COMMISERATE

(to feel or express sympathy)

§

 

A dull ache in your neck that just won’t go away is what wakes you.  You figure it’s because you slept on the couch in the back lounge of your bus all night.  What you can’t figure out is why.  And then you remember how Bret had come to you.  Pissed off and hopped up on coke.  Spewing out some bullshit about an argument he’d had with Rikki.  You raise your head a bit but Bret is nowhere to be found.  That’s okay with you.  He’s never really been a morning person.

           

Rolling off of the sticky leather, you stand up and stretch, trying to work out the kinks in your neck.  You rub at your eyes with the back of your hands and think that a nice stiff drink would wake you up.  But you’re not supposed to drink anymore.  Rikki doesn’t like it when you do.  Of course, there isn’t much Rikki does like these days.  You push that thought aside and head to the small bathroom on the bus.  It’s far too early to be thinking about shit like that.

 

Once inside the bathroom you relieve yourself and splash a fair amount of ice-cold water on your face.  Then you look up into the mirror.  The person you see there is almost a stranger.  There are dark circles under your eyes and a slight bruise on your left cheek.  So much has happened in the past few weeks that you aren’t even sure what caused that bruise.  All of the marks Rikki leaves on you have begun to blur together.  But you’ve still done nothing to stop it.  You doubt you ever will.  You love him too much to be without him.

 

You exit the cramped space at the exact time that CC is rolling from his bunk.  He looks extremely hung over and much older than he actually is.  Part of you feels almost sorry for him.  But now is not the time to lecture him on his bad habits.  How much of a hypocrite would that make you, anyway?  You nod good morning and walk past him into the kitchen, pulling a can of orange juice from the small refrigerator.  Again you find yourself wishing for Vodka to mix with it.  Sighing, you pop open the can and take a long drink.  Just then there is a commotion outside of the bus.  Only mildly interested, you look out the side window and see Bret banging on the door.  Just past him is Big John, Rikki’s security guard, looking concerned.  You figure Bret and Rikki have gotten into another fight so you make your way slowly to the driving column on the bus and hit the button that opens the door.

 

Bret climbs the steps of the bus slowly, suddenly seeming not so intent on whatever he came here for.  You kind of wish he would go away.  You don’t like being in the middle of the things that happen with him and Rikki.  You enjoy Bret, yes.  But you’re not interested in being just another toy whenever he needs you.  That’s what you do for Rikki.  And that’s only because you love him.  Bret doesn’t have that luxury with you.  You get some say in what goes on.

 

“Morning,” you say, your voice hoarse with sleep.  “I’m surprised you’re up so early.”  You turn away from him and take another swig of your orange juice, scratching your stomach idly.  “You want some juice?” you offer.  “You look a little gray.  Have you checked your sugar?”

 

“Bobby.”

 

You turn back to him, the desperation in his voice catching you off guard.  Only then do you realize that he’s shaking.  Concern hits you dead on.  He definitely needs something with sugar in it.  “Sit down,” you tell him, pointing towards the bench that masquerades as a couch.  “I’ll get you some juice.”

 

“I don’t need any fucking juice,” he seethes, unmoving.  “I have to talk to you.”

 

CC walks out of the bathroom then, looking no better than when he went in.  “What’s going on, guys?” he asks, pulling at his bleached hair.  You’re surprised he’s coherent enough to stand up.

 

“Fuck,” Bret says, finally sitting down.  He hangs his head, his long hair falling in front of his face.  Somewhere not too far off you think you hear an ambulance.  Your stomach sinks.

 

“Bret, what’s wrong?”  Your mind scans over the people that could be hurt.  Janna?  Lori?  Smoothie?

 

“I don’t,” he begins but stops quickly, shaking his head.  You still can’t see his face.  “I don’t even know how the fuck to say this to you.”  He finally looks up.  But not at you.  He seems to be looking right through you.  Right over your shoulder and into CC’s eyes.  Something must be really wrong.  Bret never acts like this.

 

“What?” CC asks, sounding like a twisted version of Joe Pesci and Jerry Lewis.  “What is it?”

 

The ambulance sounds closer now.  Your jaw clenches.  You look up and see it pulling into the relatively empty parking lot.  Breathing becomes difficult.

 

“It’s Rikki.  He…there’s been…” A single tear rolls down Bret’s cheek and now you know that something terrible has happened.  And you know you don’t want to know what it is.  You want him to stop talking.  To get up and leave the bus and pretend like none of this ever happened.  But he doesn’t.  Instead he looks right at CC and says that Rikki is dead.  That Rikki killed himself.  And you don’t believe him.  You can’t believe him.  Because if you do that means your entire world is over.  Ended.  You will have nothing left to live for.  “…He slit his wrists.  Smoothie found him this morning in the back lounge of our bus.”  Why won’t he stop talking?  Doesn’t he understand that this isn’t funny?  You don’t care that the ambulance has now pulled to a stop next to Rikki and Bret’s bus.  You don’t care that you see paramedics rushing around.  And you don’t care that Bret is crying.  You know this has to be a joke.  Or a nightmare.  Or something.  Anything but the truth.

 

“Somebody fucking say something!” Bret shouts, biting at the knuckles on his left hand and rocking back and forth just slightly.  The only sound after his outburst is CC hitting the wall of the tour bus with a dull thud.  When he pulls his hand away there is blood dripping down it.  He stares at his hand as if he is amazed to see that he has any blood left in him.  You know you should probably say something comforting or logical but logic no longer exists and you’re certain that comfort isn’t possible any more.  CC pushes past you and leaves the bus.  Bret stands up to follow him but quickly sits back down.  There’s nothing that he can do, either.  There’s nothing that anyone can do.

 

Your world is spiraling quickly out of control and you don’t know how to stop it.  Don’t think that you can stop it.  Having nothing else to do, you throw the orange juice you’ve been holding across the bus.  It hits the windshield and the yellow-orange liquid splatters everywhere.  But in your eyes it looks red.  It looks like what you imagine Rikki’s blood must have looked like spilled all over the floor of that back lounge.  You can’t handle this.  Your stomach lurches and you run back into the bathroom with your hand over your mouth.  You empty your stomach and begin to sob all at the same time.

 

Bret is next to you on his knees, rubbing your back and crying with you.  But you want him to stop touching you.  To stop sympathizing with you.  Because this is his fault.  All his fault.  There’s no other explanation for it.  You don’t know what they fought about last night but it must have been bad.  And, yes, it must have been Bret’s fault.  Because you need someone to blame this on and you can’t fathom blaming Rikki.  “Stop,” you tell him, trying to regain control.  When he doesn’t remove his hand you shrug him off and stand back up, still crying but at least the vomiting is done.  You hope.  “I said stop.” 

 

“Bobby, I’m sorry,” he offers lamely, his voice breaking.  “I didn’t think…”

 

“Shut up!” you nearly scream, walking back to the front of the bus.  Why won’t he leave you alone?  You look out the window and are faced with the worst image you think you’ve ever seen.  The paramedics are loading the stretcher back onto the ambulance.  All you see is a white sheet but you know what is underneath it.  No, not what.  Who. 

 

And all at once everything snaps.  You find yourself running off of the bus and towards the ambulance.  You don’t care who sees you.  You don’t care who knows.  But they can’t take him away from you.  Bret is right behind you but you block him out.  Big John steps in front of you but you push him out of the way.  The paramedic at the end of the stretcher is your next victim.  You grab him by the waist and virtually toss him aside.  He lands roughly on the pavement but you don’t notice.  You don’t notice anything.  Not even the fact that you are screaming.  Your hands grip the steel bar on the side of the stretcher and you feel Smoothie trying to pull you away.  But nothing in the world is strong enough to do that now.  If they’re taking Rikki you have to go with him.  Because you can’t function on your own.  He has to be a part of your life.  You can honestly no longer remember a time when he wasn’t.

 

“Bobby, come on, let it go,” you hear Smoothie say to you and are amazed at how he can be so calm.  Doesn’t he realize what’s happening here?  Doesn’t he see it?  They’re taking Rikki.  You can’t let them take Rikki.  Your right hand holds so tightly to the stretcher that your knuckles turn white.  And your left hand moves up slowly to pull back the sheet.  Everyone yells at you to stop but you don’t listen.  It doesn’t matter anymore.  You have to see him.  But you aren’t prepared for it.  He’s so pale.  So sickeningly pale.  And you realize then that this will be the last time you ever see him.  Ever.  You let go of the stretcher and fall to your knees, sobbing so hard that you don’t think the tears will ever stop.  But why should they?  Happiness will never have a place in your world ever again.

 

You feel yourself being lifted from the ground and vaguely notice that it’s Big John who has you in his arms.  You want to be a man about this and tell him to put you down but you can’t.  Words don’t come and you’re sure that walking would be impossible anyway.  So you let him carry you back to the bus.  You let him put you down on the front couch.  You let him reassure you that everything will be fine.  But you don’t comprehend any of it.  You wonder if this is what going insane feels like.  Or if maybe you’re just going into shock. 

 

“I’ll stay with him,” you hear Bret say but you don’t look up.  Can’t look up.  You don’t want to see him.  The man that killed Rikki.  With that thought you begin to sob again.  You cover your face with your hands and beg any deity that will listen to just let you die.  You feel Bret sit down next to you and hate that you can do nothing about it.  He puts his arm around you and pulls you towards him.

 

“This is your fault,” you tell him plainly through your tears, still refusing to look at him.  His arm goes slack and it drops back to his side.

 

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he replies quietly.  You’re glad that you’ve hurt him.  You want him to hurt.  For once in your life you actually want to inflict the kind of pain that you feel upon someone else.  And Bret is that someone else.  “I never thought he’d…it was just a little fight…Bobby, I didn’t know…” his voice trails off and you hear him whimper.

 

“What did you fight about?” you ask, staring at the floor.  Your tears are present but silent now.

 

“He saw us together last night.”  Your stomach lurches again.  Jesus Christ, this is partially your fault.  Why couldn’t you just have been satisfied with what Rikki gave you?  You loved him so much.  Why did you have to go elsewhere?  “He said he didn’t like it.”

 

“Of course he didn’t like it,” you bark.  “He loved you, Bret.  And I completely fucked him over.  I took all of his shit.  I let him do anything he wanted to me.  I loved him so much that I let him hurt me.  And it still wasn’t enough to save him from you.  You god damn bastard.”  You’re quickly losing control again so you decide to stop talking.  You clench and unclench your jaw and dig your nails into the palms of your hands.

 

“What do you mean you let him hurt you?”

 

You glance at Bret and see the confusion in his sad eyes.  He didn’t know.  Rikki had never told him.  And this was the worst time possible to inform him.  But you’d said it now.  You had to keep going.  Shaking your head you look away.  “I love…loved him so much.  I loved him in a way that you can’t possibly understand.”  Your voice cracks and the tears fall from your eyes again but you continue.  “I let him do things to me that I would have killed anyone else for even attempting.  All because I wanted to please him.  I wanted to make him happy, Bret.  I wanted him to love me as much as he loved you.  And it never happened.”

 

Bret laughs sadly and the sound makes you want to strangle him.  There’s nothing funny about what you’ve just told him.  “This really is fucked,” he chuckles.  “You’re telling me that you were Rikki’s bitch?”

 

The word makes you flinch.  “Fuck off, Bret.  You couldn’t possibly understand.”  You stand up defensively.  “You have no concept of that kind of love.”

 

“I think you might be wrong about that.”  He sounds dejected.  He bites his thumb in an attempt to distract himself from the current situation.  “I had that kind of love.  And I took advantage of it.  And now he’s dead.  And you’re right, it’s my fault.”

 

Your entire body goes rigid.  What is he talking about?  You know that Rikki loved Bret.  But he can’t possibly be insinuating that…no…you don’t even want to think about it.  But it would explain so much.  It would be the answer to that question you never asked.  Why Rikki liked to give pain.  If he was used to receiving it, if he thought that the only way to show love was to… “You goddamn son of a bitch!” you find yourself shouting as you grab Bret and pull him to his feet.  “How could you?”  You shake him fiercely and are more than a little upset when he doesn’t fight back.  At least not how you want him to.

 

“He wanted it,” he offers lamely.  “Just like you did.”

 

“You hurt him!” you continue, still holding him tightly in your grasp.  “How could you fucking do that?  He loved you so much and that’s all you could give him in return?  And then…fuck you, Bret…just fuck you!  You knew how fucking much he loved you and you still went after me!  How could you be okay with that?  How can you fucking live with this?  Rikki didn’t kill himself, Bret.  You did!”

 

“Fuck you!” Bret shouts in return and you are surprised but almost pleased when the punch he swings connects with your cheek.  You deserve it.  You deserve even more.  “You cheated on him, too.  Don’t act like you’re blameless.  You could have told me no.”

 

You swing back and hit him full force, knocking him to the ground.  Part of you is fighting because you’re angry with Bret.  The other part is so caught up in self-loathing that it doesn’t matter.  You pounce on him, using your fists to take out every emotion that has bottled up inside of you and he does the same.  Neither of you connect that often, but the mere act of this fight is what you both need. 

 

“He never would have hurt me if it weren’t for you.  We could have been normal.  He could have loved me!  You ruined everything.  You and your ego always fucking ruin everything.”  You groan as he elbows you in the stomach.  You feel blood spilling from your nose but you can see that his lip is bleeding and he has a cut above his left eyebrow.  That is satisfying.

 

“I loved him!” he cries out, blocking a punch from you.  “He was my best friend.  I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

“You don’t love anyone but yourself,” you shoot back, flipping the both of you over and pinning him to the ground, his arms underneath you.  You lean down just inches from his face and almost growl.  “The only person you have ever cared about is Bret-fucking-Michaels.  As long as you’re getting what you want, you’re happy.  You got your band and your fans and your fame and your fortune.  You got Rikki and you even fucking got me.  But it’s over now.  Rikki’s blood is on your hands, Bret.  I didn’t think it was possible for one person to screw up the lives of so many people.  But you’ve done it.  With one little action you’ve completely wiped out all of our lives.  Poison is over.  Rikki is dead.  The fans will hate you.  And I hate you.” 

 

You stand up then, wiping blood from you face.  You turn around and head for the door of the bus.  You can’t be there any longer.  You can’t be around Bret.

 

“Bobby, please,” he reaches out to you, his voice cracking and his demeanor broken.

 

You stop only briefly.  “No, Bret.  Please nothing.  If I ever see you again I swear that I will fucking kill you.  You have ruined my life.  I wish I’d never met you.”  You turn around again and walk off the bus.  Smoothie is standing there, clearly concerned.

 

“Where are you going, Bob?”

 

You shrug and continue walking.  “Anywhere but here.  Home.  I don’t know.”

 

“You’re at least a thousand miles from home,” he says, ever the practical one.  “You gonna walk there?”

 

“Just let me go, alright?  I can take care of myself.”  You turn to look at him sadly.  “Goodbye,” you whisper.  And it’s the most finalized word that has ever come out of your mouth.  You’re saying goodbye to more than just a security guard.  You’re saying goodbye to everything you have ever known.  You’re saying goodbye to your dream.  It’s over.  Everything is over.