janey_room121

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ROOM 121 by Janey

PART 1

I got out of my car and tentatively walked towards the entrance of the imposing, old hotel. Memories flashed through my mind, I could retrace my steps with my eyes closed. It had been four years since I had been here yet the place seemed exactly the same, which was disconcerting. Shivers ran down my spine, my body coming out in sympathy with my memories and recollections. I had tried to persuade them to get me alternative accommodation but my publishing house had a deal with the parent company so I was told very firmly that a move was not possible.

So much of my life had changed that day. I became a single woman again; lost some of my friends; had to find a new place to live, embarked on a new career. At the time it had seemed like the only sensible solution. I knew that I couldn’t keep riding the rollercoaster that I was on, yet I felt unbearably guilty at the thought of leaving the man that I loved. Leaving him at a time when he was so fragile and needy; when he needed me most.

Slowly he was killing himself, a piece of me dying each day too. For my sanity I had to get away. Insanity and madness were a normal part of my life then; I didn’t know what it was like to be happy or even content or unafraid anymore. Every minute of every day was spent worrying until that day when I snapped. The blood soaked bed was one blood soaked bed too many and I no longer had the energy to explain his actions to the ambulance service.

A good day was not having to clean up vomit or blood; not having to bathe or dress wounds; not having to encourage him to eat a tiny morsel of food; not worrying that he’d got pissed out of his head; not worrying that he’d smoked too much; not worrying that he would die in his sleep. Joy was a thing of the past for much of the time, I merely existed and for much of the time my existence longed to be extinct.

“Ah Miss Craven welcome. You are in room one twenty-one, if you would please sign the register.” The young man behind the desk smiled politely, indicating at the awaiting book.
“Is there any possibility of another room please?”
“I’m afraid not miss, why, is there a problem?”
What did I say to that? I lied. “I have a thing about room numbers and floors, that’s all.”
He looked at me like I had gone nuts. Not that I can say I blame him, it was a lame excuse but I couldn’t think of anything else in the heat of the moment.

In truth room 121 had been where it all happened, I wasn’t sure that I could cope with the recollections and nightmares.

Feeling incredibly stupid I signed the register then followed the porter to my room. It was uncanny, the decorating was somewhat different but it was laid out just the same. Then I saw him as clear as when it happened, lying on the bed, vodka bottle beside him - empty. Surrounding him was a pool of red, growing ever bigger. He watched it flowing, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

He was the most gorgeous man that I had ever known I had still not met anyone as handsome or beguiling. For all the violence and trauma he inflicted on his own body, he was the kindest, gentlest person around others. He truly had a heart of gold. Where had it all gone so wrong?

I blinked several times, trying to get my bearings. I didn’t remember lying on he bed but as that’s where I woke up, I must have done. Looking at the clock I noticed that it was time for the evening meal, I was tempted to get room service but realising that it would allow my back catalogue of thoughts to resurface, decided against it. Being in company would be a much safer option; I needed to spend as little time alone in that room as I could get away with.

The dining room was full to heaving from the glimpse I caught turning at the base of the stairs.
“Table for one madam?” asked the maitre d’.
“Please.”
“I hope you do not mind sharing a table but we are very busy at the moment.”
“No that’s fine.”
“If you will come this way.”

Truth be told it was fine to share a table, sitting with people that I had never met would stop me thinking which was precisely what I needed.
He walked me over to a six-chaired table; three of the chairs were occupied. One of the men seated there seemed to be particularly tall, one quite chunky but smaller. The third man, slim and seemingly of average height. The taller one of the group picked up a glass from the table and raised it, I thought there was something oddly familiar about him. Clearly this place was weird things to my thought processes.

“Here you are madam,” said the kindly maitre d’ as he pulled out a chair for me.
I looked across: “Nicky! Sean! Richey!”
“Lara!” said Sean, as they all stared at me in amazement.
“Please I can’t sit here. I’ll wait for the next sitting if necessary.”
“Sorry madam but this is the last sitting of the evening.”
“You still have room service?”
“For another two hours but it is not such a comprehensive menu.”

“Lara stay. It’s fine really, I’ll go.”
Richey was so sad; my heart went out to him.
“No it isn’t. You were here so stay and enjoy your meal, really it’s not a problem for me.”
“There’s room enough for all of us. Martin and James will be back in a minute,” supplied Nicky, obviously hoping that it would sway me. “Come on, let’s not make a big thing out of this.”

I gazed at their pleading faces; they were right. If I left now it would only cause a scene and people would start asking questions; something I could do without.
“You’re right, it would be churlish of me not to,” I said with a smile, sitting down at my allotted seat at the table. The maitre d’ left me with a menu and then left me to choose, until the waiter came to take my order. “I have to say that you guys all look good.”

“Surprised I’m still alive?” Richey said abruptly.
“No Rich, you always were too selfish to actually kill yourself. Your speciality was scaring those that knew you absolutely shitless.”
To my relief he giggled.
“Things are going to be just fine Lara! Really, it is good to see you again, I hope this doesn’t make you feel too awkward.”

“This whole thing is awkward, from the hotel to meeting you here.”
“Tell me my eyes are playing tricks on me,” said a husky, sexy voice.
“No James, you’re not. It really is me.”
“Bloody hell,” he giggled, sitting down. “I knew it was fate that we came here.”
“Oh yeah, it’s a load of fun. In fact, it’s such good fun that they’ve even given me THAT room again.”
“No kidding!” Richey was clearly shocked. “Can’t they move you?”
“No, I asked already and they can’t.”

“It must be full of bad memories.”
“Not all bad,” I said and it was true. Most of the time here it was bleak, it had to be said, but Richey and I had had our moments. We could make love like the best of them. “So let’s order shall we and erm…forget about yesteryear?”

It transpired that we were all there for a long weekend, leaving only to attend the occasional interview or photoshoot and it came as no surprise that I loved their company. Being with them was so natural and any initial awkwardness soon faded back into warm friendship.

Richey was still as handsome as I remembered him, no more so because it was easy to see that he was at peace and had perhaps finally conquered his demons; the scars on his arms barely visible, even for someone such as myself who knew where to look.

“Join us for drinks in the bar,” said Martin when we finished our meal.
“Actually I would like that very much,” I answered my fears over meeting them having been completely unfounded.
Gradually they drifted off to bed leaving Richey and me chatting at the bar.

“Why not help me lay my demons to rest for once and for all by coming up to my room? Now that we are talking and getting along it will be nice to talk on our own.”
He giggled nervously. “I’m surprised that you want anything to do with me Lara. When I think back to the pain I put you through, I don’t know how you stood by me for so long.”
“Let’s not discuss that in public huh Rich?”

He stopped at the threshold staring intently around the room; I knew he was recalling how the room looked the last time we were in it. Every now and again he would flinch and grimace; perhaps he was recalling the vast amount of blood, or perhaps he was reliving his inner pain; I wasn’t sure and I wasn’t about to ask.

“Tea, coffee or something from the mini bar?” I asked nervously.
“Tea will be grand, thanks,” he smiled, sitting down on the sofa. “It’s hardly changed has it? Must be hard for you to stay here after what I did.”
“It is but I try and think of the good things that happened here as well. Anyway, let’s not dwell on that, you are really looking good. I didn’t want to say much in front of the others and embarrass you.”
“Thanks. I did wonder if you kept abreast of what was happening with us.”

I sat next to him, waiting for the kettle to boil. “I did, I still went to some of the gigs, bought the records and stuff.” I laughed stupidly. “I never stopped loving your lyrics or the songs as a whole. We may have to an end Rich but I’ll always love Manic Street Preachers.”
His soft brown eyes gazed into my green ones, his face relaxed and his mouthed curled into a smile. “I’m pleased about that, it means a lot that you stayed with us and kept listening, although I always thought that you would.”
“The lyrics always had meaning for me; there was a song for each and every mood and emotion. If I consigned your stuff to the great c.d. bin in the sky what would I have listened to when I was angry, or upset or…”

“Or what?” he asked gently, not wanting to pressure me.
“When I was missing someone, wondering what they might be doing. When I sat crying asking myself and my conscience if I’d done the right thing.” I looked him fully in the eyes, put a hand over his and sighed, then said; “walking away from you was the hardest thing I have ever done, but that night a part of me died or snapped; I’m not really bloody sure what happened. We’d had a good day, you’d got through the previous night which had been really because we had had several girls trying to get in the room, one of whom…”
“One of whom threw ketchup over you, telling you that you weren’t fit to lick my boots; you didn’t understand me and who the hell were you to help me stop cutting when that was what made me the beautifully fragile poet that I was,” he grimaced, shaking his head. “I remember all too vividly; rather than confront them I backed off leaving it to you which gave the girls more ammunition to be hateful.”

“Yeah well, it’s over and done now.”
“No it isn’t.”
How he kept so calm and even-tempered I have no idea but it was rare for anything to phase Richey.

“Dwelling on it won’t change it so why bother?”
“To set the record straight, well, as much as I can,” he sighed heavily. I motioned to get up to make the drink but he stared at me, shaking his head. “That can wait. I remember that we slept late that day because of the girls. We had a nice walk, came back, showered, made love, then I said I’d have a drink before we went to meet the others.”
“After that you were still fine and we made love again.”
“I should have stopped there but I didn’t; I kept drinking.”

My heart went out to him; he was crying and instinctively I put my arms around him to console him. “Don’t do this Richey, please.”
He carried on despite his hitched breathing. “I started to realise how bad I’d been by not helping you with those girls. You always fought my battles for me and I let you. The thoughts took me over and I knew then that you were wasting your time, and your life, by being with me. Oh I loved you Lara; I loved you so bloody much yet all I did was cause you pain, despair and agony. Lovers don’t do that. The only way to deal with the guilt was to hurt, so, I got the razor blade and…”

His body was rocking back and forth as he convulsed with huge, emotionally charged sobs; his tears streaming down his face like a torrential rainstorm. Three years we had been a couple; I’d known him several years prior to that yet this was the first time that he had cried in front of me. So vulnerable, like a frightened, terrified child, it was strange to see him this way, letting his guard down and not pretending. For once he had dispensed with the false bravado.

“Come on honey, it’s over.”
“Lara,” he stammered, hurriedly wiping away some of his tears and trying to focus, “I knew; that was when I knew. I had to let you go so that we could both live.”
“Rich I don’t understand, what do you mean?”
“Nicky had told me that you were ill, on the verge of a breakdown he said. Those girls made me realise that if they couldn’t accept that you loved me then, after all that we’d been through and the years we’d been a couple, well they never would, would they? I knew I had to do something so bad that you would go. I couldn’t tell you to go because I was so in love with you, but, for your sanity, you had to go.”

“Oh God Rich,” I cried, hugging him. “And I didn’t even put up a fight.”
“You cleaned and disinfected the cuts; padded and bandaged them but they were so deep, deeper than the 4 Real ones and wouldn’t stop bleeding. It scared me a bit that they needed surgery; I lost some sensation in my fingers due to nerve damage for a while and needed physio.”
“Fuck Richey; why didn’t I stay with you? You needed me.” I screwed by eyes and stared down. “Sorry that was egotistical and bigheaded, it didn’t come out as it should have done.”

“Don’t worry,” he offered, rubbing his cheek against mine. “Like I said, thanks to Nicky I knew how close to the edge you were, I’d been determined that it would end. If you had tried to contact me I told Martin not to let you near; you would have soon got pissed off.”

“Were you happy? Later on, that is?”
“No, I hurt like hell but in a weird, abstract, perverted way, it gave me clarity. I saw for the first time how pathetic those girls were and how shallow I had become by falling for their lines. Oh I know that I used them as much as they used me, suddenly I realised that I could never live up to their ideology, not only that but I didn’t want to. The whole icon thing was a mega pain in the fucking arse; too tiring and pointless. Those years you put up with me, knowing about my whoring around; I was loathsome, detestable, and despicable; how did you put up with me for so long?”

I giggled. “I saw the person behind the façade. I saw your gentleness, sensitivity, intelligence, uncertainty, humanity and love, oh and lots more besides. There were more good points than you ever knew.”
“Only I lost all of them when we started to make it didn’t I? I turned into this grotesque monster; a circus freak.”
“Don’t say that! I never thought of you as a freak.”
“No, but the press did, what with ‘Richey Manic’ rather than Richey Edwards or Richey James. Then there was the hard line Cult of Richey; they were only interested in the nutter that slashed his skin, was fucked up; I fed the myth didn’t I?”
“Richey, you weren’t well.”

“I wasn’t ill all of the time and I was perfectly aware that if I cut we’d get publicity, so, that’s what I did. Ultimately it was my fault; I had choices; I made the wrong ones.”
“Beating yourself up isn’t going to solve anything.”
“It was time for some honesty don’t you think?”
“Do you feel better?”
“Not sure if that’s how to describe it but certainly I feel more at ease now,” he smiled, brown eyes gradually starting to sparkle. “All those years not knowing if you hated or pitied me.”

“I did neither,” I answered honestly. “I avoided watching you being interviewed but it was good to see your pictures. I never read any of the interviews either.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Come on love, tell me.”

I tried to let it slide but a frisson hit me out of the blue when I heard him say that. He used to call me love when we were on our own as a prelude to smooching. “I was afraid that you’d lambaste me and publicly humiliate me.”
“Oh Lara, I never had any reason to do that. My behaviour wasn’t your responsibility, it was mine, all mine love.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking that I didn’t help enough. I worried that I’d put too much pressure on you, not supported you enough or listened. I had no clarity; nothing made sense to me. If we were so happy why were you in so much pain and turmoil?”

“Nothing to do with you Lara, please believe that. You were the best thing in my life, my escape from the craziness or at least, initially. Things began to go wrong when I ignored the CoR and their rancorous, scathing attacks on you. I assumed, very stupidly and naively, that when they saw how fucking happy I was that they would accept you and be appreciative of your love and concern for me. Hell, some of them were psychotic, sociopathic even. I let you down.”

He turned his head so I wouldn’t see him crying again but I knew and hugged him tighter. “Enough for one night Rich, you’ll never sleep honey.” I pressed my face to his, then pressed my lips against his wet, quivering cheek. “Enough tears.”
“There were so many times when I wanted to trace you,” he murmured
“We’ve met up again now, no one’s been killed so we’re doing ok,” I said with a stupid giggle, trying to inject some levity into the moment.
I wasn’t prepared for his next statement:

“I still love you Lara; always have; always will.” With breath taking tenderness he moved some strands of blonde hair from in front of my eyes. “You look good with short hair.”
“Thanks,” I managed rather feebly, my skin prickling in anticipation. ‘Stop behaving like a teenager,’ I told myself sternly, ‘he’s only being kind.’
“Thanks for listening to me Lara, I guess I’ve been a first class prat for you.”
“Nothing I can’t cope with.”
“No, you always were able to cope with a lot of shit; needed to be with me.” His tone was light but his eyes betrayed his pain. “It’s been good catching up with you. Where is the boyfriend?”

“Are you on a fishing expedition Rich?” I asked, to be greeted by a blank stare. “I don’t have one. No one quite matched up to you.” Why the hell had I said that? He was bound to run a mile now wasn’t he? So much for all the talking that we had done, I’d screwed it up so quickly.
“Good.”
I gazed at him, startled. I sighed pathetically when his lips met the soft delicate skin beneath my earlobe and a hand caressed my right cheek.
“Goodnight Lara,” he simpered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sleep didn’t come easily to me and it had nothing to do with my memories from that room but everything to do with Richey. Once more he invaded my mind and had bewitched me. I could smell him, feel him, hear him and it was as though I was still touching him; feeling his soft skin beneath my fingertips, the wetness of his tears; the fine silkiness of his hair. I still loved him. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I guess that time would tell.

As usual I didn’t bother with breakfast, the though of food first thing turned my stomach. I made do with a couple of cups of tea in my room, sipping it as I typed some of my manuscript out on my laptop. I kept stalling, unable to get into a rhythmic flow of creativity and it was irking me. Thinking of Richey during the night when I should be sleeping was bad enough but now it was obstructing my work and I’d always prided myself on the ability not to allow my personal life to invade my working life.

Housekeeping came at 10am so I went for a work in the grounds taking my documents case along with my notes and a couple of A4 notebooks that I was writing a couple of other stories in. Luckily I didn’t have to think about leaving the hotel till mid afternoon so I had plenty of time to get some work done. Interviews and photoshoots a necessary evil in my profession that I doubted I would ever get used to. Most interviewers wanted details of your private life and it wasn’t something I was comfortable with, aside from basic details.

My previous relationship with Richey had surfaced in spite of the fact that we’d gone out of our way to ensure that we weren’t photographed together, unless it was the other band members that were taking them. Our private lives were our own and neither of us courted publicity. The guys never spoke about our relationship either.

The trouble was that there were always road crew or ex girlfriends who would be willing to dish the dirt if the price was right. Often the price wasn’t even that high. Some of the things that were supposed to have happened between us were amazing. I was astounded to discover that me and Richey had a predilection for orgies and bondage. Also that I had no compunction about having sex with James or Nicky whilst Richey would openly masturbate as he watched.

The absurdity of it all made me chuckle. Our sex life was nowhere near as interesting or debauched, but of course that didn’t sell newspapers or magazines; no one was interested in reality. The majority of articles written about Richey were salacious and mythical, but then, myth often surrounded Richey.

When I returned to the hotel room I was exhausted. Interviews are boring and tedious, and photoshoots are mundane and incredibly repetitive. The worst thing though is all of the blasted lights, they take their toll on your eyes and the heat in a studio was overwhelming and uncomfortable.

part 2 >>>

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