"So you're really going to leave me here, huh?" I asked without turning, my voice sounding more desolate than I'd intended. Nothing except air, forest, stone, and sky. Oh, and an abandoned mental institution. Couldn't forget about that. Well, and myself—the one thing I could never escape, although I was damned good at trying. Out here though . . .
Brandon paused. "Yeah, I really am. And you're going to be good—better than ever. You know it's—"
"Yeah, I know." My mind supplied what Brandon hadn't. A second chance, a final chance, the opportunity to forge a comeback . . . high time to get my shit together. I continued to stare out the window. The beautiful simplicity of the landscape felt like a mockery of the dirty, roiling complexity inside me. Or maybe it wasn't complex at all. Maybe it was the simplest thing in the world: I was a goddamned fuck-up. I'd gone so far up my own ass that I couldn't find my way out again. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turned back to Brandon who was looking at me with concern.
I ran a hand through my hair. I needed a shower. Cringing, I asked, "Will you tell me what happened last night?"
Brandon paused. "You don't remember any of it?"
"Bits and pieces." I sagged down onto the nearest chair, massaging my temples. I still felt the remnants of the massive headache I'd woken up with thanks to the copious amount of alcohol I'd consumed the night before. And the fact that I needed a fix. "I remember Paul tossing me out." My agent, his face filled with red-hot rage as he very literally kicked me out of his house. Sprawled in the dirt, groaning, gritty saliva dripping down my chin as Brandon dragged me up.
"You fucked Sabrina in the downstairs bathroom, man. The whole party heard it."
Sabrina. Paul's beautiful, blonde trophy wife.
Nausea rolled through me. Oh shit. Fuck. I fell back on the chair, trying to grab on to the pieces of memory that flitted through my brain. Sabrina had followed me to the bathroom and propositioned me and I'd . . . Jesus, I'd taken her up on it? I had no recollection of agreeing, just the vague vision of pounding into someone against the sink as she scratched at my back and made loud mewling sounds. Before I even realized what I was doing, I reached around to my back and when I pressed lightly, I could feel the sting of the wounds she must have inflicted with her long fingernails—the proof of my disgusting actions. Vomit threatened and I swallowed it down, running my sweaty palms over my thighs. "Fuck," I murmured. "Fuck, fuck."
"Yeah, well I guess that about sums it up," Brandon agreed. "On several levels." His expression was filled with pity, and I looked away. There were a few beats of silence. "You can't keep going like this, bro. This isn't you. You can't keep living this way. You have to be the one to make the choice, though. Your life can be good again, man."
I nodded, even though I had no idea how it possibly could be. "Yeah, I know," I lied. "This is good. Man, I appreciate it." And I did. If it wasn't this, it would be celebrity rehab somewhere where paparazzi were hiding in the trees trying to get a picture of me sobbing in group therapy or some such shit. Instead, Brandon had picked me up off the ground—quite literally—and taken me home. Then in the morning, he'd shown up with coffee and Tylenol and offered me this place. As long as I promised to use it to get myself back on track. And I wanted to, I really did. I was so fucking weary of my life, of the endless parties and drinking, the desperate suck-ups, the meaningless sex, and the overly bright mornings that always arrived with shame, sickness, and depression. And so I'd packed a bag and taken him up on his offer. I knew I should look at it solely as a gift, but in reality, hiding seemed a lot more appealing than facing my numerous fuck-ups. So here I was.
Brandon came closer and grabbed my shoulder, giving me a supportive squeeze. "Before I go, I need to check your bag."
I glanced at him, narrowing my eyes slightly. But all I saw in his expression was concern and possibly some regret. He wasn't relishing playing warden. I considered telling him to go fuck himself, but the truth was I couldn't really afford to lose any more friends. I let out a breath. "Yeah, sure. Okay." I stood and grabbed my duffle bag, dropping it on the couch and stepping away as he did a search of the contents, looking for pills, I knew. He cared, but I guessed he also didn't want me overdosing in his remote lodge in the wilderness of Colorado. The media would have a field day with that. I tried to feel some sort of fear that that's exactly what would happen, but all that came over me was a distant feeling of curiosity. I wondered how long it'd take someone to find my body.
After a minute, he zipped my bag closed and pushed it away. "Take any of the bedrooms upstairs. A housekeeper was out this week. The pantry and the fridges in the kitchen and garage are stocked with about a month's worth of food. There's a full gym downstairs—use it, man. The altitude up here makes it a better workout than you'll get anywhere else. There's a Jeep in the garage, keys on the peg next to the door."
"I thought the deal was I stay holed up here for the next four weeks." Plus, he knew I wasn't supposed to drive.
"It is. You're still allowed to know where you are in the case of an emergency. You're not in jail." His gaze held mine for a moment. Yet, was implied in his expression. "If you have any questions, call me. Cell reception out here is decent. I've rarely had a problem." I just nodded. "Just lay low, man. Rest. Recuperate. Get your head clear." His eyes lingered on my face for a beat too long. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind. Right. I knew what he meant anyway. Stay hidden. Banish yourself so you can't fuck up any more than you already have. Think long and hard about why you hate your life so damn much, you stupid, ungrateful bastard. "Okay. I better go while flying conditions are still optimal." He clapped me on the shoulder and walked toward the door. A quiet click behind him and I was alone. Nausea hit me again and I sat down on the couch, pulling in deep breaths of air as I put my head between my knees. All this quiet. After a few minutes, the silence was broken momentarily by the distant sound of a bird screeching. It sounded vaguely human and caused a shiver to race down my spine.