Rock Bottom Page 9

  Makes.

  No.

  Sense.

  “Fuck this bullshit,” I growl as I find the remote on my television and snap it on. Then I flip through the channels until I find the one her dad reports the weather for.

  “News just in. Mr. Storm and Miss Storm will be pressing charges against Bill Cluck with the Channel 8 News. Mr. Cluck reportedly assaulted Miss Storm in her parking garage this morning. He and his cameraman proceeded to chase her in their van until Miss Storm lost control of her car and careened into a fence. Mr. Cluck assaulted her once more as he pulled her from her car. We’ve since discovered Mr. Cluck has doctored up video footage and has already been dismissed from Channel 8. Mr. Cluck claims he was only trying to get to the real meat of the story—the tumultuous relationship between Mr. Jennings and Miss Storm. He alleges that Mr. Jennings—”

  I angrily snap off the television. That fucker put his hands on her. I’m about to drive down to Channel 8 and look for his ass when the reality of the situation hits me. He wouldn’t have even come near her if it weren’t for me. And I’d be stupid to think that he will be the only one. After him, it will just be one after the other.

  My phone chimes and my body goes tight with tension. I swipe it open and see that Kenny has texted me.

  Kenny Mouse: We need to talk, bro.

  I’m sure it is just more bullshit that I’m the cause of. So far, I’ve fucked up Kenny’s life because he has to clean up this shit now. I’ve fucked up Dad and Dappy’s lives because reporters are trying to drag their perfect names through my mud. I’ve fucked up my bandmates’ lives so much that they’d love nothing more than to end our legacy just to get the hell away from me. But the worst of it all is that I’ve fucked up sweet, innocent Nora’s life. Before me, she was untainted.

  These people don’t need me.

  They need me to go the fuck away.

  Rubbing my palms across my face, I can’t help the self-loathing that washes over me. Life would go back to normal for every single one of these people if I weren’t around. And hell, I could kill two birds with one stone because my pain would disappear as well.

  My mind suddenly becomes clear with resolve. There’s only one thing to do.

  Sliding open my bedside table, I pull out the bottle of Vicodin. I give it a shake and know that there are plenty in there to do the job. With a sigh, I snatch up the tequila and twist open the cap. After I’ve opened the pill bottle, I tilt my head back, pop as many into my mouth that I can comfortably swallow, and chase them down with the liquor.

  What am I doing?

  I’m fixing shit. That’s what I’m doing.

  I toss back several more and swallow them as well. With one more repetition of my actions, I’ve managed to finish off the bottle.

  Lying back, I pick up my phone and replay the video.

  “Donnie…you can go *bleep* yourself.”

  My stomach churns in protest at the concoction I’ve just choked down.

  Nora, I’ve certainly fucked myself.

  The room tilts hard to the left before righting itself. I blink several times, wondering just how long this will take. My limbs are quickly feeling numb and my stomach continues to roil. I shudder once before a sheen of sweat moistens my skin. This sweat is cold and feels wrong.

  My phone beeps, so I slide my hand under it, bringing it into my line of vision.

  Ry-Bear: Donnie, we love you.

  I feel like crying like a baby when I see that there’s a video attached. I won’t fucking looking at it.

  But my heart aches and I want to reward myself one little bit of happiness before it’s all eternally robbed from me. My finger pushes play as I close my eyes.

  “Uncle Donnie, Mommy said I couldn’t have the new Ninja Turtle video game, but I told her we could ask you. She said you had better things to spend your money on like drums and cars. But I told her we could ask you to get it for me for Christmas. Jett doesn’t need any toys, so you can use his money on me. Right, Jett?” Jacob says in his cute little chipmunk voice.

  “D-d-d-d-da,” Jett babbles in baby talk.

  They melt my fucking heart.

  Jacob and Jett. My little J-Bear buddies. Fuck, I’ll miss those little guys.

  The room tilts again—this time to the right. Holy hell, I’m losing my grip. Another chime indicates that they’ve sent another text. When I blink away the darkness to see it, I wince when I realize that it’s another video.

  “When can we see you, Uncle Donnie? Grandma helped me paint something for you and Uncle Bobby for Christmas. I’ll give it to you early. Just don’t tell Grandma. She said I’m supposed to be learning patience. Jett doesn’t have patience. He screams when he’s hungry. I’m just excited to give it to you. I painted it yellow. Yellow reminds me of you because the sun is yellow. The sun is always happy and would smile if it could. You always smile, Uncle Donnie. You’re my sunshine.”

  When he starts singing “You Are My Sunshine,” I feel my heart nearly explode.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  What have I done?

  I don’t want this. I want to be that little boy’s sunshine. I want to be Nora’s whole world. This is so fucking wrong.

  My stomach clenches in pain and the room spins again. I begin panting—my breaths are ragged. Nausea overwhelms me for a moment, but I choke back the bile.

  I can fix this.

  Donnie.

  Always.

  Wins.

  I focus and carefully type back a response.

  Me: I’ll get you that video game, J-Bear. I might even have enough money to get your brother something too. I love you guys and I love yellow. I’ll see you soon, buddy.

  With every blink, my mind loses its clarity. Slowly, I punch out three numbers.

  Nine.

  One.

  One.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a calm, female voice answers.

  I can fix this.

  “I n-need to speak to N-n-ora,” I sputter out and close my eyes to ignore the now wildly spiraling room.

  “Sir, can you tell me what’s wrong? Did something happen to you?”

  I try to take a deep breath, but my lungs feel weak. “I t-took probably t-twenty-five Vicodin. P-please let me talk to N-Nora S-S-Storm. Th-this is Donnie J-Jennings.”

  I’m not sure for how long I doze off, but I awake to the sounds of her.

  My lady.

  My Nora Storm.

  “Donnie, wake up!” she screams into the phone. I can hear her sobbing on the other line and I’m confused as to why she’s crying.

  “N-N-Norrrrra,” I groan.

  “Can you turn onto your side, baby? Responders are on their way. I need you to make sure you’re on your side, okay?”

  My body feels fucking heavy as shit. I don’t think I can move, but I try anyway. For her.

  My lady.

  I groan but manage to roll over to my side, pinning my phone underneath my face. “L-lady, I did it.”

  Her heavy sigh of relief sends a thrill through my body. I just want to please her. Blackness pools around my vision and I try to blink it away. The darkness is winning. I thought I’d found sunshine just in time, but all I got was more fucking gloom.

  “Donnie!” she shouts into the phone, once again snapping me awake.

  All I can do is grunt. I want to say words to her, but none come out. Just garbled noises. I sound like a fucking idiot. The last she’ll remember of me is of me being a pathetic piece of shit.

  “Donnie, don’t you dare give up on me. I don’t know what possessed you to do this, but when I see you again, we’ll figure it out. Do you understand that? I. Am. Here. For. You. End of story. It doesn’t matter what pushed you to this point. Together, we’ll fix it. Let me be there for you. I want to be there for you.”

  Her voice is musical and I can’t get enough of it. Unfortunately it fades, becoming softer and softer with each passing second.

  �
�S-s-sing. L-loud,” I manage in a barely there whisper.

  She doesn’t say another word. She doesn’t argue. What she does without hesitation is perfect. She sings. Loud.

  Beautiful, strong words belt from her. She sings without shame. Without embarrassment. The normally gravelly lyrics from Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” have magically been transformed into powerful, angelic music that penetrates every inch of my body. Every single hair stands on end as she sings to me. Only to me.

  Her words remind me that this is a wonderful world.

  Little chipmunk boys like Jacob, Jett, and Sutton bring joy, not heartache.

  Tough, unrelenting females like Nora. Nora fucking Storm. Women like her make this world go round.

  She sings about skies of blue and clouds of white. But all I can see is my motherfucking sunshine.

  My lady.

  J-Bear was right. Yellow is the best fucking color. But my sweet sunshine doesn’t have yellow hair. No, melted-chocolate-colored hair frames that innocent yet fierce face of hers. She’s the sort of woman you want on your side, certainly not against you. And as she sings the lyrics that twist their way deep into my soul, I know she’s one hundred percent on my side.

  There’s just one problem.

  It’s all too fucking late.

  Storm clouds are a brewing.

  No matter how fiercely my sunny little lady keeps singing for me, her sweet voice just keeps getting sucked into the windy voids of my mind. The darkness rushes in hard and fast. I try to focus on her. My light in this dark world.

  But she is gone.

  And.

  So.

  Am.

  I.

  “I want you to now play ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ in the key of C,” I instruct.

  Daphney looks up from the piano and frowns. “Why, Do-Do? Why are you making me do this? My piano lessons aren’t until Thursday.”

  “Do you want to be Crappy Dappy forever? You’ll never get by on just your looks. You need a talent to fall back on,” I tease.

  She glares at me and I laugh at her. My sister is already turning heads and she’s only twelve. I’ve already kicked Gary’s ass for telling me that he’d hit that. Over my dead body.

  I pull my drumsticks from my back pocket and tap out the song on the top of the piano. Mother would have a hissy fit if she saw me whacking her precious baby grand. With each small dent, my smile of satisfaction grows. Last time when she demanded how the dents got there, I told her that rats were notorious for destroying piano wood with their diseased little claws. I’m pretty sure she called every exterminator in the state of Nevada.

  “Remember, you’ll be using E, D, C, and G. Your right hand will start with the third finger on E.”

  I watch as she effortlessly makes her way through the song. When she finishes, I slide my drumstick into her slicked-back ponytail and tug. One small section bubbles up and she goes batshit crazy just like I knew she would. Her hair is always so perfect, and I love messing it up every chance I get.

  “One day, I’ll be bigger than you and I’ll carve ‘I love boys’ into your forehead with one of Daddy’s scalpels,” she threatens.

  I laugh and bear-hug her from behind. She fights to wriggle free, but I always have been and always will be stronger than she is. “Dappy, you’ll never be bigger than I am. And even if for some reason you turned into an Amazon woman overnight, I’d still be smarter than you. Face it, Crappy Dappy. I’ll always win. Donnie always wins!”

  A sting on my cheek pulls me from my memory. Bright light prevents me from opening my eyes all the way. Another sharp pain bursts across my cheek.

  What the fuck?

  I try to speak, but I realize that I have a tube in my throat. I’m not sure why and I can’t fucking open my eyes to be for certain.

  Another slap—these are most definitely slaps—lashes out across my cheek and I finally manage a garbled groan.

  “Open your eyes, Do-Do.”

  Daphney.

  I barely crack open one eye and find that I am face to face with my sweet sister—well, normally sweet. At the moment, that’s debatable. Still, my heart fucking explodes with delight. I haven’t seen her since last Christmas. Sure, we text here and there or message each other through Facebook, but I haven’t hugged her neck in almost a year. A grin tries to spread across my face, but she wipes it right off when she slaps me again.

  “You.”

  Slap.

  “Are.”

  Slap.

  “So.”

  Slap.

  “Dead.”

  My eyes are now wide open as I watch her continue to slap the shit out of me. When she goes to hit me another time, I raise a heavy hand to stop her. Her eyes are wild with fury. I’ve never seen my sister so fucking pissed, though I’ve done plenty of stupid shit to antagonize her in my life.

  The pills. The overdose. Fuck.

  “Nurse, remove the intubation tube. This fellow has some explaining to do,” Dr. Crappy Dappy orders.

  Another nurse comes in to assist as my sister storms off. After they’ve taken care of me and helped me sip on some water, a much calmer Daphney enters the room. They wisely leave us alone.

  “Dappy,” I greet hoarsely.

  Her hands are on her hips and she’s glaring at me. My sister wears the white lab coat with pride. I know she’s a badass ER doctor—but why’d she have to be MY doctor today?

  “Why?” she hisses. She’s still angry but tears are quickly filling her eyes.

  “Come here,” I say softly and reach out to her.

  Her lip quivers but she rushes over to me without hesitation. She nearly knocks the breath out of me when she throws herself onto my weak body.

  “Why, Donnie? Why didn’t you call me?” she demands as her tears soak the hospital gown I’m wearing.

  My own tears blur my vision. How could I have been so selfish?

  “I’m sorry.” There’s not a trace of humor in my voice.

  She pulls away to look down at me. “I don’t understand how things got so bad, Do-Do. You’re always so happy. It doesn’t make sense.”

  I chuckle darkly. “Am I, Daphney? Happy? I think I even had myself fooled for a while there.”

  She narrows her eyes and goes immediately into doctor mode. “I’m such a fool. How could I have not realized the signs?”

  I frown and look down at the name tag on her coat. “You’d have had to have been around to have seen those signs.”

  Tears roll down her cheeks. “Donnie, I’m so sorry. We’ll get you the help you need. I can assure you.”

  I bring a palm to her cheek and stroke it lovingly, swiping away the moisture. “Just don’t forget about your ol’ big bro. I missed you, kiddo. While slipping under, I had an epiphany. That epiphany was that I want to live. I may have been going through a sad time, but there is still so much to be here on this Earth for—so many things that can still make me happy.”

  She frowns and her bottom lip pokes out. I know the look—she doesn’t believe me. I slide my hand back into her hair and tug a section from that constant, perfect ponytail. Her eyes roll so hard that I’m afraid they might fall out of her head.

  “I still have a whole lifetime of doing that.” I grin as she sits up to immediately smooth her ponytail back in place.

  “All jokes aside, Donnie,” she tells me firmly.

  “All jokes aside, I do have another reason that helped bring light to things.”

  She arches a blond eyebrow at me. “Is that reason named Nora Storm?”

  Just hearing her name makes me smile. “Daph, you will love her. She’s beautiful, smart, funny—”

  Her lip curls in disgust. “And a total bitch.”

  I raise my eyebrows in confusion. “Nora? Hell no. She’s my sweet little ray of sunshine.”

  She laughs harshly. “No, Do-Do. She yelled at me in front of all of my staff. Accused me of not being there for you. I didn’t have time to listen to her berate me because I was to
o busy trying to pump your goddamned stomach. Security had to forcefully remove her from the premises. She’s crazy, D!”

  An image of a fierce, protective hurricane of a woman makes the corners of my lips curl up. “She’s special, Daph. You’ll see.”

  She rolls her eyes again. “Oh yeah. Real special. Now, I want you to rest up. We’re going to get you well so you can get out of here tomorrow. The hospital is a freaking zoo with all the people down there who are here to see you. They all claim to be your friends. Bobby and Chaz are there. Mom and Dad have tried to get in here too. And some guy named Kenny has been pissing me right the hell off with his incessant questioning. Then of course there was Nora the crazy lady. And finally, about a million reporters. I may not be your attending physician but I’m not allowing anyone in until you’ve had a full psych evaluation. I also don’t want you getting too overwhelmed. Things are going to get better, Do-Do. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Asked to leave the premises my ass. More like manhandled by two old men in security uniforms and none too politely shoved out into the hospital parking garage. Assholes. If they hadn’t been glaring at me until I stepped into the cab and drove off, I’d have tried to sneak back in.

  Now, I’m in my dressing room at the club, getting ready for my show. It’s the first shift back since Donnie pulled me off stage and this whole media fiasco began.

  “You’re on in five, babe,” Lola says breathily when she rushes into the room. She’s normally a fairly calm person, but each night during her ‘performances,’ she runs around like she’s a director on Broadway.

  We both eye each other’s appearances for different reasons. I know she’s making sure my black corset is buttoned and tied correctly. Her eyes go through the mental checklist as she peruses my body, looking for hair out of place, smudged makeup, or runs in my hosiery.

  I’m gawking at her tonight because her outfit is pretty damn showstopping. A woman with boobs as big as watermelons should not be wearing such a tight, low-cut blouse. ‘Spill’ is not the correct word. Her melons are more like exploding out the top of her black shirt. Her normally long, straight, platinum-blond hair is curled all over the place. Dark-red lipstick paints those still very swollen lips. My eyes skitter down her black pleather pants. I’m pretty sure she had to have been sewn into those things.