on the younger man's face. "I've secured a few small gigs for you under a fake name: just you, your guitar, the new songs and a small audience."
Edward's breath hitched as panic made him break out into a cold sweat. He wanted it—God, he was dying for it—but would it be good for him? Besides, wasn't Aro overstepping his role a little? "As much as I appreciate your hard work, a little advance notice would have been nice. What if I'd made other arrangements?"
"Then you would have just had to cancel them," his manager insisted, faking boredom as he glanced at his phone. "Face it, kid: I'm all you've got in the world right now, so either you're playing Stinky's tomorrow night or you're out on your own."
Edward rolled his eyes, already missing the structured life of the rehab center. Leaning his head against the car window, the flash of bright lights and familiar buildings strengthened his inner confliction.
He had no choice, though. Rehab had opened the door to a different kind of life but the proof of whether he would be strong enough to actually live it would come from sitting on his ass all day.
No, the proof of the pudding would be in the eating.
Sighing, he turned back to his manager. "Fucking Stinky's it is, then."
Thoughts?