There Is A Hell, Believe Me I've Seen It
There IS a Hell.
The first time I ever saw Oliver Sykes, he was bent over, hands on his stomach, violently wretching outside his tour bus. His skinny frame shook as he tried to remain standing on unsteady feet, but he stumbled forward and fell against the bus, moaning incoherently as he fell to the ground. I watched as someone stepped towards him and tried to say something, but Oliver yelled an obscenity at the younger man, making him back off slightly, but he remained within reach, still talking.
“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Sheep said, turning to me with a doubtful look on his face. I knew what he was thinking; I knew what everyone thought of me. My looks threw people off. I looked too innocent for such a serious job. But more so, it was because I was a female, a somewhat attractive and sweet looking female, and because of this, they thought I must have ulterior motives. “This is going to be a tough job, and you were the best one recomended to us, but we’ll all understand if you’re not up for it,” he continued in that same tone. “Oli’s a bit of a handful.” As if to emphasize this, Oliver began hurling more obscenities at the black haired man who was now trying to help him to his feet, swinging his arms blindly and eventually connecting to the side of the bus.
The best. Yes, at the risk of sounding like a narcissist, I certainly was the best. But how could you not be a little bit narcissistic in this kind of profession? You had to be sure of yourself, you had be completely comfortable with the person you were, or else everything you say, everything you heard, and especially everything you were called by your patients would begin to wear you down. Even if you knew they didn't mean half of what they said. So yes, okay, narcissism was okay. And I was the damn best. At 22 years old, I already had way to much experience with substance abusers. How could I not be the fucking best when I came from a world of substance abusers?
My age must have been the other major deciding factor in me being offered such a job. How comfortable would a young band be to have a 50 year old man accompanying them on a summer long tour to try and sober up their front man? I can’t imagine too many would be jumping at this fact. Not that I was. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I had just begun seeing someone after years of avoiding it, I had just bought my own flat in Edinburgh city centre. Yes, bought a flat, as in I properly owned it. That's how good I was.
“It’s certainly an opportunity that you would likely never get again,” my boss Donald had explained to me in his office. “I urge you to consider this job, Emmy. This could open up huge windows of opportunity for you in the future. If this works out, you might end up working for other musicians in this situation. You could make a real career out of this, and think about the money.”
Money. Yes, to him it was all about money, but he wasn’t stopping to think of the personal sacrifice I was giving up? Not only did it mean that things were pretty much done for me and Dan, but for almost three months, I would be trapped in a bus, a car, a plane, and god knows what else, with an addict, taking care of him while travelling around the not just the UK, but the world, with no one to take care of me.
“I understand you have reservations about me and my abilities,” I say to Sheep seriously, turning to look him dead in the eye. “I may be young, but I am far more experienced in this area than anyone of my age should be. You do not have to worry about anything. I am not here for personal gain. I am not here to use this band for anything if that is what you're thinking. I am not a groupie in disguise, I'm not here to extort any sort of money or 15 minutes of fame. My sole reason to be here is to help Oliver through this.”
He seemed momentarily stunned by my bluntness, before he broke into a broad grin and chuckled heartily. "You Scottish lassies are a tought breed, I like it. Well, you will be on a different bus than the guys, but that’s more for privacy issues more than anything else. You’re a young lady and I’m sure you don’t want to be the only girl on a bus full of rowdy English lad’s. Especially with you being Scottish and all. But you will be required to be with Oliver before every set they play as well as after. Basically from the moment he's awake until his head hits the pillow and he's out. I will send you the day’s schedule first thing every morning, and you will check in with me after that. Got it?”
Of course I “got it.” How hard was it to understand? Basically, I was his babysitter, to make sure that he stayed away from all of the shit he was currently on. Obviously that was only the surface bit. Did he even know that keeping Oliver away from his drugs was only part of my job? That was the easier part of it all. Getting an addict to admit why they were on drugs, and helping them through all of the shit going on in their already fucked minds was the hard part. But getting through to their demons, the reasons why they began their addiction in the first place, that was the difficult part. Getting past that drug dependent part of the mind was the challenge. Getting them to admit that they had a problem was almost too simple.
“Aye,” I replied shortly, already irritated with him.
“Alright. I guess it’s time we go introduce you to Oli.” He called someone over and told them to pack my luggage onto the crew bus, and then he lead me over to the band’s bus, where Oliver was finally inside. Someone came down the bus stairs just as we reached the door, and my heart clenched as a beautiful pair of ice blue eyes stared back at me.
“Tom,” Sheep said to him, and he turned his eyes away from me, only to look back after Sheep said, “This is Emmy. She’s going to be helping Oli out this tour. Emmy, this is Oli’s younger brother Tom.”
“So you’re the poor lass they’ve got to ‘elp Oli?” Tom shook my hand and smiled sadly. “’E’s a good guy, just got some major problems. Remember that when ‘e’s tellin yeh you’re a cunt.” He took one last lingering look at me before he brushed past us, and I wondered if that was fear I saw and his eyes as I climbed the bus stairs behind Sheep. The bus became silent as the four guys sitting in the lounge area looked at me, but Oliver was nowhere to be seen.
“Guys, this is Emmy, Oli’s-“
“Yeah, we know who you are,” one of them said while the rest studied me curiously. “Yeh sure you’re qualified for this job? You look a little young.”
“Don’t answer that,” Sheep said before I could. “They’re just being a bunch of right pricks. So where is he?”
“Already passed out in ‘is bunk,” the nearest one replied, still looking curiously at me. Sheep motioned me to follow him before I could find out any of their names, and I could feel 4 sets of eyes staring at my back as I followed.
“Oli?” he called through one of the curtains, which was nearly ripped off its hinges in the next second when he pulled it aside.
“Wha?” he said, his lips jutting out as his blood shot eyes looked from Sheep to me before a smile crossed his face. “Yeh got meh a groupie already? Good work Sheep! She's a pretteh one too!”
“Oli,” he said softly, and I suspected it was because he knew Oli was going to get upset when he found out who I really was. Majority of my clients all reacted in the same when they met me, with anger and hostility, because they all decided before I even opened my mouth that they hated me. “She’s your counsellor.”
Just as I had imagined, Oli’s face contorted in anger as his eyes swept over me. “So you’re the one they ‘ired teh fix me?” He sneered as he sat upright and said darkly, “Go ahead and give it a go, but I’ll probably break yeh before it can be done,” before he abruptly leaned over and vomited on my shoes. Sheep looked over at me and said quietly, “Welcome to hell.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Sheep said, turning to me with a doubtful look on his face. I knew what he was thinking; I knew what everyone thought of me. My looks threw people off. I looked too innocent for such a serious job. But more so, it was because I was a female, a somewhat attractive and sweet looking female, and because of this, they thought I must have ulterior motives. “This is going to be a tough job, and you were the best one recomended to us, but we’ll all understand if you’re not up for it,” he continued in that same tone. “Oli’s a bit of a handful.” As if to emphasize this, Oliver began hurling more obscenities at the black haired man who was now trying to help him to his feet, swinging his arms blindly and eventually connecting to the side of the bus.
The best. Yes, at the risk of sounding like a narcissist, I certainly was the best. But how could you not be a little bit narcissistic in this kind of profession? You had to be sure of yourself, you had be completely comfortable with the person you were, or else everything you say, everything you heard, and especially everything you were called by your patients would begin to wear you down. Even if you knew they didn't mean half of what they said. So yes, okay, narcissism was okay. And I was the damn best. At 22 years old, I already had way to much experience with substance abusers. How could I not be the fucking best when I came from a world of substance abusers?
My age must have been the other major deciding factor in me being offered such a job. How comfortable would a young band be to have a 50 year old man accompanying them on a summer long tour to try and sober up their front man? I can’t imagine too many would be jumping at this fact. Not that I was. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I had just begun seeing someone after years of avoiding it, I had just bought my own flat in Edinburgh city centre. Yes, bought a flat, as in I properly owned it. That's how good I was.
“It’s certainly an opportunity that you would likely never get again,” my boss Donald had explained to me in his office. “I urge you to consider this job, Emmy. This could open up huge windows of opportunity for you in the future. If this works out, you might end up working for other musicians in this situation. You could make a real career out of this, and think about the money.”
Money. Yes, to him it was all about money, but he wasn’t stopping to think of the personal sacrifice I was giving up? Not only did it mean that things were pretty much done for me and Dan, but for almost three months, I would be trapped in a bus, a car, a plane, and god knows what else, with an addict, taking care of him while travelling around the not just the UK, but the world, with no one to take care of me.
“I understand you have reservations about me and my abilities,” I say to Sheep seriously, turning to look him dead in the eye. “I may be young, but I am far more experienced in this area than anyone of my age should be. You do not have to worry about anything. I am not here for personal gain. I am not here to use this band for anything if that is what you're thinking. I am not a groupie in disguise, I'm not here to extort any sort of money or 15 minutes of fame. My sole reason to be here is to help Oliver through this.”
He seemed momentarily stunned by my bluntness, before he broke into a broad grin and chuckled heartily. "You Scottish lassies are a tought breed, I like it. Well, you will be on a different bus than the guys, but that’s more for privacy issues more than anything else. You’re a young lady and I’m sure you don’t want to be the only girl on a bus full of rowdy English lad’s. Especially with you being Scottish and all. But you will be required to be with Oliver before every set they play as well as after. Basically from the moment he's awake until his head hits the pillow and he's out. I will send you the day’s schedule first thing every morning, and you will check in with me after that. Got it?”
Of course I “got it.” How hard was it to understand? Basically, I was his babysitter, to make sure that he stayed away from all of the shit he was currently on. Obviously that was only the surface bit. Did he even know that keeping Oliver away from his drugs was only part of my job? That was the easier part of it all. Getting an addict to admit why they were on drugs, and helping them through all of the shit going on in their already fucked minds was the hard part. But getting through to their demons, the reasons why they began their addiction in the first place, that was the difficult part. Getting past that drug dependent part of the mind was the challenge. Getting them to admit that they had a problem was almost too simple.
“Aye,” I replied shortly, already irritated with him.
“Alright. I guess it’s time we go introduce you to Oli.” He called someone over and told them to pack my luggage onto the crew bus, and then he lead me over to the band’s bus, where Oliver was finally inside. Someone came down the bus stairs just as we reached the door, and my heart clenched as a beautiful pair of ice blue eyes stared back at me.
“Tom,” Sheep said to him, and he turned his eyes away from me, only to look back after Sheep said, “This is Emmy. She’s going to be helping Oli out this tour. Emmy, this is Oli’s younger brother Tom.”
“So you’re the poor lass they’ve got to ‘elp Oli?” Tom shook my hand and smiled sadly. “’E’s a good guy, just got some major problems. Remember that when ‘e’s tellin yeh you’re a cunt.” He took one last lingering look at me before he brushed past us, and I wondered if that was fear I saw and his eyes as I climbed the bus stairs behind Sheep. The bus became silent as the four guys sitting in the lounge area looked at me, but Oliver was nowhere to be seen.
“Guys, this is Emmy, Oli’s-“
“Yeah, we know who you are,” one of them said while the rest studied me curiously. “Yeh sure you’re qualified for this job? You look a little young.”
“Don’t answer that,” Sheep said before I could. “They’re just being a bunch of right pricks. So where is he?”
“Already passed out in ‘is bunk,” the nearest one replied, still looking curiously at me. Sheep motioned me to follow him before I could find out any of their names, and I could feel 4 sets of eyes staring at my back as I followed.
“Oli?” he called through one of the curtains, which was nearly ripped off its hinges in the next second when he pulled it aside.
“Wha?” he said, his lips jutting out as his blood shot eyes looked from Sheep to me before a smile crossed his face. “Yeh got meh a groupie already? Good work Sheep! She's a pretteh one too!”
“Oli,” he said softly, and I suspected it was because he knew Oli was going to get upset when he found out who I really was. Majority of my clients all reacted in the same when they met me, with anger and hostility, because they all decided before I even opened my mouth that they hated me. “She’s your counsellor.”
Just as I had imagined, Oli’s face contorted in anger as his eyes swept over me. “So you’re the one they ‘ired teh fix me?” He sneered as he sat upright and said darkly, “Go ahead and give it a go, but I’ll probably break yeh before it can be done,” before he abruptly leaned over and vomited on my shoes. Sheep looked over at me and said quietly, “Welcome to hell.”