Desole and Gerard face hard times.
I awoke with a start to find that I was buckled into an air plane seat in between Frank and Mikey. I was sweating and shaking terribly. I shouted at the shock of where I was. Frank turned and put his hand on my shoulder, the only brief comfort I felt. At first I couldn’t remember where I was, or what was going on. What was this? What had happened? Why was I here? How long had I been out?
But then I felt a surge of thoughts pass through me. Everything from Desolé leaving to the show in Japan to throwing up backstage for twelve hours straight. I realized I hadn’t had any booze or pill or coke in over twelve hours. That explained the sweating and the shaking. I was going through withdrawal. I just had to stick out a few more hours and I would be free of this addictive demon that had ruined everything for me. Mikey hugged me and Frank rubbed my shoulder, trying to ease the pain. I had this aching, terrible throbbing going throughout all my bones.
It sort of hit what had happened a few days earlier. Desolé was gone for good. I don’t know why I didn’t realize this sooner, maybe I was trying to repress it or tell myself that I could get her back somehow. But there was no hope of that and I knew it now. I felt cheated, betrayed by myself. It was like I had lost everything that was good in my life to the toss of the dice. It wasn’t fair!
“Oh god.” I mumbled through my trembling lips. Mikey gave me a squeeze and I gasped in pain.
“Sh, it’s okay bud. We’re almost home. Just try and go back to sleep.” Frank said calmly. Ray leaned over the seat to see what was going on.
“Is he alright?” Ray asked, looking down at me. I shook my head fervently. He frowned.
“No! I’m not alright. I can’t go back to sleep.” I said loudly. Frank shushed me again and wiped the sweat off my face. There was nothing I wanted more than to just give up. I would’ve killed somebody for a line right now. Or at least some Xanax. But of course nobody had any of that, and even if they did the chances that they would give it to me where impossible.
An uncontrollable wave of nausea fell over me and Mikey handed me a barf bag, which I quickly filled. Bob called over the flight attendant to get me some water. I shut my eyes and leaned my head back. I wanted to sleep. I felt so exhausted, but my body was so shaken and worn that I couldn’t. When I closed my eyes I only saw one thing; Desolé’s beautiful face.
I tried to focus on her, the memory of her. The sparkle in her big blue eyes, they smell of her warm fragrant hair. The velvety soft touch of her cheek against my rough palm. Her voice, always melodic, even when she was yelling at me. I clung to ever moment, every memory. I replayed all our scenes out in my head to focus on anything but the pain I was in. And as I relived the precious memories, I saw how they had grown to e more and more grotesque as time went on between us. Looking back on it, I could see every mistake I made, everything that I had done wrong. And they hit me all at once.
I felt my body heave like I was going to throw up again or cry, but nothing came out but an exasperated groan from me. Mikey patted my back while I dry heaved into another barf bag. The concerned looking flight attendant brought me back a little cup of water, which I downed in one gulp. I was hot and cold at the same time. I was shaking and crying but no tears would come out. I felt trapped in this tiny metal tube 50,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean. I just wanted to curl up and die.
It had been three days since I left Gerard. I was determined to become a hermit for a good long while and collect the broken pieces of my mental health. But the day after we all had to have a meeting with our manager and tour manager explaining everything. I wasn’t halting the tour just because of the engagement, I was also planning on quitting drinking. And that would be something nearly impossible to do on tour with all the partying going on around me.
After I left Gerard, I was sort of able to step outside of myself and see what was really going on even in this short time frame. I was an alcoholic, but I was adamant about fixing my problem as soon as possible. Unlike Gerard, I wanted to get better. Milo and everybody else tried to convince me to go to rehab, but I refused. I was going to stay in the comfort of my own home and get sober on my own terms.
There would be no more drunken mistakes. No more naked romp-arounds onstage. No more not being able to remember what I did the night before. I was done with all of that. I was tired of not being in control of myself. I knew I had to take responsibility for my actions and step up to the plate at the leader of my band. Otherwise, I’d eventually drink myself into an early grave. I only hoped that Gerard would realize the same thing, before it was too late.
When Milo and I got home form the meeting, there were three messages on my answering machine and one on my cell phone. All were from Gerard. I sat on a chair next to the answering machine, biting my knuckle as I listened to the recordings.
“Y’know, I loved you. I still love you. I-I just…I’m sorry. You fucking left me to die bitch! Fuck you!” the first one on my cell phone said. I bit my knuckle so hard it bled a little bit. I could tell that they would only get worse from here. Gerard was obviously going on a serious roid rage when he had called. I deleted the message immediately.
“Hey, listen, I really wanna apologize for the message I left on your phone. I h-hope you hear this one before that one. If you do, just erase it as soon as you can. Don’t even l-listen to it. Shit I’m outta quarters.” the line went dead after that. He was so drunk he was hiccupping and I could barely understand hid through his slurs, but I knew it was Gerard. I wiped my leaky eyes and hit erase on the answering machine, waiting for the next one to play.
“Pick up your phone! Just pick up your fucking phone for once! I really wanna talk to you! Call me back!” Gerard shouted drunkenly through the machine. I pressed erase extra hard out of spite. I felt Milo’s hand on my shoulder and my tears started to become bigger as the last message began to play.
“Desolé, please. Just talk to me. I love you, so much. I can’t do anything without you. I’m tethered to this post you sunk in my chest. Every rainy day I’ll think of you, twisting your heel the way you do when your nervous or angry. Your knees up around my body, my face in your hair…You screamed so well, Desolé. Your smile was so loud it still rings in my ears.” was the last message. Gerard was crying as he talked and slurred and hiccupped.
Big, fat tears slid down my face in every direction. Milo kneeled next too me and hugged me tightly while I cried on his shirt. I went to press the erase button, but my hand was trembling. Milo reached over and pressed it for me. I looked up at him and blinked.
“What am I gonna do Milo? He’s not gonna stop calling me. He was so drunk. He was so high. He probably doesn’t even remember doing it.” I cried loudly, my shoulders shaking. Milo patted my hand the way the doctor’s did when they told me my sister had died.
“We’ll change our phone number. It’s not healthy for you to be worrying over him like you are. He isn’t you responsibility Des. Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this. You have your own issues we’re working. You need to focus on yourself for a while, stop living for somebody else. He made his choice; you can’t be his mother anymore.” Milo assured me, stroking my palms in a very soothing manner. I nodded and wiped my eyes.
“I’m going to go to bed. I just want to be unconscious right now.” I said tiredly. Milo nodded understandingly. I got up and toddled off to my bedroom, where I hid under the covers from all the monsters that could’ve hurt me.
I spent the next two days in bed. I was too drained and exhausted in every aspect to get up. On the third day I knew Gerard was home. I still worried about him deeply. I wanted him to be okay. I wanted him to get better. Milo never got around to changing our number, but every day those desperate calls dwindled away until there were no more. Every night I would lay awake in bed, afraid that a fucked up and drunk Gerard would appear at our condo in the middle of the night to break my heart again.
But he never did. And in the farthest back corner of my mind, I always hoped he would show up…
There is going to be one last chapter after this; the epilogue! Look out!