No Tomorrow: An Angsty Love Story
No Tomorrow: Chapter 60

Every time my cell phone rings, I jump and grab it, hoping it’s Blue. Today marks eight weeks since I left California, so when my phone rings I’m hoping all kinds of hope that it’s him, but it’s Reece’s number on my screen.

“Hi,” I say as my stomach twists into knots of anxiety.

“Hey. How are you guys doing?”

I get up from the couch and move to my bedroom so Lyric can’t hear my conversation. “We’re good. Nothing new, just doing our usual stuff.” The usual being crying most of the night while hugging Blue’s pillow, seeing a therapist twice per week, and eating my weight in ice cream and lattes.

“Good.”

“How are you doing?”

“Eh. Feeling kinda overwhelmed and being pulled in a shit ton of directions. I’m okay, though.”

Do I detect a hint of sadness in his voice? Or do I just analyze everyone now, afraid they might be having a mental break? I’ve searched the internet for signs of depression and suicidal thoughts in others, and this could very well be a red flag.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

I don’t pry into Reece’s life, even though a part of me wants to. He knows everything about Blue and me. We’ve talked for hours, but always about me and Blue. It’s usually me rambling on and on. Most of the time I wonder why he even takes the time to call me because I’m sure he’s tired of hearing my voice and having to pacify me. I know something is going on with him and the mother of his child, and I wish he would open up to me and tell me what’s going on. Who does Reece talk to about his problems? Blue? Someone else? No one?

“I’m fine,” he says. “I talked to Blue on the phone this morning.”

My heart beats faster just at the mention of his name. “How is he?” My voice strains over the lump in my throat.

“He sounded really good. Before I say anything else, he said to tell you he loves you. And he said to tell you he loves Lyric, and Mickey, and Archie, too.”

“Did he really?” A mix of happy and sad tears fall down my cheeks.

“No lie. You’re the first thing he asked me about. I told him you’re doing good. I’m supposed to keep the conversation upbeat for him.”

I frown slightly with jealousy and frustration. Reece has been to several therapy sessions with Blue at the treatment facility. He gets to see him, and hear his thoughts. He gets to ask questions and be involved and understand.

I get a black hole of questions.

“Doesn’t he want to talk to me himself?” I don’t want to ask this question, but I can’t stop myself either. I have little self-control lately.

“He says he’s not ready yet.”

The happiness I just felt is sucked out of me like a vacuum. “But why?”

He breathes into the phone. “It’s really not for me to say to you, Piper. And believe me, I hate being in the middle like this, but I care about you both. I’m trying to keep a bridge between you two. He talks about you a lot—more than he talks about anything else. He’s petrified. He’s not ready to face you and how he’s made you feel. He’s afraid it’s going to send him over the edge. He doesn’t know what to say to you to make things better. He feels like nothing is enough and he can never make this up to you. He’s afraid you might never feel the same way about him.”

The ache in my chest grows heavier. “He doesn’t have to say anything or make anything up to me. Please make him understand that. He doesn’t have to apologize. We don’t have to talk about any of it at all. I just want to hear his voice and tell him how much I love him and miss him. I want to tell him how Mickey learned how to sit up like a gopher and how Lyric is playing Pink Floyd songs on her harp and I want to hear if he’s seen any rainbows lately and—” A sob catches in my throat and I can’t say anymore.

“The doctor is working on all of that with him.”

“I just miss him so much.”

“I know you do. Don’t give up, sweetheart, okay?”

“I’m not. And I won’t. It’s just really hard because I feel so alone in this.”

“I get that you feel like he’s given up, but he hasn’t.”

I collect those words and wrap them up in a nice pretty virtual bow so I can unwrap them and hear them again later when I need them.

“Thank you…for saying that. It means a lot….”

“There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he states. “Blue wants to come clean.”

“Clean?” I open one of the bedroom windows for fresh air and stand in front of it, looking out at the dragon statue Blue put in the rock garden. “About what?”

“About the suicide attempt, his mental illness, the drug use. Everything. He wants to let Vic release a new statement. He might do an exclusive interview when he feels up to it.”

This is unexpected news, especially after the band’s management and PR team went through so much to cover it all up.

“He really wants to do that?”

“It was his idea. He thinks people should be made aware of depression and mental illness, instead of hiding it like it’s some big-ass taboo thing. There’re other musicians in the facility, and they’re thinking of starting like a non-profit to help others. I think he wants to try to get some sort of good out of this, Piper. He’s got a massive fan base, he’s in a good position to spread the word, so to speak. I think it’ll get him a lot of respect. And if it makes him feel better, he should do it. I told him I’d do whatever I can to help him. The whole band’s behind him on this.”

I’m filled with pride for Blue—for wanting to face this and let the world know, and to try to help others. It shows he’s getting stronger. I just wish he could also face me.

“I think that’s great,” I finally say. “He’s right, it shouldn’t just be hidden away and swept under the rug. Maybe if it was talked about more, people suffering wouldn’t feel so alone. They’d be more open to talking about it, right?”

“Some might. That’s what he’s hoping.”

“Do the doctors have any idea when he might go home?” As the words leave my mouth I wonder where Blue considers home now. In Seattle? Here in New Hampshire with me? In California where the fancy facility and doctors are?

“Not yet. He’s not being kept there. Right now he wants to be there until he feels ready. It’s a good place. You’d be surprised how many musicians, actors, and actresses are there.”

I wish I could somehow get more answers. My therapist keeps telling me to just be patient and supportive with Blue, but to also live my life, and focus on what I need and what makes me happy. Much easier said than done, though. I’ve gone through so many stages of emotions—denial, anger, betrayal, abandonment, devastation. I’ve worked hard with my therapist to not let this all drag me under, but it’s hard.

“Well, I should get going. Lyric is waiting for her lunch,” I lie. “Thanks so much for calling, Reece. When you talk to Blue, please tell him I love him with all my heart.” I swallow and wet my lips. “And please tell him I’m not going anywhere.”

I end the call and stare out the window at the light drizzle falling, hoping a rainbow will appear to touch the sky with color. I’ll never be able to see gray clouds and rain without thinking of Blue.

I’ve become one of those women who deals with her problems by doing insane amounts of housework. As soon as I hung up the phone, I cleaned all the bathrooms, vacuumed the entire house, cleaned the cat box, and came close to re-painting the front door. I decided to save it for another day when I’m feeling emotionally neurotic.

And then, just to make sure I obliterate the past two hours of keeping my mind busy and in a healthy place, I put on the recording of Blue’s last performance—the live TV show he did. I haven’t been able to watch it before today, but now I suddenly feel like I can’t go another second without watching it. Maybe there was something I missed when I watched it live that night—like a sign that he was struggling. I sit on my bedroom floor with my face approximately two feet from the screen and watch the man I love come alive.

Seeing him so vivid, looking so confident and in control on the stage is a blow to my heart and only makes me miss him a hundred times more than I already do. Glued to the screen, I watch his every movement and look for a glint of sadness or mania in his eyes, but I don’t see anything out of the norm for him. Blue always has a darkish, sort of sensual and brooding aura on stage and this night was no different.

His voice does what it always does to me—caresses me like a warm breeze, leaving tiny goosebumps over my skin. But this time I listen to the lyrics of the new song more closely….

If I could stay, I think I would

If I could’ve saved you, I think I would

If I could bring you with me, God knows I would

But I’m on this road alone, doing nothing that I should

I wish I didn’t love you

I wish you didn’t love me, too

I wish I could change the things I do

I wish none of this was true.

A chill slides up my spine. Blue always expels his feelings through his lyrics. Were these words a cry for help? A surrender? A goodbye? Or just the words to a mellow love song that was suitable for a television audience?

And then there’s Acorn’s collar. Why didn’t I question him that night on the phone about the faded collar and tags that were wound around his wrist? I just assumed it was a tribute of some sort to his dog. Was he trying to say something?

I touch his image on the TV screen as the cameraman zooms to his face, and Blue gives a quick smile, then looks down, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

At the time, I thought his smile at the camera for me was sexy, but watching it with the knowledge I now have, his expression changes as the camera pans out. The smile fades, his eyes darken as they lower toward the floor, and he looks completely overcome with sorrow.

The camera moves to Reece, then Koler, and when it swings back to Blue, he looks normal again. But I saw it—that desperate, grief-stricken look.

I wish I had seen it that night, but would it have changed anything? What would I have done, other than ask him if he’s okay? And if I did, what would his answer have been?

“I’m just tired,” as he always says, or “I’m thinking of hurling myself off the roof”?

I’m sure the latter never would have come out of his mouth.

“Mom?”

I tear my eyes away from the screen to see Lyric standing in the bedroom doorway. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?”

She steps inside and looks at the TV just before I turn it off.

“Were you watching Blue’s concert?”

I nod. “Yeah, I miss him and just wanted to see him.”

She sits on the floor next to me, in the same position I’m sitting.

“Blue’s not okay, is he?” Her soft voice could have been a horrific scream and it would have had the same gut-wrenching effect on me.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, forcing a smile.

“I guess I kinda feel like something’s wrong inside.”

She knew he looked sad that night. She asked me why he looked so sad, but I didn’t see it. Oh, how I wish I had.

I realize I can’t lie to her anymore. She’s too intuitive—too wise beyond her years—to have blinders pulled over her.

“Well… no. He’s going through a rough time right now. He’s been emotionally exhausted for a long time, and he’s been…confused.” She listens intently, nodding as if she understands, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she does. “He had a very difficult childhood, and the memories of that still hurt him and make him feel sad and sick. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“So he’s in a special hospital for a little while, and they’re helping him rest, and they’re going to give him medicine that will make his head stop hurting and make him not so sad.” I can’t bring myself to tell her he tried to harm himself. Not when she’s looking at me with her huge, hopeful eyes.

“Will I see him again?”

“Yes, definitely. I promise you, he’ll be back. Actually his friend Reece called me this morning, and he said that Blue said to tell you he loves you and he misses you very much.”

“Can I call him and tell him I love and miss him, too?”

“Not yet, but I promise as soon as we can talk to him on the phone, we will.”

Disappointment puts a frown on her face. “Okay. I sorta thought something was wrong when he was writing the bird prints in his book and asked me if I could read it. I hope he feels better soon, I really miss him. Are you still getting married?”

If I have anything to do with it, then hell yes, we’re getting married.

“Of course we are, it’s just postponed until he feels better. Don’t worry, okay? Come here and give me a hug.” Smiling, she crawls across the floor and hugs me, then tells me she’s going to take Mickey in the backyard to teach him how to do new tricks.

It’s not until I hear her outside with the dog that I remember what she said about the bird prints and Blue’s book. Confused, I go to the closet where he keeps some of his things, and sure enough, one of his old journal books are in there. I pull it out and flip through a few pages of journal entries until I get to a page of the scribbles—only now I see they’re not just random scribbles as I’ve always thought. They’re actually bird tracks.

What the hell? Here’s a huge red flag that’s been right in front of me for years and I was completely clueless.

I wonder how many people with mental illness are walking around suffering in silence, smiling on the outside, and doing things like this that their friends and loved ones are just passing off as being weird, never realizing that they might need help.

Maybe I never did enough, or said enough. I always let Blue lead. I always waited for him. That couldn’t have been good for me, or for him.

I grab my phone and send Reece a text:

^{Me: Can I write Blue a letter? Can you give it to him if I send it to you?}

^{Reece: Yeah…as long as it’s not harsh on him.}

^{Me: OMG no, I’m not going to say anything bad.}

^{Reece: His doctor might read it first, or with him. Just so you know.}

^{Me: I understand. That’s ok.}

^{Reece: Send it to me and I’ll bring it to him next time I see him. Should be in a little over a week.}

I go to the kitchen and replace a stationary set someone gave me as a gift at the office holiday party a long time ago, and I sit at the table and write a letter:

Dear Blue,

You’ve written me so many letters over the years, but I’ve never written any to you. Don’t say I sent you emails, because those don’t count. 😉

Reece called me today. I’m sure you already know this, but he’s been incredibly sweet and helpful. He gave me your message that you love me and I want you to know I love you, too. Please know that, and believe it. I love you with all my heart. Nothing has changed that. Nothing will ever change that. I miss your smile and your laugh and I am missing the hell out of your pancakes.

Lyric misses you, too. She’s learning so many cool songs that she can’t wait to play for you. We’ve taught Mickey new tricks. He’s such a great dog and I’m so glad we adopted him.

I met your sister, Ellie. I like her. When she met me, I think she thought you were engaged to a teenager. LOL. I think your voice is better than hers. 😉

She told me some things but I want you to know it doesn’t change a thing from my end. You’re still the man I love and the man I choose to spend my life with. That’s not going to change. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to me, and us. The ladybugs put us together, remember? They knew what they were doing.

Reece told me you’re going to go public and I stand behind you 100%. You have nothing to be ashamed of in any way. You’re a strong, talented, amazing man. I’m proud of you.

I know you need time. I understand. I know a new Blue may come out of this, and I’m here to meet him. I love Evan, I love Blue. I love all the parts that make you YOU. If you’re afraid to see me, or talk to me, please don’t be. We can get through this together. Let me be here for you. I’ve loved you since I met you. I’ve been yours since you screwed my brains out under the bridge. 😉 You’re my one and only and my everything. I’ve loved you at your best and I’ve loved you at your worst and I’m going to continue to love you through anything and everything. Even if you decide you can’t have me in your life anymore, I’ll still love you, and Lyric will still be part of your life. I promise.

I’m still wearing your ring, and I’m still planning on spending my life with you, if you still want that, too.

I love you, always.

Piper xo

I carefully fold it, put it in its matching envelope, and address it to Reece. I can’t just sit and wait for Blue to contact me while he’s in a hospital worrying that I might hate him or that I don’t want him anymore or that there’s no chance for us anymore. Screw that. I’m making the first move, whether it’s right or wrong—I feel like he needs to know I’m okay, and that I still love him no matter what.