I have men and women around the world worship me. I’m the son of completely fucked up parents. I’ve watched my brother die in front of me and spent three months in prison for being in the stolen car my brother died in and despite all of that, I’ve achieved cult status in my life.
Women want me, men want to be me and yet, one song, just one fucking song, can bring me to my knees. I can’t believe that I still react like this. That song takes me right back to it like it’s actually happening. I know I should see someone. I know I should talk about it, sit down with a professional, but I can’t. I don’t talk about my feelings. Instead, I write songs that sort of explain how I feel and I engage in mindless group sex, the kind where I remain detached and in complete control. Other people were in control that night, other people’s actions controlled the direction my life went that fateful night and I’ll never let that happen again.
Jet bursts through the bathroom door, his eyes are wide as he looks me over. I look up at him from where I’m on my knees in front of the toilet.
“You okay, dude?” I nod my head. I’m still breathing deeply and unable to speak. “I’ve shut the music down and sent them all home.” He smiles his wonky smile at me and his blue eyes sparkle like the naughty kid that’s usually lurking just below the surface of Jet’s persona. He’s too pretty for his own good. Women can’t decide if they want to mother or fuck him, and blokes want to either fuck him or fuck him over, but he’s a lot tougher than he looks. He’s been a good mate to me and I love him like a brother. “Everyone except Lara, she’s waiting in my bed.”
I smile and shake my head. “Sorry, if I spoilt your night man. I’ve got this now, go back and have some fun.” His eyes look me over as I stand up straight.
“I can send her away and stay with you if you want.” I shake my head no as I walk past him and grab a bottle of water from the fridge in the bedroom.
“I’m just gonna watch some telly and try and get some sleep.” He turns around to face me, but remains standing in the doorway to the en-suite bathroom, his arms spread apart as he holds onto each side of the door frame.
“Reed, you know I’d send her home in a heartbeat and stay in here with you if you need me to.” I keep my back to him as I walk over to the window and look out at the city lights below me.
“Jet, let’s not do this, please mate, not tonight.”
“I just wish you’d give us a try, Reed.”
“Jet, I love you like a brother man, but that’s it that’s as far as it goes. I don’t fancy men, I’m not gay.”
“I’m not gay either. I… I don’t know how to explain it, but if I was with you there’d be no one else, man or woman. I love you Reed. I want to be with you. I want us to be a couple and to make a life together. I’d happily give up all of this. We could just fuck off, disappear somewhere and live our lives in peace and quiet.” I’ve heard this so many times. I feel bad because I don’t want to hurt him, but I just don’t feel it. I turn away from the window and face him.
“Jet, I can’t force myself to be something I’m not. You’re my mate, my best mate, but I don’t find you sexually attractive. I don’t have any desire to fuck you or any other bloke. I like women, I like to fuck women.”
He takes a step toward me, his arm out. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and they hang loosely from his skinny frame. His dark curly hair’s a mess and hangs over one eye. He looks like a mixture of Jim Morrison and Michael Hutchence, and if I were gay, if I did have a thing for men, I’m sure I’d find him attractive but I’m not and I don’t.
“But you don’t even do that, do you Reed?” He puts his hands on his hips and I know this is going to end in an argument. I’m mentally and physically drained. All I want to do is to crawl into my lonely bed and dream about her. The only time I get peace, absolute peace, is when I dream of her. The sensation of her lips, her taste, the feel of her small hands on me, her smell. When I dream, it’s all so real and that’s where I want to be right now. Not standing here, having this argument with Jet, again.
Every time we’re due to spend time apart he does this. Whenever we end a tour or have a break from recording and I’m heading back to England, he asks me again. Every time I say no, and it ends in an argument.
“You don’t fuck them, not really. You sit back and watch, while you dish out your orders and touch yourself, but you hardly ever let them touch you and when you do, it’s usually their mouth you fuck or you jack yourself off all over them. Why can’t they touch you? Why can’t anyone touch you?”