Conviction(20)
Lawson continues, “Jet was an exceptionally talented musician, intelligent, witty and loyal. He was a true friend, loved by his bandmates and adored by his fans. Millions across the world will be mourning with us at his untimely passing.” He looks along to where Gun and I are sitting and swallows a few times and then back out at the sea of faces. “I’ll answer just a couple of your questions. Please keep them brief and don’t waste my time asking things that are disrespectful, or that you know full well I won’t answer.”
The cameras have been flashing the whole time we’ve been seated, but they quiet for a minute as the journalists call out their questions. The shouting is so loud that I can’t make out a word any of them are saying, it’s just noise, flashing lights and more noise. My head is pounding and I want to get the f*ck out of here.
Lawson points to a female reporter whose face is familiar. I think that she’s interviewed us before. The room quiets marginally as she looks to me and says, “This question’s for Reed.” Lawson looks at me and nods. I nod back letting him know I’m okay with it.
She’s short and slim with long fair hair. She’s almost swallowed up by all the other reporters, cameras and boom mics surrounding her. I remember her now, her name’s Brittany or Whitney or one of those all American kind of names. Her eyes are blue and she gives me a small smile before she asks her question. I remember now why I liked her before, she saw us as humans when she’s interviewed us in the past. We weren’t just a commodity, she seemed genuinely interested. The photographer that was with her that day was a tall skinny girl, covered in tattoos and she introduced her to us as her wife, Charlotte or Charlie, something like that. I’ve no idea why I’m sitting here thinking all of this right now. Maybe it’s better than thinking about anything else.
“Reed, just wanted to say to you and the rest of the boys from Shift how sorry I am for your loss.” I nod my head and try to say thank you, but my mouth is so dry that my lips move, but no sound comes out. “Is it true that it was you that found Jet this morning and that he took his own life?” The image of Jet lying at the bottom of his blood-soaked bath suddenly flashes into my head and I can’t breathe. His eyes were open wide and staring right at me, just like my mum, just like Miles. I look at Gunner, then at Lawson, but I can’t get any words out. I push back on my chair but stand too soon and the table tilts as my knees hit it. I still can’t breathe. I can breathe out, I just can’t get a breath in. A jug of water and the glasses start sliding to the floor. Cameras start flashing and the noise, the shouting and the questions start again. I just need to get away from all of it.
Lawson and Gun are at my sides and guide me out of the conference room and straight into the lift. I can hear them talking and asking if I’m okay, but the sound is muffled like I hear it under water. I bend over and stare at the floor, trying to focus on getting some air into my lungs.
“Fuck,” I manage to say as I stand up straight.
The lift door opens and I hear Lawson say, “I’ve had all your stuff moved to my room, Reed. I didn’t think you’d want to stay in there.” He gestures with his chin toward my old room. I both shake and nod my head, as I’m unsure of what the appropriate answer is. He opens the door to his suite with the key card and I rush through to the bathroom and hurl into the toilet. The bourbon I drank earlier burns my throat on its way back up. My stomach now feels as empty as my chest and my heart. I splash my face with water and rinse my mouth.
As I step back out into the suite, Gunner, Lawson, Dom, Amanda, Chelsea and Jade are all in the room. Dom passes me a shot glass full of vodka, I knock it back. That’s the last thing I really remember until my feet touchdown in England a week later.
Nina
My fork is in front of my face with a small piece of salmon and rocket sitting on it. I’m not sure if my mouth is open, but it most certainly should be as I stare in disbelief at my husband. I can’t believe the complete and utter bullshit he’s spewing to a potential client right now.
“We’ve thought about it on and off over the last few years.” He turns to me. “Haven’t we darling?” I look at him blankly and place my knife and fork down. The little appetite I had, gone in an instant. “But to be perfectly honest,” Marcus continues, “we like our life the way it is. We have a nice home, we enjoy our jobs and like to be able to take off for a holiday any time we want. Starting a family would change all of that.”
I look down at my plate and swallow past the lump that’s just appeared in my throat for some reason. Actually, the bullshitting virus my husband permanently seems to be suffering from must be spreading, because that’s a big fat lie I just told myself. I know full well why the lump has appeared in my throat. It appears every time a conversation starts up around the topic of having children. The instant the words family, children, baby or pregnant are mentioned around me, it appears, that lump, that tightening in my chest and then it starts. It’s like my blood turns to ice but not liquid ice. No, no, more like little jagged crystals of ice, scratching their way through my veins. It starts at my toes and works its way through my body until the sharp, cold, pointy pieces push through the chambers of my heart. All the while, images of him… of us… of that afternoon and night flash through my mind. Images of when he left me all alone with my fear, my pain and the blood, so much blood. Who would’ve thought that there’d be so much blood?