Page 24 of In the Stars

It’s something I’ve wondered for the past fifteen years, and no matter how many times I tell myself I did the right thing, that someone needed to know he was being abused, I still have a nagging feeling that I’m part of the reason he’s on the path he’s on.

If I can get in touch with him, if I can talk to him, even for a moment, I’ll apologize for what I did. I hope he forgives me this time.

TEN

WESLEY

“You have ten minutes,”the orderly tells me and points to the phone.

“I thought this was rehab, not a fucking prison,” I spit out, glaring at him.

He crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t otherwise show any signs of irritation. “You have group in fifteen. I wanted to give you some time after your conversation to unwind before that.”

“No, I want the extra five minutes. I don’t fucking need to wind down to talk to a bunch of junkies.”

He pulls his lips in but simply shakes his head and steps out of the room.

I pick up one of the landline phones, scoffing because they could just give me back my cell, and I could call whoever I want without looking at the list of numbers I have written down.

I pick up the receiver, jab the buttons on the phone, and listen to it ring obnoxiously in my ear.

When Zed answers, I start in on him immediately. “You threatened a fucking conservatorship?”

He sighs. “Let’s not worry about that right now. You’re trying to?—”

“No,” I seethe. “You fucking threatened me into something I didn’t want to fucking do. How could you fucking do that to me?”

“Ryder—”

“Fuck you, Zed. When I get out of here, I’m going to the label and getting you fucking replaced.”

“Who the fuck do you think brought up conservatorship in the first fucking place?” he asks, matching my attitude.

His question takes me aback. The label wouldn’t do that. They don’t have the authority. They wouldn’t have a reason. As much money as I make for them, as many artists flock to their label because of Lana’s Mischief…they wouldn’t.

I scoff. “You’re full of shit.”

“We had to refund the tickets at the sold-out show you fucking embarrassed yourself in front of, as well as the remaining three sold-out shows. Your endorsements were pulled. You’ll be fucking lucky if you have any money when you get out of there, since the men you assaulted are asking for ten million each. The label wants you clean so they can recoup their losses. So they want a conservatorship to keep you in line, or you’ll lose everything you worked hard for. It’s because ofmethat it didn’t happen.”

“Zed—”

“Your head is so far up your ass that you don’t know when someone is trying to help you! I don’t want you fucking strung out and collapsing on stage. I don’t want to see you in an early fucking grave like Vic!”

His words render me speechless. One thing we’ve always avoided doing is talking about Vic. He’s one of mysore spots, and Zed fucking knows it. He hit me where it hurt on purpose.

In a voice I barely recognize, I say, “When I get out of here, I will go to the label and get your ass fired and blackballed. You’re fucking done in this industry.” I try to slam the phone down into the receiver, but my hands are shaking so badly that it takes me three tries to accomplish it.

I storm out of the room, breathing in hard pants.

How fuckingdarehe bring up Vic? While I’m in fucking rehab, at that. He knew that would send me fucking spiraling. It’s fucked up because I can’t get a fix in here, so I’ll have to struggle with my memories instead.

Zed’s fucking career is over. For the next two months, I’ll live on vengeance, because I plan to fucking destroy him for this. For putting me in here. For the threat of conservatorship. For reminding me of the death of one of my best friends. He’s done.

“Group,” a nurse says to me, waving to the room where they’re held.

“Fuck group,” I say, trying to go to my room. One of the orderlies standing beside her steps into my path. It’s not worth it to have my phone and outside privileges taken for not attending, so I grunt, turn around, and head into the day room where group is held. It’s not like I have to share, but I do have to sit here for an hour and listen to other people’s bullshit.

I flop into an empty seat and watch as people enter the room, most appearing emaciated and listless.

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