Page 138 of My Lovely Tragedy
The voices grow louder until they’re deafening, wracking around inside my skull. Every bounce increases the volume until they’re so loud, vomit lurches up my throat. I stumble away from Dexter, away from the voices, from everyone.
My bootsclomploudly across the concrete floor. The sunlight glares blindingly through the glass doors, and I hold my arm up to shield the beams as I push through, out into the fresh air—but it doesn’t smell all that fresh. It’s soiled with car exhaust, old food, sweat, and dirty water.
My shoulders drop in disappointment along with my arm. I blink. Again against the frenzy of flashing blowing up in front of me.
“What the fuck is he doing?” someone hisses from behind me, but anything after is drowned out by the heavy buzz of chatter and shouts in front of me.
“Brooklyn. Brooklyn Crow! Where have you been? You disappeared for months without a word. Were you abducted? Who is your captor? Was it alcohol? Drugs! What made you come back?”
Questions are thrown at me from every direction, nearly knocking me off my feet. I stumble back, but I’m caught by a multitude of arms. My head whips around, catching the wayward glances of my family before they turn, facing the vulturous crowd, holding me steady against the slew of microphones and cameras and flashing lights.
I’m supposed to say something. That’s why I’m out here. What was it? Something about… about where I’ve been. Right, okay. I can lie. I can do that.
I learned from the best, after all.
My heart sighs, deflating.Tobias…
You needn’t worry. You are beautiful and brilliant.His voice echoes with the last thing he ever said to me. A fucking lie, but one I hold onto with whatever scraps are left inside me.
“H-hi,” I rasp, then clear my throat. A hand squeezes my forearm, over my healing wounds, and the reminder of their presence clears some of the fog from my head. “I’m Brooklyn Crow, and—and I’m here to tell my story.”
The dissonance flares up again, and I tense my limbs in preparation to absorb my inevitable flinches. “You can do this, B. A few sentences and you’re done.”
I nod slightly, and with a large inhale, I force the lies out. “I made a mistake. I allowed myself to fall into the trenches of an addiction I had no grasp on. I thought I could handle it myself, but I was wrong.”
Don’t look at them. Don’t see their faces.
I keep my eyes pinned on the brick building across the street—more specifically on a tattered sign whipping around in the light breeze.
“I hid from my family, from everyone. Because I was angry, and I was ashamed. But while I was gone, I realized what a mistake that was, and I got the help I needed.” Beside me, someone tenses. I’m going off Helena’s script, and they know it. But I need to say this… in case Tobias watches.
I want him to know, that even through this whole fucking spiel of lies I have to tell, he remains a regretful truth.
“I was in a safe place. A place I was understood and cared for.” I grip the key a little tighter, drawing it off the comfort of my chest for a moment. “And now I’m back, in a much better place than I left in. I apologize greatly to all of my fans. For worrying you and for disappointing you.
“It’s no secret that many people in this lifestyle fall victim to the allure of drugs and alcohol, and I am deeply ashamed to admit I am one of those. But I’m also here to say that I recognize it as a disease—and not just something that is wrong with me.
“I got the help I needed. And I have my family. There is nothing wrong with asking for help because your pain is nothing to be ashamed of. Again, I cannot tell all of you who look up to me, or even those who just listen for the vibe of the music, how sorry I am. I know I have disappointed you all, but I promise, things are finally looking up, and I plan on really working my ass off to be the best version of myself. Thank you.”
My vision whites out as the fresh wave of flashes beam in a flurry, immediately followed by a flare of shouts. People rush forward, a few of them holding signs. “Brooklyn! We love you!”
Oh, Jesus.Fans.
Just as I open my mouth to plead with them to get me out of here, I’m being tugged backward. Through the doors and back out of sight. The moment they swing shut, cutting off the chatter, someone turns the lock, and then the descent starts onme.
“What the fuck was that?” Helena practically screeches at me from where I stand in the middle of the room, one arm hanging by my side, the other still around my neck.
“B, how much of that was true?”
“Where did that come from?”
I stumble back into the wall, wavering under an all-new assault, andfuck,I’m trying. I’m just so tired. “Can we go back to the—to the…”
“The apartment?” Dexter supplies, and I nod, blinking rapidly against the sting in my eyes.
“Yeah. I just need to sleep for a little bit. Tired.” Heads swing this way and that. Whispers are exchanged, a few morphing into something harsher, and then, a hand is on my shoulder. I flinch away, then grimace.
Jesus, Brooklyn. Get your shit together. They need to actually believe you’re fine. Dumbass.
