Page 87 of Almost Perfect
I nodded, the admission crashing down around me. I loved him, and I wanted to keep him. And that doomed feeling I’d been pushing away closed in.
I wanted Wyatt, and the minute I let myself fully sink into that these last few days was the minute everything that was bad became worse. I might’ve been surprised by Rad’s betrayal on some level, but the acceptance of my soul-deep desire for Wyatt—not just physical or even emotional, but everything about him—should’ve tipped me off.
If life had shown me anything, it was that the minute I started wanting something in that way, in that yearning, desperate way, was the minute it all went to hell.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Wyatt
Iwatched as Calla adjusted herself in her seat for the first time. The initial minutes of the interview with Danita Carl, super famous talk show host and apparent lover of live tell-all interviews, had eased in a bit, reminding viewers of who Calla was, as though anyone didn’t know, and the loss of Candy O’Neill a little over a year and a half ago.
And then came the direct questions.
“Did you give your mother drugs?”
“No.”
“Did you give anyone drugs?”
“Never.”
“Did you attempt to intervene with her drug use?”
“I helped her check into three different in-patient programs and participated in those programs to whatever level was recommended. And I made numerous attempts to get her to go back toward the end.”
Question after question, straight and to the point. I had to admit, I appreciated Carl’s short, clear questions for this part because it left no room for equivocation or interpretation. But this next one was the first that made Calla respond physically.
“What would you say to your mother now, if you could?” Danita leaned toward Calla from her cushy seat.
Calla swallowed and cleared her throat lightly. “I’d tell her I’m sorry—so sorry for the way things went. I’d tell her I wish she could’ve found love, because I know she always wanted that. And I’d tell her I love her. However messed up things got, I always did and still do.”
My heart clutched. How did she handle this? She and her mom hadn’t been close, but her grief was fresh. To many, it might seem like anything past a year, you should be ready to move on. But Calla had only just begun to deal with the implications of her mom’s life and death. All of this was so close to the surface, and yet she sat there composed and speaking clearly.
It was amazing.Shewas amazing. And in other ways, it chilled me. I couldn’t fully understand why, but the cold sensation lingered in my gut as the interview continued.
Danita nodded. “And May, you’ve said definitively you didn’t kill your mother. That the two of you were estranged and that you’d begged her to seek treatment. But do you blame yourself?”
“What the hell?” Warrick shouted at the TV from his place next to me on the couch.
“Real gem, this one,” I grumbled.
“In many ways, yes. I’m not here to point fingers, so I’m not going to tell you the trail that leads to her death. But I know it. Every person who supplied her, including the man she was in a relationship with when she first started using, were industry people. Had I not been in this world, she wouldn’t have been exposed. Of course, she might’ve become addicted some other way, but in reality, that’s what happened. So yes, I do blame myself.”
Her eyes stayed on Danita, but the camera had moved in close. No waterworks, no sniffling, but the press of her lips told me she’d locked down all emotion. She’d keep it at bay no matter what.
Good for her. There was nothing wrong with crying, and if she wanted to cry in front of millions of people on TV, she should. But knowing Calla, she wouldn’t want that to be the story here. Her reputation as Miss Mayhem was of a tough, boundary-pushing artist. Seeing that person cry on TV likely wouldn’t compute for critics or fans.
Her costuming for the day was subdued. She looked nice with less edge than Mayhem outfits usually had, at least the ones that made the news. She wore a black dress with one slash of skin across the stomach, spiked black heels, and makeup more like Calla and less like Mayhem. Her hair was simply down and smooth.
She looked stunning, but not too polished so she appeared hardened or impervious. She’d mentioned that her whole team—publicist, stylist, and other people whose roles I didn’t quite know—had consulted on what to wear. They’d run through question after question rehearsing answers so she’d be ready for anything.
She’d explained the team had agreed she should go pared down today. That seeming less provocative and more penitent was the goal. The idea that she needed to seem penitentat allmade me want to spit. She hadn’t killed her mother, and the rumors to that end were pure and utter crap. If she were truly under suspicion, wouldn’t the police be involved?
My attention returned to the screen where Danita was finishing her next question.
“—so you can see why your time in Utah has seemed like running away. What do you say to people who suggest you were hiding out in the mountain town of Silverton?”
Calla’s lips spread into a polite smile. “I’d say that, first, it isn’t really any of their business. But because I know the point of this interview is to be open, I’ll also say that in some ways, I was.”
