Page 149 of Haze of Obedience
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Zoe
The first few days,I write nothing, sitting for hours in a room full of instruments, a pad of paper, and a pen, but nothing comes out.
Every morning, Mateo comes and yells at me for my lack of progress. He reminds me that time is ticking, and if I don't have something to show him the next time he comes back, then there's going to be consequences.
I try to tell him that it doesn't work like this. "You can't just expect to snap your fingers, and I'll create a platinum album."
He slams his hand on the table, and I jump. "Stop making excuses. Have something for me by tomorrow, or you'll be entertaining the President of the United States when he comes to town tomorrow night. Got it?"
I shudder.
He sees it and scoffs. "That's right. I'm not playing your games anymore, Zoe." He starts to leave but stops. He spins and pulls out a small box then sets it on the table. "Try a pick me up. It always worked for you in the past."
My pulse creeps up. I don't need to open the box. I know it's full of cocaine. I almost tell Mateo to take it away, but I know he'll find a way to make me take it if I refuse. So I put the box on top of my notepad.
"You can leave so I can get back to work now."
He scowls, throws a metal tube on the table, and slams the door.
I lock it, even though he has a key, and go back to the table. For several minutes, I focus all my energy on the box, fighting my demons. I debate whether it's even worth resisting it anymore, especially when Dirk is probably dead.
But what if he's not.
You saw him bleed to death.
You don't know for sure.
I put my head on the table, wishing he was here to take it away and make my decision for me, tapping the metal straw on the table.
You don't need me to take those from you. You're strong enough to make that decision on your own.His voice once again is so clear I turn to see if he's in the room.
But he's not.
I take a deep breath, pick up the box, and dump the contents down the sink. I rinse it out, so there is no residue then dry it off.
Once it's gone, part of me panics. I could have made the despair disappear for a bit. But the other part of me is proud that I was able to do it.
Dirk would be proud of you.
Another tear slips down my cheek, and I go over to the couch and curl up with the afghan.
I miss him so much. The pain never seems to leave my heart.
In my agony, words slowly form in my head. I grab the guitar that's next to me and strum a few notes.
"Country boy," I sing through my tears.
And that's how I spend my two weeks. Every emotion I feel about losing Dirk, or how he made me feel when we were together, I write down.
At the end of my fourteen days, I have an album of songs complete. When I play them for Mateo, I can't help the tears I shed. But all he hears is money attached to my songs.
When he rises, he tells me to put on a cocktail dress and get ready.
I don't know why I assumed I would get another night to myself, but I'm not ready to go out. "I need another night."
"Too bad. I'll be in the car waiting. You have an hour to get ready."
