Page 67 of Dead Rockstar

Jason had no answer, the smile disappearing from his face.

Phillip went on, seemingly oblivious to the sudden cold, dry air in the room. “Seems like losing two of your bandmates would have woken you up, but instead it just pushed you further down the rabbit hole.” He shook his head. “Didn't you learn anything from our fuckups? Anything at all?”

“What the fuck, dude. We were just having a pleasant conversation and you come at me out of nowhere like-”

“It isn’t out of nowhere,” Phillip said, his voice softening somewhat. He glanced at me, unsure; he knew he’d gone too far. “It’s just…I don’t like seeing you like this. You’re so…changed.”

“Yeah, well, twenty-plus years have passed, and I got old. Imagine that. You know what? Just leave me alone, Phillip,” Jason said bitterly. All the spry happiness from before drained away from him as he looked at Phillip, his expression both sad and angry. His tea sat on the coffee table, untouched. “You weren't here. You were dead. You don't have a clue what it's been like without you here, what we've had to fend off.” He fixed an eye on me and said with venom, “And don't for a minute let him convince you it was a fucking accident. King Doom standing here trying to act like he's a cautionary tale when we all know he checked out willingly-”

“Jase-” Phillip’s voice held a note of warning, and I looked at him with wide eyes.

“Death as art. C'mon. You left us. Fuck that, man. Fuck that.”

“Come on, Stormy.” Phillip was on his feet in seconds, pulling me with him. “Let's leave him to it.”

I was still holding my hot cup of tea and its contents sloshed on the hardwood floors. “Phillip-” I protested, as he dragged me toward the kitchen where the sauce was in danger of boiling over on the stove. I wanted to tell him that he was overstepping, that he was being unfair, but the thunderous look on his face stopped me. This wasn’t about me, it wasn’t my fight. Better to leave them to it.

I followed him from the kitchen into a bedroom, which seemed small under his impressive height. The top of his head was near the ceiling; he ducked as he passed under the ceiling fan. The light in the room was dim and the furniture was coated with a sheen of dust.

I sat on the double bed, which was lumpy and creaked under my weight. It was covered with a scratchy, olive green duvet that I ran through my fingers absently as I watched him, surprised at how angry I was at him for attacking Jason. He paced through the room, reaching the end of it and back in two full strides, his fingers running through his hair. I could feel the stress coming off him in waves. I could almost see it, a deep reddish-brown aura all around his head.

“There's bound to be some things to work out between the two of you,” I said slowly, trying to ease into the discussion.

His laugh was hollow as he stared out the window. “What he said back there was true, you know.” His voice was hoarse.

“I know,” I said. “I think I've always known.”

“How you must hate me.”

“Of course not,” I said. “But you were a total choad back there.”

The corner of his mouth turned up a little. “All that trouble to bring me back, only to find out that I threw my life away in the first place.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does.”

“Not to me,” I said. “I don’t judge you. Believe me, I don’t. But Phillip – you should extend the same courtesy to Jason. He has problems, but who doesn't? You don't have to be so judge-”

“You don't know him.” He sniffed.

“Neither do you,” I countered. “It's been over twenty years. Maybe if you'd let the guy get a sentence out, you'd-”

“You have no idea what it's like to see someone you love-”

“Don't I?” I thundered. “Or did you forget that my ex-husband – the one whose nose you broke – is also a junkie? That our marriage ended because of it?”

He turned to face me. “I guess I did. Just for a minute.” He sighed. “I'm sorry. But the thing with Jason is diff-”

“God, you won’t let me talk, either!” I was almost yelling. “Are you always like this, just bulldozing over everyone’s words, and feelings?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, coming as close to sheepish as I imagine he ever got. His sharply defined cheeks were turning crimson. “So I’ve been told. Sorry.”

“What I was trying to say-” I continued, fixing him with pointed look, “-was that I know what it’s like to love someone with these issues. Tess was a drug addict, as you know. And you know what? So were both my parents,” I thundered, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Junkies and drunks, both. My childhood was littered with people like Jason, in and out of our house and our lives. That’s why I don’t talk to my parents anymore. Because it’s too fucking painful.”

He looked at me in surprise. “You never told me that.”

“You never asked.”

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