Page 58 of Unholy Confessions
"What if it doesn't work?" I ask, looking up at him. "What if I'm just broken? What if this is who I am now?"
"Then we'll figure it out together," he says simply. "But you have to try. You have to want to get better. You know your mom and I will always be here for you."
"I do want to get better," I say, and I'm surprised to realize I mean it. "I want to be the person Montgomery fell in love with. I want to be someone the band can count on. I want to be someone I can actually live with. I want to be the person you and mom can be proud of." My mom…shit. "I don't want her to see me like this, please don't let her see me like this."
EJ pulls out his phone. "I'm calling Dr. Tate. He helped a friend find a good facility when he needed treatment."
"Now?" I ask, panic fluttering in my chest. "Like, right now?"
"Right now," Dad confirms. "Before you change your mind. Before you convince yourself you can handle this on your own."
While EJ makes the call, Dad helps me up off the floor and guides me to the couch. I feel weak, wrung out, like I've been running for miles. The pills are still in my system, making my thoughts race even as my body wants to collapse.
"There's a place in Malibu," EJ says, hanging up. "They have a bed available, and they specialize in addiction treatment for musicians and performers. Dr. Tate says it's one of the best facilities in the country."
"How long?" I ask.
"Minimum thirty days. Recommended sixty to ninety."
The thought of being away for that long makes my chest tight. "But the European tour?—"
"Fuck the European tour," EJ says bluntly. "RJ, you're talking about your life here. Your actual life. The tour will happen with or without you, but we can't replace you."
Dad nods in agreement. "The label will understand. The fans will understand. And if they don't, that's their problem, not yours."
I want to argue, want to insist that I can't let everyone down, but the fight has gone out of me. I'm so tired of carrying this weight, so tired of pretending I'm okay when I'm anything but.
"What about Montgomery?" I ask quietly.
EJ and Dad exchange a look. "What about her?" EJ asks.
"Will she... do you think she'll wait? Do you think there's any chance she'll forgive me for all of this?"
"I don't know," Dad says honestly. "But I know that if you don't get clean, if you don't get your life together, it won't matter. You can't love someone else when you're destroying yourself."
The truth of it hits me like a physical blow. All this time, I've been so afraid of losing Montgomery that I've been pushing her away. I've been so afraid of not being good enough for her that I've become someone who definitely isn't good enough for her.
"Okay," I say, my voice stronger than it's been all night. "Okay, let's do it. Let's plan for five weeks, and if I need more time, then I'll do it."
EJ is already back on the phone, talking to someone about intake procedures and insurance authorization. Dad is gathering things from around my house—clothes, toiletries, my guitar.
"Can I bring my guitar?" I ask.
"Dr. Tate says music therapy is a big part of their program," EJ tells me when he gets off the phone. "So yes, but it'll be supervised at first."
I nod, trying to process everything that's happening. In a matter of hours, I've gone from almost doing cocaine in my living room to preparing to check into rehab. It feels surreal, like it's happening to someone else.
But it's not happening to someone else. It's happening to me, and for the first time in months, that doesn't feel like a death sentence.
"The car will be here in twenty minutes," EJ announces. "We need to get your shit together and get you out of here before you change your mind."
As I pack the few things I'm allowed to bring, I think about Montgomery. About the look on her face when she walked out. About whether she'll even care that I'm getting help, or if it's too little, too late.
I think about the band, about the tour, about all the people I'm letting down by admitting I can't handle my life. Pulling my phone over to me, I pull up Montgomery's info and do the one thing I can right now.
RJ: I'm sorry.
Then I turn my phone off, and think about what my life is going to be like without her.
