RETALIATE

(to get revenge)

§

 

This day has been a little too surreal for you.  You’ve just buried the only man you’ve ever really loved and cut off all ties with one of your oldest friends.  It’s too real.  Yet it doesn’t feel real at all.  At least most of the people had left Rikki’s parents’ house by now.  The constant stream of people coming up to you and CC and saying how great of a person Rikki was had gotten tiring.  You didn’t need other people to tell you what you already knew.  It is mostly immediate family and a few close friends that are around now.  And they seem to be kind enough to leave you alone.  You know they are concerned for you, concerned that you are on your fifth beer of the afternoon as you are supposed to be practicing sobriety, but none of them say anything about it.  You’re thankful for that.

 

You look over in an uninterested manner as CC sits down next to you on the couch.  His appearance is strange to you.  You can’t remember the last time you saw him in a suit.  You’re not sure that you ever have.  “Crazy day,” he offers, neither of you having much else to say.  You nod in response.  “You holding up okay?” 

 

You shrug.  “I’ll be alright.  How about you?”  This small talk is killing you.  No conversation seems even remotely appropriate right now.  And CC and yourself have always been able to think of something to say to each other.  Just another part of your life that will never be the same.  One more thing you can blame on Bret.

 

“I think I’m ready to get out of here, actually,” he responds, his knees bouncing up and down nervously.  “I’ve had about enough.”  His gaze drops to the floor.  “This seems so final.”

 

“That’s because it is,” you reply, your voice low.  “Not much we can do to change it.”

 

“I just feel like Rikki’s gonna walk through that door and start laughing his ass off at any minute.  I feel like this isn’t real.  This is the kind of shit that I’m supposed to pull, Bob.  Rikki was never supposed to do something like this.”

 

You want to tell him how right he is.  Explain in detail how if Bret hadn’t pushed him to it, Rikki would still be here.  But you don’t.  You can’t.  The band is already over and the friendships are quickly slipping away.  No need to make it any worse on CC.  You can’t imagine what he might do if he knew the whole truth.

 

“So you’re going back to LA, then?” you ask.

 

“Yeah.  Nowhere else for me to go, really.  That’s home.”

 

You expected that answer from CC but can’t say anything similar in return.  You’ve never liked LA.  And since your divorce, Florida hasn’t seemed all that inviting either.  Maybe you should just stay in Pennsylvania.  Close to Rikki’s family.  Close to Rikki’s grave.  The thought makes your stomach give a violent lurch.  You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the idea of Rikki being dead.

 

“I guess this is goodbye, then.”  You’d like to say something more comforting but can’t imagine what it should be.

 

CC stands up awkwardly and shoves his hands deep into his pockets as if he’s not sure what to do with them.  “You can call me anytime,” he suggests, forcing a smile.  For once in his life this cokehead guitar player is trying to be the responsible one.  You can see that it is a role he is clearly not comfortable with.

 

“I’ll call.  I promise.”  You’re lying.  You know that you won’t.  This stage of your life is over.  It was over the minute you saw Rikki’s lifeless body on that stretcher three days ago.  You’ve just been going through the motions since then.

 

CC looks as if he’s going to hug you but then thinks better of it.  Without saying goodbye he turns around and walks away.  You look on as he stops to speak to Rikki’s parents.  You see Lori, Rikki’s longtime friend and personal assistant, hug him.  And then you watch him leave.  That’s it.  He’s the last one.  Tears sting at your eyes but do not fall.  You’ve shed enough over the last few days to last a lifetime.  But you know there will always be more.

 

“Bobby, dear,” you look up to find Rikki’s mom staring down at you with concern.  “Will you come upstairs with me for a moment?” 

 

You nod your head and follow her mutely.  It’s not until you’re in the room that you realize where she’s taken you.  This is Rikki’s room.  Or it was.  Before all of you got the bright idea to take off to LA and become rock stars.  His parents haven’t done much to change it.  They’ve always been sentimental like that.  She takes your hand and sits you down on the bed. 

 

“I have something for you,” she explains quietly, retreating to the dresser and pulling out a brown, leather-bound notebook.  It looks like it’s been through a good amount of wear and tear.  And you wonder where you’ve seen it before.  She returns to your side and places the notebook in your lap.  “Lori gave this to me after…well…after we found out.”  It breaks your heart all over again when you see her fighting off the tears.  “It’s Rikki’s journal from this tour.”  Your stomach plummets.  “I’ve read it.  I can’t say I wasn’t shocked, dear.  But I think you need to read it as well.”

 

Your hand wraps around the book and you find yourself looking at her with nothing but pain on your face.  “I don’t know if I can.”

 

She pats your hand like the wonderful mother she’s always been.  “Take your time.  I’ll be downstairs.”  She leaves the room quietly before you can say anything to stop her.

 

For a long time you just stare at it.  This little treasure in your hands.  You’re too afraid to open it right away.  You’re not sure that you really want to know what it says inside.  Looking around the room you see various pictures of Rikki from the past twenty years.  Biting back your tears is getting progressively harder to do.  You’ve known him forever.  And now he’s gone.  And you have no idea what to do.  Where to go.  Who to look towards for help. Finally, you pull yourself back against the pillows on the small twin bed and open the journal to a random page.  With shaking hands you begin to read.

 

It happened again today.  Things are getting progressively worse and I don’t know how to stop them.  What’s scarier is that I’m not sure if I really want to.  I’ve never felt this way about anyone.  No girlfriend or groupie or fiancée has ever had me in this state.  And it’s killing me that he doesn’t seem to care.  I left with more bruises than usual.  It’s getting difficult to explain where they’ve been coming from.  The only person that doesn’t ask is Bobby.  I don’t know if he’s too afraid of me to say something or if he just doesn’t care.  I don’t know which one of those options I want to be true.  He shouldn’t care about me.  He should hate me.  But he doesn’t.  And that makes me an ass.  Just as much of an ass as Bret.  I wonder if this sick triangle I’ve gotten myself involved in will ever stop.

 

Your tears fall freely now, dripping onto the pages and leaving tiny spots of liquid.  You run one finger along a line of his messy handwriting and flip towards the front of the journal.

 

I went through with it.  I approached Bobby after the show and I just…did it.  And he didn’t stop me.  He hardly even questioned it.  I thought he would since the last time, well, he was so fucked up I doubt he even knew what was really happening.  I did, of course.  And it was good.  But I had to see what it would be like with both of us sober.

 

No one has ever let me be that in charge.  It’s endearing how much he seems to like me, though I’m not quite sure why he does.  But to know that someone feels for me even a quarter of what I feel for Bret is wonderful.  Or it was at the time.  Now I feel conflicted.  I know I hurt Bobby tonight.  And I enjoyed it.  I enjoyed taking out my frustrations on him.  I enjoyed treating him like Bret treats me.  But he didn’t deserve it.  To see those tears on his cheeks and that blood on his lip was tremendously exciting and heartbreaking all at the same time. 

 

Bobby is amazing.  I know he’s not handling his divorce well and I’m worried that his drinking is only getting worse.  He’s turned to me for help getting through this.  And this is how I’ve offered my help.  He seems to enjoy it.  I don’t know what I would do if he didn’t.  There’s nothing else I can give him. 

 

If Bret finds out about this everything will be ruined.  I love him so much…

 

You stop, unable to read any more of that entry.  Flashbacks of the first time you and Rikki were together invade your memory.  Rikki was right.  It was exciting and heartbreaking and terrifying and a whole plethora of other emotions that you can’t put your finger on right now.  You would give anything to go back.  But you know that you can’t.  You flip through a few random entries about CC and his addiction and how worried about him Rikki was.  You see a few scribbled lines about how Rikki felt lonely and separate even though he had both you and Bret to satisfy him in every way possible.  And then you find the entry that brings what little is left of your world to a crashing halt.

 

I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.  I’m not enough for Bret.  I’m not enough for Bobby.  I’m not enough for anyone.  I love them both.  Separately.  Differently.  But it’s still love.  And now they seem to have that for each other.  I don’t understand where I went wrong.  This is the worst punishment Bret could ever possibly inflict on me.  Without saying a word he’s told me that I’m worthless to him and that I don’t give Bobby even half of what he needs, what he deserves.  And I guess I knew all of this anyway.  But to see it so clearly, to see it right in front of me, it hurts.  It hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

 

I can feel it all slipping away.  Everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve with Bobby.  The way I’ve given all of myself to Bret.  It’s sliding through my fingers and I can’t catch it.  I can’t reverse the cycle.  I can’t go back.  I can’t change anything.  It’s too late.  I wonder sometimes why I even bother getting up in the morning.  No one would miss me, anyway.  Bret and Bobby have each other.  CC has his drugs.  They don’t need me.  No one needs me.  I doubt the fans would even notice I was gone.

 

I want to blame this depression building up inside of me on someone.  I want to say that it’s Bobby’s fault for betraying me.  I want to say that it’s Bret’s fault for stealing him away from me, for taking away the only real love someone has been willing to give to me in ages.  But I can’t do it.  I can’t blame them.  Not without blaming myself.  I love Bret.  But I didn’t have to give in to him.  And I certainly didn’t have to take my anger out on Bobby.  Things would be so different if I had never approached Bobby at all.  He’d be better off, that’s for sure.  I’m probably the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.  How could I do this to one of my best friends?  How could I put him through this? 

 

I don’t know how Bret sleeps at night.  I wonder if what he does to me haunts him in his dreams.  It should.  I know what I’ve done haunts me.  And the scariest thing is, life will never be how it used to.  No amount of groupies or drugs or alcohol can right the terrible wrongs that have been done.  And even if they could, it wouldn’t change anything for me.  I will be Bret’s slave until the day I die.  Even if he doesn’t want me anymore.  Even if he would rather have Bobby as his equal than me as his bitch.  Part of me almost hopes that Bret does love Bobby.  Bobby needs something like that.  And at least that way one of us would be happy.  I know it won’t be me.  It will never be me.

 

I used to think that I had everything figured out.  But when I see them together now, when I watch them sneak off to be alone, I realize that I know nothing.  I don’t even know how to function as a normal human being.  If my role isn’t to dominate Bobby and give in to Bret, then what it is?  I just don’t know.  I don’t have a purpose.  And without a purpose why should I have a life?

 

There are more entries in the journal so you know this isn’t what he wrote just before he died.  But you can’t bring yourself to read past this one.  You can’t even imagine what the next few pages contain.  More than that, you can’t believe that Rikki’s mom has actually read this.  It must have broken her heart.  Anger wells up inside you once again for all the pain that has been needlessly caused.  If only Bret had never hurt him.  Maybe you and Rikki wouldn't have ended up together, but at least it would have been better than this.  Rikki would still be here.  The band would still be together.  Everyone would be one big happy family again.  But it’s not to be.  Reality won’t allow it.  The family has been shattered.  Lives have been ruined.  And you still find yourself blaming it almost wholly on Bret.

 

Standing up from the bed and wiping your eyes, you pick up the journal and close it tightly.  You realize now that there is one thing left for you to do.  One thing left before you can walk away and attempt to never look back.  You descend the stairs in almost a run.  You’re determined to see this through.  Rikki’s mother is waiting for you at the bottom step.  Without thinking about it you hug her tightly, kissing the top of her head and wishing more than anything that you could take this pain away from her.  She’s been nothing but wonderful to all of you since you were teenagers.  She doesn’t deserve what has happened to her son.

 

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble.  “I’m just so sorry.”

 

She rubs your back soothingly and nods her head.  “It’s okay, dear.  It isn’t your fault.”  The words are slightly comforting.  But only slightly.  While 90% of you blames Bret, there’s that little nagging voice in the back of your head that reminds you of your part in all of this.  You left him.  You betrayed him.  You made him feel like he wasn’t enough for you.  And in reality he was all you had ever wanted.

 

“Can I keep this?” you question softly as you pull away from her.  “I’d like to finish reading it.”

 

“Of course you can,” she replies, a sad smile playing on her lips.  “I think most of that Rikki would have wanted you to know anyway.”

 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, heading towards the front door.

 

“Bobby?”

 

You stop and turn around.  She’s looking at you with that same concern she had earlier.  The same concern she’s had since this all happened, really.  “Yes, Peg?”  You notice quite suddenly how much her eyes look like Rikki’s.  Or how much Rikki’s looked like hers, you suppose.  Her husband, Rikki’s father, walks to her side and places a hand on her shoulder.  You swallow hard.

 

“You’re always welcome here.  No matter what.  You’ve always been welcome here.”

 

You force a smile and nod your head.  “I know.  Thank you.  For everything.”

 

“Call us when you get wherever you’re going, son,” Rikki’s dad tells you.  You’re a forty-year-old man and still he treats you like the teenaged kid that played really loud, really bad music in his basement.  You’re glad that he does.  You wish you were still that kid.

 

“I will,” you promise.  And you mean it this time. 

 

But first you have to find Bret.  He has to read this journal.  He has to see the extent of what he’s done.  And he has to realize how much Rikki would have given for him.  How much Rikki did give for him.  You walk quietly down the front lawn, to your rental car.  The tears have finally stopped.  The shaking hasn’t but you can deal with that.  You toss the journal onto the passenger side seat and start the car before pulling away and driving slowly down the rural street.  You watch the house fade away in your rearview mirror and softly whisper your very own goodbye.