Like You to Me

Mike still hadn’t returned my calls and my mind was consumed with the idea that somehow, somewhere along the line, I’d missed my chance.

I figured it was the night we first had sex. Maybe if I’d handled it differently it wouldn’t have gotten so ugly. Maybe the way I acted forced him to see me in a new light -- one that made him realize how unworthy of him I was. I never deserved to have him as a friend. There was nothing about me that was worthy of anything. The clothing line, the success, the friends...I didn’t deserve any of it because I was a horrible person. I didn’t appreciate anything I had. I used my clothes merely as a means to make money. My heart was never in it because my mother ripped it out and took it with her the day she left my brother and I. It was likely that my friends only stuck around because they didn’t have much of a choice. Adele worked for me and my brother’s bandmates (if I could even consider them friends) had to deal with me on tour.

Coming to this realization set something off inside of me. Putting a finger on exactly what it was proved to be quite difficult. I didn’t want to think about it. Even though I didn’t deserve my success, I refused to think of myself as a failure. That’d mean my mother won. That’d mean she was right about everything all along. She was right that Vince’s children were better than Saxon and I at everything. Kelly was always going to be more important than I was. Even if I made a million dollars and Kelly dropped out of college and became a stripper, or a drug dealer, or a prostitute, she’d always be perfect while I was irrelevant. Most of the things I chose to be were debatable, but I wasn’t going to be a failure forever.

I hated going through each day knowing what I knew. Mike was off galavanting around San Diego with his new girl while I woke up in a different city but always felt the same as I did the night before. The depression (and that’s exactly what it was, because you can’t expect to be exploding with happiness over the person you’re in love with being with someone who isn’t you) weighed hundreds of pounds as it sat on my shoulders. It felt like I was twelve years old again, watching the person I loved leave me as if I didn’t mean anything, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop them. I’d forever live my life in second place because I wasn’t good enough to be first. Someone else was always going to be better. They were always going to be smarter, prettier, more successful. They weren’t going to be me, and maybe that’s what pushed everyone away.

I didn’t know how to change myself. Starting with my appearance would be the easiest but I wasn’t going to do that until I got home. My brother would know something was going on and I didn’t want to tell him. Part of me wanted to keep the news secret because I still felt some obligation to defend Mike. Saxon would tell me he wasn’t worth it, that he was a(n) insert name here for doing what he did and not telling me. But it wasn’t like he needed my permission to date girls; it wasn’t like he knew how I felt about him. Part of me thought he’d be smart enough to figure it out, though. I ran back to him time after time, giving him all I had to give in the most intimate of ways. Then again, sex didn’t mean the same thing to him as it did to me.

Phoenix. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, I knew Saxon and I were thinking the same thing. We could’ve called our mother and asked her to stay at Vince’s for the night but that felt too personal, too much like we hadn’t spent the last eleven or so years hating her for coming here.

“Let’s just keep our minds off of it, alright?” he said to me as he helped me get my suitcase up the stairwell.

“It’s kind of hard to do that when she’s twenty minutes away.”

We reached the landing of our floor and ventured down the hallway in search of our room. The rest of the band knew how much we hated Phoenix and the rest of Arizona and never said a word when Saxon and I rented a room for just the two of us. Out on the road, we were all each other had. I couldn’t imagine going to Arizona without him by my side. As bad as he was with words, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. Other than Mike, he was the only person I could trust. He was my best friend. Never, in a million years and for any reason, would he turn his back on me and leave without another word, and that’s more than I could say for a certain Michael Fuentes.

Once we were in the room, I began digging through my bag for whatever clean clothes I had available. Zach, Luke, and Darby were planning on walking around the city since we arrived earlier than expected. It was nearing four-o’clock and the show wasn’t until the following night, giving us all ample time to relax and gather ourselves. All I wanted to do was sleep. It was the only time I could escape the thoughts that haunted me every second I was awake. All I could see was Mike holding another girl’s hand and kissing her the way he kissed me; Vic showing up at this girl’s doorstep in the middle of the night because he didn’t know where his brother was; Tony and Jaime thinking of this girl as the fifth member of the band because she was around so much, exactly how they thought of me. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t bring myself to cry over Mike anymore than I already had. Even though I felt empty, I still had some dignity left.

“Do you want anything from the vending machine?” Saxon asked me as he pulled a wad of one-dollar bills from his back pocket. He began counting them, pulling a face when he realized he only had six.

“Yeah, if they have Jack.”

He laughed softly. “You’re not turning into Whiskeyhands, are you?”

The comment was innocent. He didn’t know. But I felt that familiar lump in my throat and I felt the burning behind my eyes before I could stop it from happening. Tears poured down my cheeks while Saxon just stared. It took him roughly ten seconds to pick me up off the bed, where I’d been sitting, and just hug me. Sometimes that’s all it took to calm me down but this was different. Losing Mike wasn’t something I could fix. I couldn’t just waltz in and demand he leave his girlfriend for me. Even if he was willing to do that, I wasn’t willing to ask him. I never went after what I wanted, I just hoped it’d come to me first.

“You’re going to be fine, okay? You’re going to be just fine. Forget Mike, forget Mom, just worry about yourself, and your happiness.”

I nodded because that’s all I could do. Words weren’t coming and I wasn’t in the mood to force conversation. As soon as he was convinced I was okay on my own, he left to a destination unknown to me. That was fine, though. When I cried I preferred to be by myself. Crying showed weakness and I needed to be strong for my brother, for both of our sake. Saxon was my baby brother and I’d do anything I had to in order to protect him.

There wasn’t a damn thing on television except for talk shows and Divorce Court. Paternity tests, while interesting and/or entertaining, weren’t high on my “most watched” list. For the most part, they made me really pissed off that I lived in such a society. Seeing a sixteen-year-old girl not know who the father of her child was literally made me sick to my stomach. I was too depressed to even look at boys at that age. Seven years later, it didn’t seem like much had really changed.

I was beginning to doze off when I heard the door click open. Saxon appeared at the end of my bed (the one closest to the bathroom again) with two paper bags. The way they clanged together put a sheepish grin on my face. Just like I’d do anything to protect him, he’d do anything to make me happy.

“I went a little overboard at the liquor store so I hope you don’t mind getting alcohol poisoning,” he explained. He began pulling out the contents of the bags and lining them up on the dresser: two bottles of Jack Daniels, a six-pack of Sam Adams, two cans of Four Loko, one bottle of Popov vodka, and another bottle of Captain Morgan. After all the alcohol was lined up, he pulled out the two-liter of Coca-Cola. “I doubt it’ll be enough, but if we run out we can just get bottles from the vending machine.”

I nodded and made my way over to the dresser. “Where are the cups?”

Saxon muttered a fuck! before turning on his heel and leaving the room again. Just looking at the Jack Daniels was making me feel antsy. After everything I’d gone through in the last couple of days, I needed a drink more than I’d realized. Rarely did I feel the need to get trashed but reality wasn’t doing me any favors and I just wanted to escape. When I took the first gulp, I felt the wave of relief wash over me. I was on my way to forgetting, even if it was only for one night.

When my brother returned, I was nearly finished the bottle. Drinking it straight was my preferred method. Ironically enough, I’d picked up the habit from Mike. Before he took me under his wing, I was a pansy when it came to alcohol. I scrunched up my nose at the taste of most of it and wouldn’t drink anything that tasted worse than wine. As you can probably imagine, my “pussy drinks” didn’t bode well with Mike and his gang. They had me taking shots of straight vodka and drinking whiskey and rum from the bottle in only a few weeks’ time.

“Why did you ask me for cups if you’re just going to drink from the bottle?”

I started giggling. For the most part, I was a happy drunk. I liked to over-exaggerate stories and make friends with people who were just as drunk as I was. “You need cups to look sophisticated, Saxon.”

“Well, excuse me for not getting the memo, Shea.”

In a faux-disappointed manner, I shook my head and reached for the second bottle of whiskey. Even though I’d began drinking to escape the thoughts of Mike, all I could think about was how proud he’d be of me for downing an entire bottle in only twenty minutes. Once I began working on the second bottle, however, everything about him became fuzzy. I just kept drinking until he was nothing but a blur.

Saxon wasn’t anywhere near sober, either. After packing away all the beer, one of the cans of Four Loko, and a quarter of the vodka, he locked himself in the bathroom, probably with his head hanging over the toilet. In his absence, I somehow came to the conclusion that calling Mike would be a good idea. Of all the times I called and got no response, I never bothered to leave a voicemail. Something about his refusal to accept my calls rubbed me the wrong way and I hung up before his answering machine finished talking. It was the only time I’d heard his voice in days.

I pressed the ‘send’ button and heard the familiar five rings before his voicemail kicked in. Sitting through the message, I tried to think of what I was going to say. It wasn’t the content as much as the execution. When drunk, my speech was the first to go. I was positive I was going to slur my way through whatever I chose to say but maybe it’d leave a big enough impression on him that he’d decide to call me back.

“I’m sure you already know who this is,” I spat into my iPhone, “seeing as how you haven’t picked up any uh-of my calls.” I paused for a few seconds, mentally and emotionally preparing myself for the next thing I was about to say. “I know you have a new girlfriend. I hope she doesn’t mind you fucking me right before dating her...if you even told her about me.

“You could at least man up an-and accept my calls. Or tell me you just used me for a few fucks, which is exactly what I said you’d do. I can’t blame all of this on you, though, even though I’d love to. I never told you how I felt about you but I’m sure you wouldn’t have cared. I’m not pretty enough for you anyway. I’m not good enough. And I know this now because you all but told me I’m good enough to fuck but not good enough to date.

I don’t know why I’m even bothering to call you. You aren’t going to call back. You probably won’t even listen to this. So, before I hang up...fuck you, Mike.”

I disconnected the call with my left hand and used my right to bring the bottle back to my lips, knowing the only reason I had the guts to say that to him was that little bit of liquid confidence. And that was perfectly fine with me.