Reggo
Blue Crack Addict
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2007
- Messages
- 26,992
Blackbird singin' in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arrive...
Disclaimer: Not true, never happened, if Adam were this much of an arsehole, I think we'd all kill him.
Enjoy!
-----
I get released from prison a week after Adam visited me. Since I can't go anywhere near anyone associated with U2, even Larry, I fall back into my bad habits and go to a club where I know Pete Doherty will be.
"Hello, love," he kisses my cheek. His lips are sticky with alcohol and his breath smells terrible. I haven't touched any drugs or drink, and honestly, watching it going on around me and seeing what it's like, I'm bored and disgusted by it. I have a cigarette in my hand, but I haven't smoked it. It's just been burning out between my fingers.
I thought this was fun? This is fucking ridiculous. I drop the cigarette and decide to leave. Pete tries to stop me. "Where you going?"
"With any luck, home. I'm not a party girl anymore. I'm…I'm Lucy MacEachran. And I miss my daughter very much," I say, leaving the VIP room. I walk out of the club and call McGuinness, hoping I won't get arrested for doing this.
"Yes, Miss MacEachran?" he asks.
"Lucy?" Bono says in the background. "Let me talk to her."
Larry says, "No, let me talk to her!" A smack and a yelp of pain.
"Stop it, you idiots," McGuinness snaps.
"Tell Adam I've decided to get some help with my drug problem," I say.
"Good on you, Lucy!" Larry says. I must be on speakerphone.
"Good girl!" Wow, Edge is back from LA already?
"Which facility would he like me to get treatment at?" I ask and I hear McGuinness and Adam confer.
McGuinness's voice overshadows Edge, Bono, and Larry chattering. "He'd like you to go to Narconon in Hastings. If you stick with it, he'll reconsider the protective orders."
"Thanks, Paul. I trust that by the time I get there, everything will be ready for me to check in," I reply.
McGuinness sighs. "Yes, ma'am. I'll give them a ring for you straightaway."
"Paul, you're wonderful. See you in ten weeks."
"Lucy, wait," I hear Adam say suddenly. "I, erm, I love you. And I'm proud of you, okay?"
"I'll see you soon."
And the next ten weeks were the hardest of my life. I continued to withdraw from the drugs and drink and I was in a lot of physical pain for the first three weeks. But that subsided to emotional pain as I had to talk in therapy and find out what is my trigger that makes me want to use drugs. It stems from my father abandoning us at a young age and then Adam turning his back on me. Or at least that what my psychologist says. She also says that my relationship with Larry is unhealthy and I should be nothing more than casual friends with him. The psychologist is probably right on about everything. Everything except Larry, of course. She'd like me to reconcile with Adam. After what happened on Family Day, that's not fucking likely to happen.
I invite Adam and Stacie to Family Day at Narconon and when that day finally rolls around, I'm very excited to see my daughter. I see Adam's silver Mercedes pull up, but only he gets out of it.
"Where's Stacie?" I ask when he walks in.
He simply stares at me. "You're not pregnant."
I look at the floor. "No. I miscarried a long time ago." He's still staring at me when I look up again. "What?" I ask, annoyed.
"Your hair," he says with disdain. "Don't they let you dye it in this place?"
"I like it," I say, proud of my natural hair colour.
"It's...orange."
"It's ginger. I'm Irish. Where's Stacie?" I repeat myself.
"I decided not to bring her. I didn't think it would be a good idea after all," he takes off his jacket and hands it to me as if he can't hang it up himself.
"You promised me you'd bring her. I really wanted to see her today," I'm ready to cry.
But Adam can always be counted on to change my mood: "Well, I guess you're not the only who can't keep a promise in this relationship."
I throw his coat on the floor and storm off, wondering why I invited him and not Larry. I find a tree on the grounds I want to hide in and climb up a few branches. I see Adam come outside, looking for me. I slink back in the tree, unwilling to be seen.
"Lucy, what are you doing?" one of the other therapists asks.
"Hiding from my--Adam. He's an insufferable prat. I only invited him because I want to see my daughter and he decided to leave her home."
"So you treed yourself?"
"Do you know a better place to hide around here?" I ask, I've lost sight of Adam.
"I'm going to schedule a couples' therapy session for you two later," she says and walks away. Coast looking clear, I climb down from the tree, only to find myself face-to-face with Adam.
"Hello, Lucinda," he smiles.
"Fuck you, Adam," I smile back. "Why did you come, if not to bring Stacie?"
"We're kicking off our tour the night you get out of here. I expect you to be there," he says silkily.
"And if I don't want to be there?" I fold my arms.
"Then you can expect not to see your daughter again." He waits for the blow to fall. I get a jolt of fear and rage and don't argue, which is what he knew would happen. "I'll put you up for the night in a hotel, turn Stacie over to you for the tour and then upon my return, I regain custody of her."
"So, in other words, I only get to see her when you're on tour," I say, keeping my rage in check.
"I trust you don't have any problem with that," he looks at me, barely containing his glee that I appear to be agreeing to his arrangement.
"Why should I? I get to see my daughter for a few months every five years or so. I should consider myself lucky," I steal the words right out of his mouth. The words he would've used had I put up a fight. Despite the calm that I'm expressing, rage is building inside of me, and I wait for him to let it come out. Adam doesn't disappoint, and my moment comes at the couples' therapy session.
"So, Lucy," my therapist asks. Adam and I are sitting in her office. "What do you think it is that makes you want to use drugs?"
"I don't think--"
"You never do," Adam cuts me off, lounging in his chair and trying not to smile.
"As I was saying, before I was so rudely fucking interrupted." I growl, glaring at him, "I don't 'think,' I know what makes me want to use drugs. The priggish motherfucker sitting next to me," I say, proud to get it out.
"And," my therapist's voice wavers. I've never acted out like this, not even while detoxing. She clears her throat and continues, "why do you think she says you're the reason she uses them?"
"Well, it's easy enough to blame me when she hates me. But when she wants something, who does she turn to, I ask you? Adam, who will save her from the big, bad world," Adam glances at me.
"That's bullshit! When have I ever asked you for anything other than to let me go back to the life I had before I met you?" I scream.
"You wanted to go back to being Larry's secret boytoy in Dublin? Hanging onto false, non-existent hope that he'd leave Ann for you? I didn't think even you could be that thick," he raises his eyebrows.
"I was happy. More than I could ever say I was with you. Controlling every fucking minute of my fucking life! And he loves me. Did you ever?"
Adam turns and looks at me. "How can anyone love a pebble in their shoe?"
I pick up a glass of water from the table between us and throw it in his face, then smash the glass on the floor and march toward the door.
"Terrible Irish temper, that one. You can see why I need to protect my innocent daughter from her," Adam says, dabbing his face dry with a pocket square. I throw open the door and run to my room, my rage escaping in the form of bitter, angry tears running down my face. I want a drink, I want ecstasy, I want heroin, I want not to feel this, not feel anything right now. Nothing is better than this rage that I can't take out on anything besides a non-responsive pillow.
After 15 minutes of screaming and pounding on my mattress, I lie down on my left side and cry. I want Larry. I want Larry to knock at my door and open it and be wearing a half-buttoned white shirt and jeans. I want him to be quiet and gentle. I want him to sit on the end of my bed and put his hand on my knee. I want him to ask me, "Céard é tá cearr?" in a whisper, the way only he can. I want him to lean over me and kiss my elbow, then scoot farther up the bed. I want him to brush my hair away from my face and put his hand on my shoulder. I want him to lean down and try to look in my eyes and when my gaze matches his, he smiles. I want to stare into those eyes of his, lose myself in them, drown in those pools of perfect blue and never need to take another breath. I want him to use my eyes as windows into my deepest soul, to see all the things I daren't tell him. I want him to see me the way he used to, the way he looks at me when Bono strikes brilliance in the studio and he has to share his exuberance with someone, the way he did before I got caught in Adam's gilt cage. And I want him to kiss me. Not too hard, not like he's trying to get my shirt off, but gently, calmly. I want to feel his lips on mine before he uses any pressure, the kind of kiss that can be perfectly silent, the kind only true lovers know. I want to feel his eyelashes on my forehead when he nuzzles me. I want my Larry to lie next to me. I want to put my head on his sculpted chest, press my ear to his breastbone and count his heartbeats until its slow, constant pounding puts me to sleep.
When I decide to join the rest of the group after my, er, temper tantrum, Adam's long gone, and I decide to stick with the program for the rest of the ten weeks. If only to somehow ruin Adam's plans.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arrive...
Disclaimer: Not true, never happened, if Adam were this much of an arsehole, I think we'd all kill him.
Enjoy!
-----
I get released from prison a week after Adam visited me. Since I can't go anywhere near anyone associated with U2, even Larry, I fall back into my bad habits and go to a club where I know Pete Doherty will be.
"Hello, love," he kisses my cheek. His lips are sticky with alcohol and his breath smells terrible. I haven't touched any drugs or drink, and honestly, watching it going on around me and seeing what it's like, I'm bored and disgusted by it. I have a cigarette in my hand, but I haven't smoked it. It's just been burning out between my fingers.
I thought this was fun? This is fucking ridiculous. I drop the cigarette and decide to leave. Pete tries to stop me. "Where you going?"
"With any luck, home. I'm not a party girl anymore. I'm…I'm Lucy MacEachran. And I miss my daughter very much," I say, leaving the VIP room. I walk out of the club and call McGuinness, hoping I won't get arrested for doing this.
"Yes, Miss MacEachran?" he asks.
"Lucy?" Bono says in the background. "Let me talk to her."
Larry says, "No, let me talk to her!" A smack and a yelp of pain.
"Stop it, you idiots," McGuinness snaps.
"Tell Adam I've decided to get some help with my drug problem," I say.
"Good on you, Lucy!" Larry says. I must be on speakerphone.
"Good girl!" Wow, Edge is back from LA already?
"Which facility would he like me to get treatment at?" I ask and I hear McGuinness and Adam confer.
McGuinness's voice overshadows Edge, Bono, and Larry chattering. "He'd like you to go to Narconon in Hastings. If you stick with it, he'll reconsider the protective orders."
"Thanks, Paul. I trust that by the time I get there, everything will be ready for me to check in," I reply.
McGuinness sighs. "Yes, ma'am. I'll give them a ring for you straightaway."
"Paul, you're wonderful. See you in ten weeks."
"Lucy, wait," I hear Adam say suddenly. "I, erm, I love you. And I'm proud of you, okay?"
"I'll see you soon."
And the next ten weeks were the hardest of my life. I continued to withdraw from the drugs and drink and I was in a lot of physical pain for the first three weeks. But that subsided to emotional pain as I had to talk in therapy and find out what is my trigger that makes me want to use drugs. It stems from my father abandoning us at a young age and then Adam turning his back on me. Or at least that what my psychologist says. She also says that my relationship with Larry is unhealthy and I should be nothing more than casual friends with him. The psychologist is probably right on about everything. Everything except Larry, of course. She'd like me to reconcile with Adam. After what happened on Family Day, that's not fucking likely to happen.
I invite Adam and Stacie to Family Day at Narconon and when that day finally rolls around, I'm very excited to see my daughter. I see Adam's silver Mercedes pull up, but only he gets out of it.
"Where's Stacie?" I ask when he walks in.
He simply stares at me. "You're not pregnant."
I look at the floor. "No. I miscarried a long time ago." He's still staring at me when I look up again. "What?" I ask, annoyed.
"Your hair," he says with disdain. "Don't they let you dye it in this place?"
"I like it," I say, proud of my natural hair colour.
"It's...orange."
"It's ginger. I'm Irish. Where's Stacie?" I repeat myself.
"I decided not to bring her. I didn't think it would be a good idea after all," he takes off his jacket and hands it to me as if he can't hang it up himself.
"You promised me you'd bring her. I really wanted to see her today," I'm ready to cry.
But Adam can always be counted on to change my mood: "Well, I guess you're not the only who can't keep a promise in this relationship."
I throw his coat on the floor and storm off, wondering why I invited him and not Larry. I find a tree on the grounds I want to hide in and climb up a few branches. I see Adam come outside, looking for me. I slink back in the tree, unwilling to be seen.
"Lucy, what are you doing?" one of the other therapists asks.
"Hiding from my--Adam. He's an insufferable prat. I only invited him because I want to see my daughter and he decided to leave her home."
"So you treed yourself?"
"Do you know a better place to hide around here?" I ask, I've lost sight of Adam.
"I'm going to schedule a couples' therapy session for you two later," she says and walks away. Coast looking clear, I climb down from the tree, only to find myself face-to-face with Adam.
"Hello, Lucinda," he smiles.
"Fuck you, Adam," I smile back. "Why did you come, if not to bring Stacie?"
"We're kicking off our tour the night you get out of here. I expect you to be there," he says silkily.
"And if I don't want to be there?" I fold my arms.
"Then you can expect not to see your daughter again." He waits for the blow to fall. I get a jolt of fear and rage and don't argue, which is what he knew would happen. "I'll put you up for the night in a hotel, turn Stacie over to you for the tour and then upon my return, I regain custody of her."
"So, in other words, I only get to see her when you're on tour," I say, keeping my rage in check.
"I trust you don't have any problem with that," he looks at me, barely containing his glee that I appear to be agreeing to his arrangement.
"Why should I? I get to see my daughter for a few months every five years or so. I should consider myself lucky," I steal the words right out of his mouth. The words he would've used had I put up a fight. Despite the calm that I'm expressing, rage is building inside of me, and I wait for him to let it come out. Adam doesn't disappoint, and my moment comes at the couples' therapy session.
"So, Lucy," my therapist asks. Adam and I are sitting in her office. "What do you think it is that makes you want to use drugs?"
"I don't think--"
"You never do," Adam cuts me off, lounging in his chair and trying not to smile.
"As I was saying, before I was so rudely fucking interrupted." I growl, glaring at him, "I don't 'think,' I know what makes me want to use drugs. The priggish motherfucker sitting next to me," I say, proud to get it out.
"And," my therapist's voice wavers. I've never acted out like this, not even while detoxing. She clears her throat and continues, "why do you think she says you're the reason she uses them?"
"Well, it's easy enough to blame me when she hates me. But when she wants something, who does she turn to, I ask you? Adam, who will save her from the big, bad world," Adam glances at me.
"That's bullshit! When have I ever asked you for anything other than to let me go back to the life I had before I met you?" I scream.
"You wanted to go back to being Larry's secret boytoy in Dublin? Hanging onto false, non-existent hope that he'd leave Ann for you? I didn't think even you could be that thick," he raises his eyebrows.
"I was happy. More than I could ever say I was with you. Controlling every fucking minute of my fucking life! And he loves me. Did you ever?"
Adam turns and looks at me. "How can anyone love a pebble in their shoe?"
I pick up a glass of water from the table between us and throw it in his face, then smash the glass on the floor and march toward the door.
"Terrible Irish temper, that one. You can see why I need to protect my innocent daughter from her," Adam says, dabbing his face dry with a pocket square. I throw open the door and run to my room, my rage escaping in the form of bitter, angry tears running down my face. I want a drink, I want ecstasy, I want heroin, I want not to feel this, not feel anything right now. Nothing is better than this rage that I can't take out on anything besides a non-responsive pillow.
After 15 minutes of screaming and pounding on my mattress, I lie down on my left side and cry. I want Larry. I want Larry to knock at my door and open it and be wearing a half-buttoned white shirt and jeans. I want him to be quiet and gentle. I want him to sit on the end of my bed and put his hand on my knee. I want him to ask me, "Céard é tá cearr?" in a whisper, the way only he can. I want him to lean over me and kiss my elbow, then scoot farther up the bed. I want him to brush my hair away from my face and put his hand on my shoulder. I want him to lean down and try to look in my eyes and when my gaze matches his, he smiles. I want to stare into those eyes of his, lose myself in them, drown in those pools of perfect blue and never need to take another breath. I want him to use my eyes as windows into my deepest soul, to see all the things I daren't tell him. I want him to see me the way he used to, the way he looks at me when Bono strikes brilliance in the studio and he has to share his exuberance with someone, the way he did before I got caught in Adam's gilt cage. And I want him to kiss me. Not too hard, not like he's trying to get my shirt off, but gently, calmly. I want to feel his lips on mine before he uses any pressure, the kind of kiss that can be perfectly silent, the kind only true lovers know. I want to feel his eyelashes on my forehead when he nuzzles me. I want my Larry to lie next to me. I want to put my head on his sculpted chest, press my ear to his breastbone and count his heartbeats until its slow, constant pounding puts me to sleep.
When I decide to join the rest of the group after my, er, temper tantrum, Adam's long gone, and I decide to stick with the program for the rest of the ten weeks. If only to somehow ruin Adam's plans.
I did mean larry and Adam.....really I did.
