“You gonna hook me up?” I think my tongue is swollen, and none of what I’m saying makes sense.
“Of course. Let’s just go over here.”
He gives me some pills, and like a good boy, I swallow them. Charlie shoves his hand in my pocket, taking…I don’t know what. He can take whatever he wants.
“You stay here and chill,” he whispers in my ear, propping me against a wall.
Slowly, I slide down. Legs wide and sprawled along the floor. My eyes flutter closed.
Everything slows. Everything blurs. Strobes of fluorescent lights flash across my vision. Beautiful.
This blissful moment won’t last. And fuck, it isn’t enough. Nothing ever is. No matter what I do to find her or get her back—my Eva—nothing works. Nothing.
After
“You have to die a few times before you can really live.” ~ Charles Bukowski
16
My eternal darkness
Thirteen years after the crash
Now
EVA
With the Rolling Stone magazine in hand, I rap hard against the door of my sister’s apartment in this upscale Los Angeles complex.
I’m unrelenting with the banging, unleashing my rage on the wood like a hammer hell-bent on destroying something.
I devoured the article as I flew across the country, so much so, I could recite the piece word for word, if needed.
The feature focused on the wildly successful decade-long run of Trojan, one of the world’s hottest rock bands. The rock gods bid adieu to the world stage and millions of adoring fans with a final tour about a year ago, and two of their songs from that album still ride the charts.
And as if it wasn’t enough of a shock to discover my greatest love is alive, the line that nearly killed me was the mention of the band’s manager. Bianca Ramirez.
My sister.
I almost vomited.
“All right, I’m coming. I’m coming.” Bianca’s voice is muffled through the door. “What’s going on?”
She swings the front door open, hand on her hip, and stands before me in shorts and a worn Trojan T-shirt. How fitting.
My lip twitches, curling into a sneer. Familiar feelings of loss and loneliness rise within me and a new one, betrayal, swims among them like a lurking shark.
My family claims to love me and want to protect me, and yet, more and more, their love feels a lot like unbearable control.
Her knitted brows rise, and the messy knot on top of her head sways to one side. “Eva, thank goodness. Papi and Miguel have been worried sick.”
She takes me by the wrist, pulling me inside, and then she pokes her head out the door, looking one way and then the other. Who or what is she looking for?
Does she think I have company? She can’t be looking for Miguel. She would know he isn’t with me given she’s spoke to him.
Miguel.
Until now I hadn’t considered if he knows Jared is alive. Was he working with Bianca to keep this huge secret from me? And if so, my father must be part of this too.
Another betrayal.
So many things I want to say swamp my mind and I want to hurl them all at her, but nothing comes out. She shuts the door behind her and turns to face me.
Sharp, outraged words swell and wedge in my throat. I open and close my mouth. Still nothing comes out. Frustrated, I thrust the magazine in her face and scowl.
Across the top of the thick, glossy cover is a headline in lustrous white font—Trojan: leaving the world ablaze. Among the four men is the silhouette of the tortured man I’d know anywhere. So much a part of me and yet a stranger.
Jared Grange.
All the blood drains from her face. Her eyes widen, and I’m not a cynical person but I find it’s just a little too convenient that a fat tear happens to fall at the perfect moment.
I’m supposed to believe she’s upset. And if so, what for? For lying to me? Not likely.
For being confronted with her lie? Definitely.
“How could you?” The question rips from my constricted throat. “You told me he died.”
Frantically, I flip through the pages to a picture of her with the band in Budapest on their final world tour. “All this time, he’s alive and you’ve been working with him.”
Staring, frozen still, she remains silent. If it weren’t for her heaving chest and the tears flowing down her cheeks, I’d think she wasn’t human.
“Answer me, dammit!” My voice is shrill, heat rising along my neck and she jumps.
Not once during her visits—barely annual, but still—or even by email or phone did she ever utter his name.
Why wouldn’t she tell me he was alive and well? Safe and successful. Living a life without me.
I step into her personal space, agitated, and she startles once more. I’m not loud. I don’t yell. I’m the calm one. The peacemaker as my abuelo used to say. Yet, in this moment, I’m not myself.
Betrayal and rage burn me.
Sorrow gorges on my already-damaged heart.
Robbed.
I was robbed of a life I could have had. And not by some stranger, but by those I loved and trusted. And I don’t understand. I want to scream and tear down anything in my path.
“I was…” She stutters backing away from me. “Papi…”
She clamps her mouth shut, scurrying farther into her apartment, and I’m on her heels. She can run but she won’t get away. “At the very least, you owe me an explanation.”
“Eva, I’ve wanted to tell you…so many times.” She stumbles to the couch.
What isn’t she saying?
“Does Papi know? Miguel?” Why am I even asking? The ugly truth is scrawled across her anguished face. “You’ve all been in on this, haven’t you? Whose sick idea was it to tell me he died in that accident?”
“He begged me not to…” Her eyes are wild and flick to the floor, refusing eye contact.
“After the accident, we didn’t know if…you almost died. Papi was broken. He’d never gotten over Mamá dying and then the thought of losing you…and you know what he thought of Jared.” Her tone suggests my father’s dislike of Jared is justification enough to lie.
“He wanted to kill Jared. I…I tried to make him see reason. I didn’t mean it, but I asked him, what if Jared was gone? I was only trying to think of a way to lessen his anger. I thought if Jared was out of the picture for a bit, it would help.”
She avoids my gaze once more. “He thought of the lie.”
While all of this rings true, and all she says about our father is valid, I don’t know if I should believe her.
“And I’m supposed to be okay with this because your intentions were good? What about all the years after? You were never going to tell me?”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I was wrong to go along with it, but I was so scared. We thought we were going to lose you and…Papi…you remember what it was like between us.”
Now she gives me a pleading glance, imploring me to understand. To forgive? It isn’t clear what she wants from me, and I’m not feeling generous.