Hey Girl (Turn it Up #9)

Chapter 22

22

CHRIS

“ C hris?”

A feminine voice from the beyond that has the nerve to not be Rebecca’s.

Snort “Huh?” I peel open an eyelid and work the kink out of my neck. I do not recommend catnapping on a porch swing.

“Hey Chris,” the voice says again, and this time, a blurry Mayzie comes into focus. And she has Melanie with her.

“You’ve come to visit me?” I sit up straighter as they both lean back against the porch railing to face me.

“Sort of,” Melanie answers.

“So, Chris…” Mayzie adds. “Why don’t you maybe let us take over for a little while you go rest. Maybe um…walk through a car wash?”

“Oh,” I muse, bringing a hand up to my hair. “I’ve only been camping out here for four days, is it that bad?” My facial hair, in particular has been known to grow rather fast. I probably look like a crazy mountain man.

“Just a little, um, disheveled,” Melanie tries to downplay my probably shithouse appearance. “But I bet you’d feel better after a nap and a shower, and then you can come back to Rebecca all handsome again.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I cross my arms. “Sleep is for losers, and besides, I swore I wouldn’t leave her.”

“She’ll understand,” she says, trying to sound reassuring. “Plus, you want to be your best self for her, don’t you? And this isn’t it,” she waves her hand, palm-up in my direction.

“How dare you!”

“Chris,” Mayzie levels me with a deadpan. “Your eyes are so bloodshot that you look like a drunk cartoon.”

“Fine!” I screech out, exasperated, making them both startle on either side of me. “But it won’t be long, got it?”

“Got it,” they say in unison like a creepy set of rock wife twins.

“And don’t let anyone knock on the door!” I point at them. “No politicians, timeshare salesman, or religious radicals! And if girl scouts show up, you buy their asses out of Tagalongs and send them on their way!”

“Go!”

“Fine!”

I spin around on my heel and hightail it straight to my super awesome Kia.

Rebecca

A mug of steaming hot chamomile tea on the table in front of me. I breathe in deeply while I massage my temples. My countless attempts at finding my inner peace are disrupted however, by the startling cacophony of aggressive pounding on my door. After jumping in my seat, I hit the deck, diving to the floor and crawling to the archway that leads to the front of the house. Frantically, I look around for my phone to call the cops. The last I knew, Chris was still out there, but in this panicky moment, I’m not caring. It would serve him right for scaring me this bad.

I feel myself readying to pass out before I hear a familiar female voice.

“Rebecca!” It calls through the urgent thumping and pounding, which now occurs to me sounds like more than one person.

Oh God, it’s the masses. They found me and they’re here to torment me for being a superslut!

“Rebecca!” God that voice is so familiar, who is that? “Rebecca! It’s Mazyie!”

Oh. Thanks.

“And Melanie!” Another voice chimes in. “Can we please come in? It’s an emergency!”

What?

What on earth kind of emergency could these two have and why would they come to me?

“Please, Rebecca!” Mayzie yells again. “I promise we’ll make it quick!”

What in the ever-loving fuck is this? I blow out a cleansing breath as I straighten up. I should let them in and get this over with. Otherwise they’ll keep banging on the door and making a scene.

I stride very deliberately to the door, my steps light and quick, and when I unlatch the door, I stand behind it and pull it open.

Mayzie and Melanie practically cartwheel in and I hurry to shut the door.

“Thank you,” Mayzie practically wheezes as she scurries right over to the couch, her laptop tucked under her arm and Melanie trots briskly behind her.

“Wh - wh…” I close my eyes and take a breath before trying again. “What is th-th…”

Dammit. I guess my anxiety isn’t under enough control to get my speech back.

“We just need to show you something,” Mayzie answers my unasked question without looking up while she opens her computer.

“We just need to hurry, Chris takes crazy fast power naps,” Melanie adds, taking a seat next to her and looking up to address me. “We talked him into leaving, but it wasn’t easy and it won’t last long.

“Okay, connected,” Mayzie breathes.

When my mind catches up and I realize she’s jumping online, I start to freak again. “N - n -,” I try to push the word of protest out.

“Rebecca, it’s okay,” Melanie reaches her hand out to me. “I promise what you see won’t be bad or hurtful. And I’ll hold your hand,” she nods reassuringly.

I would normally have trouble looking someone in the eye right now, but I can’t help but look from her hand to her charming green pools that hold so much compassion and kindness in them and find myself reaching out to take her offered hand.

The nerves are still going haywire beneath the surface of my skin, but I let myself be gently pulled to sit next to Melanie on the couch.

“I - I d-d,”

“It’s okay, Rebecca,” Mayzie holds her hand up. “You don’t have to talk to us right now.”

She goes back to her laptop once more as Melanie nods. “Yeah, just hear us out. And then we’ll leave you alone.”

I give a feeble nod and take another deep breath as Mayzie turns the screen my way again. This appears to be another chat forum of some kind and at the top, is a terribly designed banner -amateurs.

The Anti-Rock Wife

“Wh- wh-,” I try to ask but Mayzie mercifully cuts me off.

“Its a chat thread dedicated to hating me,” she explains plainly, her expression indifferent.

I look in disbelief from her to the screen and dare to take in some of the comments.

Did you see what that fake, gold-digging bitch was wearing at the House of Blues last week?

She thinks she’s so damn cute with that blog but she’s really just a bimbo.

Look at her mascara running in this pic! I bet Jack cheated AGAIN and she went on a bender!

“Okay Maze, I do have to ask what’s going on in that picture,” Melanie deadpans at the screen.

“I was hungover from an afterparty the night before and didn’t get to wash my face before we got on the bus.” Mayzie pouts but with a shrug. “It’s okay, that didn’t hurt so much as a comment a few pages down where someone says I’m a lousy dancer.”

“Ouch,” Melanie draws the word out as she whips her head to regard Mayzie.

“Yeah,” she frowns but quickly straightens. “But my point is, some days people are going to hate you, and other days they’re going to love you. But you above anyone should know that the haters are just trolls. Chris told me very affectionately about one of your favorite pastimes,” she explains when I look at her curiously. “I say that if you can defend others and put trolls in their place, then you can do it for yourself.”

“We’re not saying you have to,” Melanie is quick to turn to me.

“No,” Mayzie agrees. “We just want to give you some perspective. To let you know you’re not alone. This doesn’t just happen to you, and those assholes out there don’t matter.”

“All that matters is what you do when you get back up,” Melanie tacks on. “This, unfortunately, comes along with loving someone that’s famous. You just have to decide if you want to deal with it.”

“And even if you don’t choose it, you have people now,” Mayzie closes her laptop and leans in closer. “You have us now, no matter what your future with Chris is. Understand?”

I swallow hard, taking a moment to absorb all they’ve just said as I look between the two of them. I finally nod, and give Melanie’s hand another squeeze while reaching out for Mayzie’s too.

She grips on as her eyes soften. “I know you’re probably not ready, but if it’s not too much trouble… please don’t wait too much longer to talk to Chris.”

Melanie nods, “We love that crazy fucker, and he loves you. He loves you so much.”

I heard him pull up a few hours ago and I feel horrible for not letting him in yet. I want to talk to him, but I don’t want to actually talk. So I’ve been doing all the things to get a grip on my speech.

I’ve been doing everything to find my peace after Mayzie and Melanie left while also turning over everything they said. They are two women who are married to rockstars and live that life and everything it comes with -including the hate. I can’t help but think that they’re better women than I am, and I also can’t help but throw my personal hindrances in the equation. They don’t have the level of anxiety I do. They are miles more confident than I am, and for that reason, it’s always going to be easier for them.

I understand that things can blow over and be okay in the end. But it’s only until that happens again. How many times can I be struck down so hard that it takes me days to crawl out of the personal hell it puts me in? And I want so badly to say Chris is worth it.

I love him. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I want so badly to say he’s worth all the pain and fuck everything else. I want to just jump in and deal with whatever fallout later. But something is stopping me. As much as I want to be that reckless, I just can’t.

Not yet.

There’s just so much chaos in my head, so many things on my plate, and not enough hours in the day to deal with them. For years, I’ve kept everything in my life under control by keeping things simple; quiet. Being able to deal with each small thing as it comes has given me the ability to stay on top of my issues.

Since Chris has come along, things have been crazy. Oh so delightfully crazy. I’ve never had so much fun or felt so many things in my life, and I would miss that so much if I gave it up.

After spending some time doing some self-care and catching up on the housework I’ve let slide, I practice my usual speech exercises while going through my skin care routine. By the time I get a handle on my words and have flushed out more of the toxicity with some deep breathing, I think I know what I need to do.

I’m just releasing my hair from its top knot and placing my glasses back on my face when I hear a commotion out front. It’s the quick whoop of a police siren followed by some muted, but heavy voices.

Oh no… not when I’ve just gotten myself calm.

Never in my life have I dealt with so many people outside my door.

Trying to hang onto my wits, I wrap my arms around myself and scurry to the door, determined to hold myself together and not let whatever is happening to blow my stock pile.

When I take a cautious peek out the side of my front window, a painful gasp rips up my throat at the sight outside.

I remind myself to stay calm and pull in a deep breath to replace the one that was lost as I hurry to my front door and whirl it open before returning my arms to their comforting position around my body.

“No! Wait, wait!” I call out to the police officers, and I only have a blink of a second to register that I did it without faltering.

The two cops and the blond drummer they’re trying to pin to the front of their cruiser all look up, curiously. They all have weirdly expectant looks on their faces as they halt their movements, like they’re waiting for me to say more.

I swallow hard and take another deep breath. “What’s going on?” Again, no stutter or stammer.

“Ma’am, we’ve had multiple complaints of disturbances,” the caramel - complected officer informs me. I don’t have time to admire his Latin good looks before the other chimes in.

“Several of your neighbors have called to report this man making a spectacle in your front yard.”

Oh lord.

“He’s refusing to cease and desist which warrants us to take him in and put him in holding.”

I feel my heartrate spike at the idea of my gorgeous, crazy, beach-boy looking drummer behind bars after all he’s done the last few days.

“No!” My protest comes out in a light squeak but still without any sputtering. “Please, just… let me talk to him?” I hold a hand out.

“Do you think you can talk him into packing up his squatter tent and party lights? that second item mentioned briefly makes my eyes flit up to the tree branches where some very colorful globe lights have indeed been strung up, and back again as he finishes, “and act like a responsible member of this community?”

Who the fuck knows?

But pressing my lips together, I give them a deliberate nod.

Officer Latin Lover’s lips purse and his eyebrows shoot up, and he gives a lighthearted shrug. “Works for me.”

“Me too,” agrees Officer Formal as he pulls the keys to the handcuffs from his utility belt.

Chris looks between both officers, offering up one of his cheesiest grins as they uncuff him and it gives my heart a small flutter of amusement. It’s a warm tingle that I’m going to miss.