Page 88 of AMS.TER.strum

‘Maybe it’s the honesty you need to come to your senses.’

‘Maybe I have finally come to my senses,’ I said, before banging the door on my way out, leaving his assistant stunned.

We haven’t talked since, but the words we exchanged never left my mind. Was Aaron always like that, but kept his true self hidden? I’d always done things his way, until I started having wishes about how I want to live my life. Yes, he was there. But so were the band members, even though we weren’t able to meet for months. And so was Corrie, all the while in need of support herself. Yes, Aaron helped my career, but isn’t that his job to begin with? Not for a second did he pause to work with me on my plans instead of dismissing them from the get-go. For the time being, both he and I stew in our respective juices.

My first appearance post-accident is rapidly approaching. Aaron does show up at rehearsals, but we give each other a wide berth. Kind of ridiculous, creating awkwardness in the band, as he’ll usually ask Gordon or Joey to pass me a message or information. So I’m not surprised when Gordon’s name shows up on my phone.

‘Hey man, what did Aaron tell you now?’

‘Actually…have you seen the latest gossip?’ he asks, sounding hesitant.

‘No, but apparently you have. What’s the scoop this time? And who dished it?’

‘Gwen. It’s on her Instagram account, photos and all.’

‘Photos of what?’

He sighs. ‘Just do me a favour and check it out, okay? I think that you and Aaron need to bury the hatchet right now.’

We hang up, and I go to Gwen’s Instagram. My jaw drops when I see her latest post, sprawled over a series of photos, alternating with text.

Luuk Meiers is my baby’s father, the first one says, the six words on a red background, as if floating in blood, followed by the photo of me and Celina during our brief encounter on the street a couple of months ago.

‘What. The. Fuck!’

I keep scrolling. There’s more shit in flashcard form, a collage of photos and “information” on my supposed passionate night with Celina a few months ago, each flashcard prompting the reader to keep scrolling. The next swipe makes me blink twice.

Luuk Meiers is a two-timer?

The allegation would be as ridiculous as the one of the pregnancy if it didn’t come together with a series of photos of me with Corrie and the kids during my stay in Amsterdam before the tour, and then one of the only time we all went out after it to an Italian restaurant close to Corrie’s—Close to home, my mind corrects me—me leaning on the one crutch I was still using as a precaution.

I don’t give a shit for the smugness in Aaron’s voice when I call him after finally getting to the last photo. ‘Ah, the prodigal son…’

‘What the hell is that, Aaron?’

‘Shouldn’t I be asking you the same?’

I pull the phone from my ear, as if his words have physically slapped me. ‘You know that all these things are lies.’

‘Do I, though?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘How can I be certain when you’ve been hiding all that information from me?’ He is absolutely loving this, the fact that he has power over me again.

‘I didn’t mention buying a house, which I eventually did tell you about, Aaron. This is talking about me fathering a child! Not to mention the bullshit about me having fathered Corrie’s kids!’

‘Yes, and it is proof that I have no idea what you’re doing in your free time.’ He mentions it as if having unprotected sex is some kind of hobby.

‘Aaron, there’s absolutely zero chance that I got Celina pregnant.’

He lets out a ‘Hmm…’ that shows how much he believes me.

‘Are you at the office?’

He hums again.

‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’