Changes

I wandered into Skye’s bedroom some time after midnight the night after graduation. A thin line of streetlight leaked through the blinds, cutting across her rumpled bedsheets. She was sitting up, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“You turned your phone off?” Her voice was sharp. “You chose to be unreachable.”

“Skye, I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to talk to anybody.” My words felt heavy, my throat dry.

“That’s fine,” she said, pouting. “But you could have at least let me know you were okay.”

“What if I wasn’t?” I hesitated. “What if that was the reason I didn’t say anything? I didn’t want to lie to you.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“Wes, I knew seeing everyone with their families and friends earlier was hard. I know you’ve been hiding from yourself lately.” Her eyes glossed over, tears slipping free. “But we’re in too deep to keep secrets like this. I know you weren’t trying to hurt me, but I was scared you weren’t coming home.”

My voice caught. “I’m sorry, Skye.”

There was more I wanted to give her, confessions that would’ve torn the air between us open, but I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t keep letting the intrusive thoughts win.

I sat beside her, leaving a strip of cool bedsheet between us. Closing it felt wrong, like stepping over a line I didn’t deserve to cross.

“Wes,” she said softly, “you’re allowed to be selfish sometimes. I understand that people get hurt, it’s part of life. But don’t hurt me just because you’re hurting. We’re in this together. I’ll do anything for you. I love you.”

Her voice faltered on the last words, and I let the silence stretch.

“Can you still trust me with your future?” I asked. Afraid of rejection.

“Wes…stop wallowing after one mistake. We’re too close for you to be having doubts like that now,” she was stern.

I took a deep breath.

“You’re right. I guess I’m just not handling this well,” I looked down, sweating. “I just thought that this would be the turning point in my life; when everything would start getting better, but I feel worse.”

“I understand,” she laid on my lap. “You’ve been trying to escape from this as long as I’ve known you. You’ve burned the bridges back home…and it’s painful to look back on the barren remnants of what you’re leaving behind.”

I was trying to prevent my tears from falling on her.

“Please, stop looking back. Just take my hand and we’ll move forward together. We’re going to start over.”

I ran my fingers through her hair, acknowledging her request.

We didn’t talk much the rest of the night.

We fell deeper into each other, passionately and honestly exploring one another. As intense as our intimacy usually was, this was different. This is the first time I felt that our sex was exclusively from a place of love.

***

Our move to Nashville was quick and mostly painless. Neither of us had much to bring. The team at R&R had already collected my instruments to be ready for tour, and we were both minimalists.

With the money from our royalties, we bought a quality bed and some discount furniture for the rest of the place. We could have bought a house, but knowing we’d both be away from home frequently, we settled on renting an apartment in a secure, gated community. We had a lot of famous neighbors, either our age or substantially older.

By the time we had settled in on Thursday night, I had already packed my bags to head down to Atlanta to start the tour.

“Well, I guess this is home now,” I said, tired. “I can’t wait to get back in September.”

“Yeah…I’ll try to make it feel more lived in by the time I leave to meet you on tour. I’ve got twenty-two sessions over four weeks before I can hop on the tour in Chicago,” she said, equally exhausted.

There was a long silence in our apartment. We were desperately trying to soak in our new reality.

Syke leaned her back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. I started to put clothes on hangers in the closet.

“It’s going to be weird not seeing you for a while. I was spoiled for the last nine months, having you there every day,” I lamented.

Her eyes flickered, “Yeah, despite the chaos, the consistency made everything bearable…”

We were both circling the unsaid revelation.

“At this point, our relationship almost feels normal,” I broke the silence.

Skye laughed, “That’s one way to put it, but yeah, I had the same thought. We still do risque stuff together, but it’s just natural now.”

We broke in the new bed not long after.

We were becoming something more than we were before, and that scared me. I felt like I was one step away from unraveling at any time, and for the first time in my life:

I had something to lose.

***

The tour started off okay, but I was more uncomfortable than I expected. I was perfectly fine singing and playing guitar, but it was obvious that I wasn’t seasoned doing it live yet. In terms of execution, my first five shows were good. There weren’t any noticeable mistakes, but the performances felt flatter than I would have liked.

My backing band was carrying the energy in the shows at that point, and it left me feeling empty. I contemplated reaching into my old bag of tricks, but with Ariel’s fans, all of the bloody aura farming would be met with indifference at best.

I read the social media reviews. They were mostly favorable, talking about the maturity in presentation compared to my time in EoT, but it didn’t feel that way. Whose standard was I trying to meet?

The next series of shows would be Philly, New York, and Boston.

I was anxious. This was the market that raised me, they knew the real me. Would they accept this Wes Reau, or would they scorn him for selling out?

I lay awake in the hotel room, staring at the ceiling, scrolling through reviews I shouldn’t have been reading. My chest tightened with every comment. My thumb hovered over Stan’s number more times than I could count. I told myself not to. I told myself I didn’t need it. An hour later, I caved.

I called Stan.

“Hey Wes, what’s up?” His voice was casual, almost cheerful.

“Hey man, do you have anyone selling in the Philly market right now?” I asked, trembling.

“That depends. What are you looking for?” he said smoothly, like we were talking business.

“Something to take the edge off, Xanax or Percocet…I don’t know.” My words tumbled out, embarrassed and panicked.

Stan paused, then leaned in with his pitch. “Hear me out. You don’t need a downer. You need focus. Moda, it’s what CEOs use to crush twelve-hour board meetings, what pilots use to stay sharp. No jitters, no crash. You’ll feel like you’ve been doing this your whole life.”

“What’s Moda?” I asked.

“Modafinil. It’s an upper, but less addictive than Coke or Adderall,” he said. “I’ve known you long enough. Trust me, if you can lock in, you’ll feel better.”

Fuck it. I’ll take whatever I can get.

“Yeah, if I can get a hook-up before the northeast shows, that would be great,” I admitted.

“Done. I’ll have it delivered to your tour manager in every city.” I could hear the grin in his voice.

I used to think I was better than this.