Page 36 of You Rock My World
“It’s your ex-wife, sir. She’s demanding to be let in, and she seems… agitated.”
My shoulders tense as I set the guitar aside, already bracing for the emotional storm Billie brings. I sigh, knowing it’s no use denying my ex when she’s in this state. “Let her in. I’ll handle it.”
As I make my way across the house to the front yard, acid burns in my stomach. What could Billie want? Our divorce has been finalized, and we’ve said everything that needed to be said. Her showing up like this can’t be good.
My gut feeling that trouble is coming is confirmed when Billie parks haphazardly in the front driveway, leaving the car at a slant with the engine still running. She stumbles out of the driver’s seat, her movements unsteady. My ex-wife is wearing denim shorts, a white tank top, and cowboy boots. Billie is thin, too thin. And her speech is slurred as she shouts, “You backstabbing bastard.”
I flex my fingers, steeling myself for the onslaught. “What are you doing here?”
She storms up to me. Her blue-streaked blonde hair falls into her face as she jabs a finger into my chest. “You know damn well why I’m here. You’ve been sabotaging my career, haven’t you? Telling everyone in the industry that I’m unstable, that I’m difficult to work with.”
I hold up my hands to placate her. “Billie, I haven’t said anything like that. I?—”
“Don’t lie to me,” she screams, her face inches from mine. “Producers, agents, our label, they’re all turning their backs on me, and it’s because of you.”
I step back and pinch my nose, gathering my patience. “The only thing I’ve told anyone is the truth, Billie. That you need help.”
“Help?Ineed help?” She lets out a harsh laugh. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re reveling in my misery, aren’t you? Relieved that we’re fucking divorced so you can move on with your perfect little life while I’m left to deal with the fallout.”
Her words strike a nerve and are met by a surge of anger that I push down, refusing to engage with her on that level. “I never wanted things to turn out this way. But our divorce was for the best, for both of us.”
“The best for you,” she spits out. “Admit it, Dorian. You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you? You couldn’t wait to replace me.”
She’s thrown the accusation at me before, but tonight, for the first time, it’s true. My thoughts drift to Josie, with her sweet, honest face and her pure heart. A wave of protectiveness washes over me. Billie Rae will never accept my new relationship, and I’m grateful that Josie and I will have time to explore our feelings in private before facing the world’s scrutiny and my ex’s wrath.
I’ll have to keep Josie a secret from Billie Rae for as long as possible. My ex is already teetering on the edge, and the truth would push her over. But more than that, I need to protect Josie from this drama.
“Billie,” I start, choosing my words carefully. “This isn’t about replacing you. It’s about moving forward. You and I—we were stuck. Unhappy. You know that.”
She crosses her arms. Her posture is defiant, but her eyes show regret—sadness? Is it real? Is she playing me? “We could have worked it out. We could have tried harder.”
Guilt gnaws at me. But the endless fighting, the emotional exhaustion, watching her destroy herself… it had become too much. “I tried, Billie. For years,Itried. You’re the one who never?—”
“Oh, please, not that again.” She scoffs, her lips curling in disdain. “Don’t try to feed me more crap about rehab. You think I don’t know what those places are like? I’ve seen friends come out worse than they went in. I’m not checking myself into one of those looney bins.”
“Billie—”
“I can handle my shit, Dorian,” she cuts me off, her voice rising. “A drink here, a pill there—it’s nothing I can’t control. You always blew everything out of proportion. You never believed in me.”
Her stubbornness is a brick wall, impenetrable and unyielding. I once admired that fierce determination, but now it just makes me tired. Deep down, I know she’s just scared, but admitting that would mean acknowledging the depth of her problems. She’s not ready for that, and maybe she never will be.
“Billie, there’s nothing for you here, you need to go.”
She sways on her feet, her eyes glassy and unfocused. I search for a glimpse of the vibrant, creative woman she used to be, now buried under layers of anger and intoxication. It breaks my heart to see her like this, but I can’t fix her. She has to want to fix herself first.
“I’m not going anywhere until you admit it,” she slurs, her voice rising again. “Tell me you’re fucking someone else.”
I ignore her. “Why did you drive in this state?”
“I’m in no fucking state, you self-righteous prick.” Her face twists into an ugly sneer. “And stop acting like you’re worried about my safety.”
“Iamfucking worried.”
“You never gave a damn about me when we were together. It was always about your music, your career, your fucking ego.”
Billie stomps into the nearest flower bed, the heels of her boots snapping stems and crushing the buds into the soil. Broken petals fly everywhere. A good metaphor for what she did to our life together. “Your music is as fake as you are.” She spits more venom. “The same old boring chords, the same tired themes.”
I let her insults wash over me. It’s not the first time she’s attacked my music, my character, my soul. But engaging with her when she’s high is pointless. It’s like trying to reason with a hurricane.
