THERE IS NO GOD. What a bold statement to make, though she supposes if Ali were here, he’d have a hell of a lot to say about aging rock stars and their attempts to relive glory days. though she supposes, James is still living through that without so much need to go chasing, that’s the irony in it, that even the rich and famous have good days and bad days, that there ‘s something still missing even with the world, seemingly at their fingertips. Like James and his unclaimed son. His unspoken lover. The husband that still doesn’t come home to him, even with her here, the teenaged runaway, the both of them sick and consumed with their own addiction.
And he faces it head on with his own dissatisfaction. He’s not really happy, not really anything much, lately. So much so that even Rue’s watching him peel apart at the edges, her head lifting and shaking, ever so slightly, the high spinning through her insides, leaving her both breathless, and winded, at the same time. “I’M A FUCK UP because I can’t get over the fact that nothing feels like when my dad was here. And nobody like…. like even with people who say they get it, they’ve been through it, they’re saying it just takes time, but I keep waiting and waiting and it doesn’t get better. So then… what’s the right thing?I don’t know. I keep fucking up and making a mess and I just feel like so much shit, it’s like, is it even worth climbing out of this, or am I just this… this like… perpetual piece of garbage with no hope, no redemption?”
“You’re so young, Rue.” There’s almost a tinge of envy as James says that. Yeah, alright, he was at the end of the rope when he was the same age as her, but still, he had time on his side then. He still wasn’t burdened with a failing marriage, a whole career, an image, this addiction— you name it. If there’s a book of regrets, you can be sure James Innes wrote it. “You still have time.” It’s not like he’s exactly out of time, either, and maybe there’s some fifty-year-old junkie living in a train station that would say the same thing to James. And he has money, doesn’t he? Heaps of it. It’s a blessing and a curse; something that keeps him off the streets, but enables his addiction, over, and over and over again.
“Maybe—” The thought comes into his mind for a second, and he banishes it instantly, because it’s too painful. He’s silent for a few minutes, staring into space, trying to figure out if he should release it into the world, if he should acknowledge the elephant in the room. He can’t keep thinking of himself all the time. He has to think about Rue, and her future, and her prospects, doesn’t he?
“Maybe we’re just not good for each other.”