Chapter 14: Drummer Boys See Ghosts

Bodie, two months later, Thailand

I wake, lift my head, check to the right, see Bell's naked body twisted in the sheet, check to the left, groan, and close my eyes again.

There's another stranger in our bed.

Damn. This is getting to be a habit.

I ain't no noob to this scenario, but Bells and I never rolled that way on tour. Not until Thailand. Now, it seems like it takes another chic to start her fire.

Maybe it's the ecstasy, I reason. We've been doing more of that here. Less coke, more ecstasy, and more pills, but I'm keeping Bells managed.

Mostly, we've been chillin', drinkin' and easy druggin'. Swimming in the ocean and swinging in a hammock.

Except when we're fucking some other chic.

From the looks of her sunburned ass—this one is a tourist with less time in country than us.

I search my hazy memory for the girl's name.

I come up with nothing.

I slither out the bottom of the bed and sit on the floor for a long time, trying to feel human enough to gain my feet.

I'm pretty used to feeling like shit these days, but this is extra.

Eventually, I crawl to the porch of the hut, where there's a case of bottled water. I lie there listening to the waves while I down two and smoke a cigarette. When I finally make it to my feet, I head back inside. Bells and the fangirl are awake.

There's a filmy mirror on the bottom of the bed.

Ah, the fangirl has been holding out on us. That's definitely her coke, because I've banned it from our list of acceptable drugs.

But apparently, the fangirl was keeping a little in reserve, and she shared it with Bells. The coke revived them enough to start going at it again.

I blow out a weary breath as I watch my own personal porn show.

"Oh god, Lacy," Arabella moans as the girl's hand slides down Bell's stomach into the twisted sheet.

Ah. Lacy. That's her name.

It's been nice knowing her, but it's really time for her to go...back wherever she came from. I clear my throat but they ignore me. I call Bells' name.

She makes an impatient sound and wags her hand at me. I honestly can't tell if it was a "come join us" gesture or a "go-away" motion.

I laugh.

They can go right to hell, actin' like I'm a third wheel.

Who's the rock star here?

I turn to the top dresser drawer for a little pick-me-up of my own, since these two rude little bitches didn't offer me a line.

My stash box is empty.

No weed. No pills. What the fuck? We can't be out. I just bought our weekly "shopping list" from the little Irish drug dealing weasel right before we picked up Lacy.

I rummage all the other drawers while the girls continue to finger fuck each other. Nothing.

That's when I check my phone. The date seems...not right. I scroll back through the pictures and memories start to arise.

Fuck. Lacy's been with us more than a night. From the looks of the series of photos, she's been here days.

And we've blown through all the liquor and all the drugs. Well, thank fuck there are still cigarettes.

How is that even possible? We've been doing a lot of fucking drugs, if a few packs of cigarettes outlasted the haul I bought.

I stumble back out to the porch and smoke another, trying to piece together the record on my phone and my fractured memory.

Christ, I think we brought Lacy home about four days ago.

And I think I've been passed out at least eighteen hours.

One of the local women that works at this resort is passing by our little hut with a tray. "Malee," I croak hoarsely, calling her name. She stops and smiles at me.

"You want food, yes?"

I open my hands wide. "Lots of food." And then I cup my hands, like around a coconut. "Lots of drinks."

She nods and hurries away. "Thank you." My voice breaks.

I stumble down into the sand and lie in the hammock until she comes back.

I drink one of the giant coconut drinks before I can stomach the food. I can't really taste it, but I eat--eggs and noodles and some indecipherable strips of greasy poultry that I tell myself is dark meat chicken but is some other kind of bird.

The smell of food has brought the girls to the porch. Bells is wearing panties and an open robe. Lacy has her bikini back on. I think that's all the clothes she came with.

After they eat, the girls start talking about swimming, but Bells doesn't look steady enough for the tide that's coming in, so I bust up the idea.

I offer Lacy a cigarette and fish some money from my wallet for an Uber, except here in Thailand it's called a Grab or some shit.

"It's been real fun, Lacy. But maybe it's time you find  some other fuckbuddies, yeah?"

"Bodie," Arabella chides. "Don't be rude. She doesn't have to leave."

"Whatever, I honestly don't give a fuck," I shrug and stumble back to the hammock with my coconut.

They talk in hushed voices on the porch for awhile and then Lacy kisses Arabella real sweet and glides down the porch.

"You weren't half bad, Rock Star," she grins at me. "Thanks for the memories."

She walks away. "Where's my good-bye kiss?" I call after her. She laughs and keeps walking.

Bells joins me in the hammock. I put an arm around her companionably, and keep one foot on the ground, rocking us gently. "I feel like shit," she complains.

"Me too."

After a long time, she adds very softly, "Bodie, I need to tell you something."

I keep rocking. I know what's coming.

"I...I like girls."

"Me too."

She slaps my chest lightly. "That's not funny. I'm trying to tell you...I'm sorry I'm all over the place. I'm sorry I'm kind of a...crazy bitch.I know I shouldn't be that messed up over all this...but I am."

I groan. "You're not messed up, Bells. There's nothing wrong with you. Your orientation is what it is. I mean, do you think you are bi, or  have you realized you only like girls?"

I don't add that she damn sure doesn't seem to like me anymore, unless there's a girl in the mix.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess I'm still figuring it out."

"That's okay too, you know." I forget how young she is, sometimes. "Although, I'm kind of surprised you didn't have an idea already..."

"It's because of my stepfather," she whispers.

Every muscle in my body tightens, like I've snorted too much coke and I can't relax. I don't know what to say to that. She thinks she likes girls because he abused her? Is that what she's saying?

I'm no counselor, but that doesn't seem...healthy.

"What did he do to you, that you would say that?" I ask very softly.

She lifts her head up and looks at me. "Do to me?" We stare at each other a long time. Eventually she shakes her head.

"No, not like...that. Not like you are thinking. He didn't...do things to me."

I feel very, very sober now. Also very very sick.

"Are you sure?" I say gently. "You can tell me anything, Bells."

She shakes her head. "No. I meant...I guess I feel...guilty or ashamed, because of the way he found out about me. It's just...he was so...crazy. Most of the time he was a big time druggie, and I actually liked him better that way. But then he would sober up and get on these...religious kicks.Not in a good way. In a fire and brimstone way. He saw demons and witches and sin and damnation in everything. Everything was the devil, until he fell off the wagon again.

"During one of his sober holy-roller phases, he caught me and one of my girlfriends kissing during a sleep over. I was in middle school. He...freaked out. He preached and ranted and told me I would go to hell if I went down a path of lesbian lechery. He would come to my bedroom at night and sit on my bed, and pray over me. He told me I was possessed. He told me I was a witch. I...I hated him. But because I was so ashamed and filled with dread of him all the time... I kind of...hated myself, too."

I can't find any words. I just keep rocking us slowly. I don't know how to feel or what to think about Cain Priestly. He was...unbalanced. Small-minded. Maybe even sick. What he did to Arabella is horrible.

But what I did to him? It was beyond horrible.

It was final.

I feel the hole inside me gnawing on itself. Despair growing.

"I couldn't tell anyone what he was doing, because I was too ashamed to tell them why he was doing it. I'm not sure how long that went on. Six months maybe? Then he fell off the wagon again and it was real bad that time—I went to stay with Randall and Eliza after that. But I think...that's why I went the other way. When I got to LA and the Disney show, you know? I went like...hypersexual. With guys, I mean. But that didn't make me feel any better, either.

"And this...all these threesomes...all this sex with all these strangers. That girl, Lacy, she wasn't a nice person. She put crushed pills in your drink so you would pass out and it could just be the two of us. I didn't stop her. I just let her drug you. I was worried about you but I kept wanting her anyway. " she lets out a sob. "God, Bodie. What's wrong with me? I hate myself. I think maybe Cain was right. Maybe I'm just...evil."

I let out a shaky breath and kiss Bells on the head. I find some words. "You're not evil, Bells. You're just broken."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm broken, too. And when you're broken, there's a hole inside and there's not enough sex or drugs or booze in the world to fill it up. You keep trying, but it doesn't work."

"We should...sober up," she says. "We should sober up and get the hell out of here. I need...I need...something normal. I want to go home and...work on my album. I want to...be nicer to you, Bodie. I can be a better girlfriend. Like, a real girlfriend."

I turn my head in the hammock to face her. "Bells...that doesn't make any sense, considering what you just told me. We fight all the time...this is the first time we've ever had a real conversation, and we haven't had sex...just me and you...in months, unless you were coked up pretty good. Maybe it's just our chemistry that doesn't work. Or maybe you like girls more than you realize, but either way...I don't think we're headed the same direction anymore..."

She starts to cry. "Please don't leave me, okay? I mean, I know I like girls, but I like you, too. I swear I do. Nobody has ever been as nice to me in my whole life as you."

"That's not true," I smile at her. "Adam has been way nicer to you than me."

Then she really starts to sob. "That's what I mean, Bodie. I'm so confused. I'm so awful. I basically raped Adam."

I laugh. "Okay, yeah, I guess , but don't ever say it like that...ever again. The guys hear you say that, they will latch onto that phrase with a vengeance. They'll give him shit until the end of his life."

I was trying to make her laugh, but it doesn't. She just cries more. "Bodie, please...please don't do this. Don't break up with me. Don't tell any one what I've told you. I can't be...gay, okay? I mean, what happens to my brand, if people think I'm a lesbian?"

I sigh and look up at the palm trees above. "Bells, this isn't the dark ages. Half of Hollywood is LGBTorQ. I don't think it matters if you are gay or straight or bi, when it comes to your brand. You're beautiful, you're talented...you're special. Adam says that all the time. You've got the chops. You just need to put your energy into your music, and not into all this drama."

"You're wrong," she whispers. "Maybe it doesn't matter if you've already made it and then your sexuality comes into question. But if casting agents and promoters and producers hear rumors that I'm gay, it changes what kind of opportunities I get. It matters, Bodie. Randall says...it matters. I mean, I've really never told him anything about liking girls...but somehow I think he just...knows. He told me it's not good to be too liberal with guys...or with girls at all."

I snort. "Your Uncle told you that?" Jesus, he's only a shade better than Cain. "Bells, he's old-school. Nashville scene. Conservative. A completely different generation. I don't think he's super in touch with the heartbeat of Hollywood."

"Then why did Moran tell Randall that the bull pen of lesbian and bi pop singers is full? He said if I wasn't singular enough to be unique in that field, I would get labeled as a fauxmosexual."

"What the fuck is a fauxmosexual?"

"A straight chic who pulls lesbian stunts to gain male interest. He said that trend was over a decade ago—after Katy Perry kissed a girl and liked it."

"Why is Randall talking to Moran about your sexuality when you don't even talk to him about it?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Bodie. Because what's real doesn't matter. Image is everything. Not all of us just burst onto the scene and strike a flawless, perfect pitch with their sound and their brand, like Soundcrush. You have no idea how all five of you are just so...balanced. Unique alone. A perfect ensemble together. Musically and personally and visually. It's like...the gods crafted you. Not all of us are like that. Some of us have to fine tune ourselves."

"So...you're going to be something that you're not?"

"I don't even know what I am!" she sobs. "Since I was thirteen years old, I was more a made up Disney character than I was Arabella. Now that girl is gone, and everything feels wrong!"

"Okay, okay," I soothe her, "I get it, baby. It's okay. I'm not going anywhere right now. We're still in this publicity thing together, until Moran tells us to fade it, right? We can figure this out, Bells. We can be friends and we can be what we need to be for the label in front of the cameras."

"Okay. Okay. I'll be nicer, Bodie. I swear. We can still have sex, if you want. I mean, I don't mind..."

I snort. This girl has been killing my ego for months, but now it's officially dead. "How about, let's not and say we did."

She starts to cry again. "I'm sorry..."

I moan and rub her back as she cries on my bare chest. Jesus, this girl doesn't know which way is up. People who push their kids into being child stars should be shot.

The reality of what I'm saying hits me hard. One of Bells parents was shot. Shot dead, and I was the cause of it.

Cain was crazy, misguided, very damaging to Bells, and in a drug craze he tried to shoot me. But if I'm honest,  I know in his mind, he thought he was defending himself. I assaulted him. I started the altercation that ended up with him pumped full of bullets.

He didn't deserve the end he met. He doesn't deserve to buried in the woods in an unmarked grave. He was somebody's son. Somebody, somewhere, might be missing the poor bastard.

"Bodie, oh god, I think I'm going to be sick..." Bells moans, and leans over the hammock. I keep us from tipping over as she vomits. Eventually we stagger into the hut to get out of the sun.

We spend most of the afternoon lying around doing nothing. We're both ruined from our bender and thinking about our hammock conversation.

When the sun starts to go down, it begins to dawn on both of us that we are completely out of liquor and drugs.

"Maybe we should...quit," Bells says weakly, from her place on the bed.

"Yeah," I agree. "We need to lay off. Like you said. Think about going home. Make a plan."

An hour later, Bells says. "Okay, but I'm bored as fuck. Let's walk down to the Tiki bar and just have drinks."

"Like this?" I laugh. We are grungier than a nineties grunge band. We haven't showered in days. Bells smells like stale sex, and I know I smell much worse.

"Okay, just find someone to bring us drinks, then," she says, pushing me off the bed. "And maybe some weed. I'm edgy as fuck."

I splash some water on my face and wander down the beach. The drinks are easy, but surprisingly, I can't seem to get a single bite on the weed. Two guys that hang around the bar that I definitely have seen selling to tourists pretend like they don't speak English.

"You call Connor," they both tell me. "Connor is your man."

Yeah, yeah, Connor is my man all right. I guess he's put the word out to the underlings that he deals direct with me.

Connor's the Irish ex-pat drug dealer that cozies up to the rich cats like me in these parts. He's kind of a prick. I mean, I'm not super unhappy with his service. At least he delivers a decent product when and where he says. I just don't like that he's a club promoter, too. Always making me meet him at some Thai nightclub.

I know he's getting paid to pull me in there, and I don't like that shit—him double-dipping on my fame. It makes me fucking nervous. I ain't trying to attract attention to myself here.

Moreover, I was never the kind of manipulative dealer, that Connor is. Dealing was strictly a business transaction to me. I wasn't trying to make important friends and trade on their influence. I sold to a couple of famous baseball player's kids in Atlanta, and I never even told TJ who they were. I knew it would get back to Daemon, and he might try to use the info, just like my prick pusher Connor.

Despite my reservations, I find myself dialing his number. Bells is right, we need to lay off, but weed is almost a necessity in order to do that. To take the edge of not having the pills.

Connor is surprised to hear that all I want is weed. For some reason, he's noncommittal about it. He tells me he's out of pocket tonight, but that he can get to me in the morning. I ask him testily if he doesn't have a friend that's "in pocket" that could help me out tonight. He just laughs and tells me he doesn't have friends in Thailand, and neither do I.

We sweat more than we sleep through the night. I don't hear from Connor in the morning. Or afternoon. He finally returns my calls in the evening. He wants us to meet him at a club, but Bells is too far gone for that. She's shaking and vomiting. I tell him that's not gonna work, that Bells in bad shape and she needs a little relief.

He agrees to come to us for a change. When he arrives, strolling up the beach in an open short sleeve button down and cargo shorts, something about the way he's walking bugs the shit out of me. It's like he's the fucking king, arriving home to his castle.

"I'll take half an ounce," I snap, peeling bills from my roll. "Fuck it, how much do you have on you?I'll take it all, since you are in no hurry to make your stops."

He shakes his head regretfully. "Got no grass, boy-o."

"I told you, we're laying off the pills. Why didn't you bring the green?"

"My inventory is a wee bit limited right now. What I can offer you is an upgrade," he grins and steps inside my hut like I invited him.

He turns and dangles a little red balloon in front of my face. I laugh at him. The tiny teardrop shape is full of the world's most dangerous poison—a mixture of cocaine and heroin.

"Get real, man. I don't want no speedball."

He shrugs. "I'm afraid that's all I have for you, Bodie. I could possibly look for some higher quality unmixed heroin, if you are looking to go a milder route...but it will cost you..."

"Get the fuck on, then. No heroin. No speedball. Bring me some fucking oxy," I tell him.

When he leaves, Bells starts to shake worse. The truth is, I'm not feeling much better. It's been...maybe two days since I had any oxy and I'm beginning to feel the pressure.

I go to the bartender and buy a whole bottle of crown and several cans of coke. I manage to quell Bell's shakes with a few stiff drinks. I take mine straight, and I promise her I'm going out a short walk away to find us a little more relief.

"I don't understand," she says. "Connor always has everything. What happened?"

"Nothing happened to his inventory. It's a fucking shake-down. He's been making a lot of money on us showing up to clubs. He doesn't want us to dry out, and leave this place."

Arabella grabs my shirt. "Bodie...I feel really terrible. I've never felt like this. It...hurts. Everything hurts."

"I know, baby." I push her hair back from her sweaty head. I've been where she is—once, when Leed detoxed me. The problem is...I have a bad feeling, I'm about to be right behind her, if I don't find us some oxy or some vicodin.

A hut in a third world country is not a place we can detox. And we can't go to the hospital here, either. I've heard stories of tourists being arrested for overdoses. It's not like in America. Drugs are a more serious crime here.

I carry the bottle of crown with me on the street. This is a shitty way to find what I need, and I'm not surprised when I have no luck. I go in one club where I've been with Connor. I approach a couple of his acquaintances but they won't even sell me even a small amount. They all say the same thing.

"Connor's your man."

Shit. I underestimated this prick. He's got a tight hold on this resort town.

We make it through one more day with alcohol. But I'm to the point where I can hardly take care of Arabella, and she can't even get to the bathroom by herself.

When I start to see Arabella's stepfather staring at me through the window, that's when I fucking break.

Connor's in our hut in half an hour, acting like he's an angel of mercy. "It's alright, lovey. You'll feel so much better, soon," he tells Bells.

It's a pretty fucking shameful situation I find myself in, but the truth is I'm so fucking relieved to see him I take it on faith that what he's now offering me in a clear plastic baggie is white heroin and not a more dangerous cocaine/heroin mixture. I ask him to dose us, because I have only the vaguest idea how. I'm afraid of overdosing her.

He teaches me exactly how to measure the dose, how to mix it with water, how to shoot Arabella up. Her groans of pain turn to a sigh of pleasure in about ten seconds.

"Go away. Please," I whisper desperately.

"Come now, Bodie, that's no way to treat your lifeline," Connor says to me.

"I wasn't talking to you," I mutter, staring over his shoulder at Cain Priestly.

He stares behind him. He chuckles. "Who do you see, Bodie?"

I shake my head, refusing to answer.

"Come on then. Let's get rid of what goes bump in your dark night," Connor gestures for my arm.

I surrender my arm, along with my guilt, and the ghost that haunts me.

I'm so sad for Bodie and Arabella right now. How is everyone else feeling about their circumstances?