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Lyric watched her boss enter the room, he staggered a little and bumped into a chair. She sighed, knowing he was either drunk or high – or both. They’d been together all day, she didn’t know when he’d slipped away in order to take the drugs – he knew better than to take anything in front of her.

Howie had managed to stay sober through the end of the tour, but once back at home the temptations had been too much for him. Lyric had done her best to keep him out of trouble, but it wasn’t enough. She hated watching him spiral out of control yet again, helpless to do anything to stop him.

“Anything else you need from me tonight?” she asked, hopeful that she’d be able to get home at a decent time. She glanced at the clock, it was nearly 10 pm. There were things she needed to do at her own home, which she rarely saw for any length of time when Howie was in town.

Howie dropped into a chair, stretching out his legs to the leather ottoman. “Would you mind going to get me something to eat? I’m starving.” They’d spent the day running errands and catching up on business correspondence, neither had eaten since noon in the rush to get things done on a rare full day at home.

“No problem. What would you like?”

“Chinese sounds good. You know, that stuff I always get.” He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. She knew he must be exhausted, he’d arrived back in town only the night before. The group was already recording the next album, they’d just spent three weeks recording in Sweden. And he was due to leave in two days for New York City, an important meeting with the big brass at the record label.

Lyric speed dialed Hong Kong Express, she’d memorized all his favorite meals at the local restaurants. Although she did cook for him on occasion, tonight she was too tired to make him anything.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, touching his shoulder to make sure he was still awake. He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot, the pupils dilated.

“Don’t forget the fried noodles,” he said, slurring his words.

“Damn,” she thought to herself. Howie didn’t believe he had a problem, didn’t believe that his life was out of control. She knew he wouldn’t ask for help until something convinced him.

When she returned, he was flipping channels on the television like a mad man, clicking through without even stopping to see what was on. A highball glass, filled with a golden liquid, was clenched in his left hand. All the lights were out except for the small light over the kitchen table.

“Whatcha watching?” she called from the kitchen as she plated their food. She knew Howie didn’t like to eat from the containers when he was home.

“Nothing good on,” he muttered. He switched it off and walked unsteadily into the kitchen, sliding into a chair. Taking a huge gulp from his glass, he mumbled ‘thanks’ as she laid the plate in front of him. “Get me that letter, you know the one that came today…”

“From your attorney…?” she prompted.

He nodded. “We need to send an answer back to him tonight.”

Lyric sighed, there went her easy escape. She hoped he’d be able to dictate a response quickly, then maybe she could leave. She ran to his office, found the letter and brought it brought it back to him. She grabbed a notepad and a pen and leaned against the kitchen island.

Howie scanned the letter, reading it over several times as he ate. The fork stopped halfway to his mouth, he lowered it and stared at it, moving the fork this way and that as he examined it. He finally put the food in his mouth, and then spit it back on the plate.

“What the hell is this crap?” he shouted, jumping to his feet.

“Kung Pao chicken and fried rice, just like you always get,” Lyric said, backing away. Howie had ordered the same thing for the last two years.

“I never get that!” he yelled. “I hate Kung Pao chicken and I hate fried rice! I always get steamed rice, you stupid bitch!” Howie picked up the plate and threw it her. The food splattered her dress, leaving a greasy stain on the dark blue silk. The plate shattered on the tile floor.

“I’ll go get you something else,” she said, her voice trembling. Howie had been unpredictable ever since they came off tour six months ago, his normally sweet nature had turned ugly and sullen. She knew it was the drugs, but that didn’t make dealing with him any easier.

“I’ll go get it myself,” he said, pushing past her.

“You aren’t in any condition to drive,” she said, grabbing the keys from his hand.

“Fuck you! Give me my car keys!”

“I’ll…I’ll drive you, ok? We’ll go down to the restaurant and I’ll tell them I messed up your order and we’ll get what you want, ok, Howie?” she pleaded. Panic filled her at the thought of him behind the wheel.

“No! I want my keys, I can drive myself to the damn restaurant.” He tried to wrench them from her hand.

“You’ve been drinking, Howie.” Lyric knew there was more than alcohol in his system, for him to drive would be more than dangerous, it could be fatal. “You’ve had too much to drink, it wouldn’t be a good idea to drive.”

“Who says I’ve had too much to drink? I just had a couple sips of scotch.”

Lyric tried to guide him back to the living room. “I’m your assistant, Howie. That’s why you hired me, to go get you things, right? You just relax and I’ll go get you something else to eat.”

“You’re my goddamn employee, and I don’t pay you to make judgments about my sobriety.” He pushed past her into the kitchen, digging in a drawer. “Ah, here they are – my spare keys.” With a triumphant laugh he headed for the garage.

“Wait! Howie, please…”

“I’m going to get something to eat, and you can’t stop me, so leave me alone!”

“What should I tell your mother at your funeral, Howie? That you were drunk and high? I’m sure she’d love to hear that.” It was a risky move on Lyric’s part, but she was desperate.

“You leave my mother out of it!” he yelled.

Lyric knew that none of his family had any idea of the severity of his drinking and drug problem. She’d been lying to them for a year to keep his secret. Not that she wanted to, but because he’d threatened her if she didn’t.

The look on his face scared the hell out of her, but she couldn’t back down and let him drive. Lyric knew his family depended on her to keep him safe and she was determined to do that, no matter the cost. She held her ground as he moved closer to her.

She reached out to him, touching his arm gently. “We’re all worried about you, Howie.” She thought she saw his face soften, thought he going to give in. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “We’re afraid you’re gonna end up like Heath Ledger or Michael Jackson…”

Lyric didn’t see it coming, the fist that smashed into her face caught her completely by surprise. She tripped over the ottoman and fell backwards, hitting her head on the edge of the coffee table.

Howie looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers, then at the unconscious woman. Dark brunette hair fanned around her face, a stark contrast to the tan carpeting beneath her. Blood seeped slowly from a cut underneath her left eye.

She lay at an awkward angle, her dress pushed up to reveal black lace panties. He could see she was still breathing, her chest rose and fell beneath the silk. Her breasts fascinated him, for a petite woman she was well endowed. He grabbed the front of her dress, ripping it with one pull, the fragile fabric tearing easily.

“You’re finally mine now, Ricky. I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” he whispered. The combination of drugs, alcohol and the sight of her nearly naked body pushed him into doing something unthinkable. His clothes landed on the floor with a soft thud.

He pulled her panties off and with a shaking hand, reached out and touched her, stroking her. When she didn’t respond to his touch, he became angry.

Lyric grunted, coming awake as Howie laid none too gently on top of her. Still stunned, her head and face aching, she barely realized what was happening.

“You’re one beautiful bitch,” he mumbled, pushing the dress away from her breasts. She tried to wiggle away from him but his weight held her down. “God, I want to fuck you.”

“Howie, no…” Desperation and fear gave her strength, she pushed him off and was able to scoot away a few feet. Her victory was short lived - he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back.

“Yes, Lyric. You’ve teased me for years – it’s time to pay up.” He captured her mouth in a bruising assault, shoving his knee between her thighs. He pinched her nipple hard, causing her to moan against his lips. She was breathless when he finally broke off the kiss.

“Not like this,” she pleaded with him. “Not like this, not now…”

Howie tried to enter her but she was dry, her muscles tightened against him. Using his fingers and spit to lubricate her, he shoved himself inside her, without thought to her pain. When she struggled to get away, he began to bite her shoulders and breasts.

Lyric whimpered with the pain. “Please, Howie, stop.”

“Shut up and be still, or I’ll punch you again,” he threatened.

She stopped struggling, resigned to the fact that Howie was bigger and stronger and could do what he wanted. Tears ran down her face to drip unheeded on the carpet.

“I love you, but not like this…” she whispered. “God, not like this.”

Howie was surprised to find resistance when he moved to enter her fully. “She’s a damn virgin. Eric was right!” he laughed and with one vicious thrust broke through her maidenhead. Lyric bit hard on her fist to keep from screaming.

Lyric thought back to the day she had first met Howie. The moment she first saw him, she was overwhelmed. He was handsome with an easy smile, big brown eyes and a personality so compelling that he seemed larger than life. Despite her mistrust of musicians, she’d accepted the job. Once she’d gotten lost in his eyes, she knew she had to be with him. That day seemed ages ago.

Lyric could feel him inside her, pounding her furiously as sweat beaded on his face. His eyes were now stone cold, those same amazingly warm brown eyes that she’d fallen in love with. Yes, she had wanted him to make love to her – but not like this.

There was chemistry between them, there was no denying that, but by unspoken agreement they had chosen to ignore it. She’d watched women come and go in his life, his hectic lifestyle made serious dating impossible. And he’d run off the few men that had shown any kind of interest in her.

Deep in her heart, she thought that maybe one day she could be more than his assistant. Foolishness, she knew, but as long as that tiny flame of hope still flickered inside her, she would stay by his side and protect him, despite the hell he was putting her through.

A loud groan pulled her from her reverie. Howie climaxed hard inside her, his body convulsing, eyes closed. Sweat slicked his body, their skin stuck together in places. After a minute, he pulled out and stood up, staring down at her. Without a word, he picked up his clothes and walked away.

Lyric laid there, waiting to see what would happen next. Humiliation and shame filled her. She wondered if she should get up and leave before he came back, afraid he would try for another round. But she hoped he would come back to her and apologize, so she just laid there, waiting, hoping for some sign from him that he was sorry.

She heard the shower running, then a little later the hum of the hair dryer. When he came back into the room, he was dressed to go out clubbing. He headed towards her, Lyric thought that maybe now he would express remorse. Instead, he picked up his car keys from the carpet where she had dropped them, then headed for the garage, slamming the door shut behind him.

She climbed unsteadily to her feet, her vision swimming. Lyric perched on the edge of the sofa, doubled over crying, she could no longer hold it in. She felt numb, shocked not only by Howie’s behavior but by his total disregard for her.

After a while, the tears slowed and then stopped altogether. Physically, she felt ill – but inside her a new resolve was beginning to form. Lyric stood, trembling, unsure of what to do next. She could call Alex, he’d know what to do – but she didn’t want him to see her this way.

No, she could handle this herself, she was strong. Hadn’t the last year taught her anything? She’d learned to be resourceful and cunning, quick witted enough to be able to handle any situation Howie threw at her.

In her temporary bedroom, Lyric found a pair of shorts and a shirt she used as pajamas. Ignoring the stickiness between her legs, she slipped out of the torn dress and pulled on the other clothes. She then took a few minutes to clean up the kitchen. In his inebriated state, she couldn’t risk Howie slipping on the spilled food and getting injured.

She then went to his room and pulled some clothes from his closet, folded them carefully and put them in a suitcase. Lyric rolled the suitcase to her SUV, glad for the darkness. Thankfully, Howie’s home sat back off the street, behind a gated entrance, so no one could see her.

The drive home seemed to take forever but Lyric needed the security of her own bed, although she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. There would be calls to place in the morning. One way or another, she was determined that Howie would get the help he so desperately needed.

******

Howie growled impatiently as he paced the kitchen floor. “Where the hell is she?” he muttered, checking his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. “She knows I have a meeting downtown that I can’t miss.” He was tired and hung over, he’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep before his alarm had awakened him.

Head aching fiercely, Howie resisted the urge to pour himself a glass of something alcoholic in nature. He’d also resisted the siren’s call of the capsules hidden in his bedroom - he needed a clear head for this meeting with the label executives.

His right hand was aching too, although he didn’t know why. His knuckles were skinned and bruised, something dark stained the ring he wore. It was his father’s ring, Hoke had given it to him not long before he died of cancer. It was a daily reminder of the man Howie admired above all else.

“It’s not like her to be late,” he said, checking his watch again. “Ah, finally,” he said as he heard her car drive up. When she came in the door, she was wearing oversized sunglasses and a long sleeved casual dress with a scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Traffic was bad,” she mumbled, laying her purse on the table, an envelope in her hand.

“About time,” he said, grabbing the briefcase from the chair. “What’s up with the disguise? You know we have a business meeting this morning, right? That’s a little inappropriate,” he indicated her casual knit dress. Howie liked seeing her wear sexy dresses to business meetings, liked the way the other men, and women too, looked at her with envious eyes.

“You’ll have to drive yourself,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Why? That’s why I have an assistant, so I don’t have to drive.” He grabbed her arm and turned her towards the door. Lyric winced, sucking in her breath, but didn’t move. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Lyric handed him the envelope. “It’s my letter of resignation.”

“Why?” Lyric felt sorry for him when she saw that the look of confusion on his face was real. He had no idea what was going on in his life, what he was doing to himself.

“Because I can’t watch you self destruct any longer, Howie. You won’t listen to anyone anymore, and we only have your best interests at heart.” She picked up her purse and turned to leave.

“I thought we were friends, Lyric.” His voice softened, almost pleading. “I need you, I can’t function without you.” Lyric knew that was true, he’d be totally unable to live his life without someone to look after him – someone to keep him out of trouble.

“I thought we were too, until last night. Everything’s changed now.”

“Why? What happened last night?” He laid the briefcase on the table. “I went to a club, that’s it, nothing unusual happened.”

Lyric removed her sunglasses, revealing the black eye and bruise that covered her cheek. Thankfully the cut hadn’t required stitches.

“Who did this to you? I’ll kill the bastard!” Howie said, a strength to his voice that Lyric hadn’t heard in a long time. She didn’t respond, wanting to build the tension between them. She wanted this moment to have the required impact, or else all would be lost.

He took several steps forward, only a few inches separated their faces. “Tell me who did this to you,” he insisted again when she didn’t answer. Their eyes met and held – his a dark liquid brown, hers an intense ice cold blue.

“You did,” she said.

Lyric unwound the scarf, then reached down and pulled the dress over her head. She was naked except for black lace panties – she wanted him to see everything he had done to her. Bruises and bite marks discolored her neck, breasts, arms, and thighs.

“I…did that?” Howie could only stare in horror, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He placed his hand on her arm, his fingers an exact match to the bruise there. He pulled back like his hand was on fire.

“We argued about your drinking and the drugs. I said something you didn’t like and you punched me.” Howie looked down at his hand, at the stained ring, then at Lyric’s face.

She reached into her purse and pulled out the torn dress, laid it on the table. “Then you ripped my clothes off and raped me. I pleaded with you to stop, but you wouldn’t listen.” Lyric kept all emotion from her voice. It was so very difficult, she wanted to scream at him, to hit him, to hurt him like he had hurt her.

Howie closed his eyes, trying to remember the previous night. He had been drinking, and he’d taken something before that, he didn’t even know what it was, only knew that it would make him high. Images flashed before his eyes, of a woman on the floor of his living room, her hair spread around her beautiful face like a halo, her body naked, the skin so soft.

“Not like this, she said, over and over. I thought it was a hallucination, the drugs do that sometimes.” Lyric watched the truth bloom in his face, watched as disgust filled his eyes. “Oh my god…” Howie staggered from the kitchen to the nearby bathroom.

“It was no hallucination, Howie, it was my nightmare,” she shouted at his retreating back, pulling the dress back on. Lyric could hear him vomiting violently, heaving until there was nothing left. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but knew her only hope now was tough love. She prayed for the strength to continue.

When Howie returned, he was pale and shaking. “Ricky, I don’t know what to say.” He moved to touch her but she shrank away from him. “I’m sorry, so very sorry, sweetheart…”

“You better get going or you’re gonna miss your meeting,” Lyric interrupted. She put her sunglasses back on and headed for the door.

“Please stay, Lyric. I need you.” She could hear the desperation in his voice.

“I’m not babysitting you anymore. No more pay offs to keep you out of the tabloids. Your fans can see you as you really are.” She deliberately kept her back to him. If she looked into his eyes now, she knew she’d give in. “I’m not going to lie to your family or to the band or to the label. It was your choice, and now you have to live with the consequences.”

“It’s not my fault.” Anger and denial now colored his voice. “My friends…”

“Are NOT your friends at all,” she interrupted. “They are using you.” Lyric hated the people that hung around him, she’d tried to get rid of them so many times but Howie kept letting them back into his life.

“You’re a bitch and a liar, Lyric. Go on, leave then.”

Lyric sighed, it was going just as Alex said it would, but she had to be strong for Howie. “Ok, I’m leaving. I can’t be your employee, or your friend, while you’re doing this.” She kept walking towards the door.

He took a step towards her, hesitantly reached out to her. “But…” She felt fear replace the anger.

Lyric had her hand on the door knob. “No buts, Howie. It’s either the drugs, alcohol, and your pretend friends or your real friends and family. You can’t have both.” She made her voice as cold and hard as she could. “It’s your choice.”

Her heart was pounding, her hand on the door was trembling. Had she done enough to convince him? The tension in the room was almost unbearable.

“I’m an alcoholic and abusing drugs,” he finally said. Lyric stopped but didn’t turn around. “I’m willing to go to rehab. No, I must go to rehab,” he corrected himself.

Lyric turned to face him, she needed to see his face when he answered her. “Do you really mean it? You’ll go get on a plane right now?” She held her breath.

Howie nodded, his world shattered. He looked at Lyric’s ruined face and the bile rose in this throat. How could he have turned into such a monster? Lyric had been by his side for two years and trusted him completely. He’d betrayed her, hurt her physically and mentally. He was no better than her father.

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Whatever you ask.”

As Howie moved towards her, Lyric saw tears fill his eyes, then run down his cheeks. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.” His fingers touched the bruise on her face, she could feel him shaking.

“Nothing that love won’t heal,” she thought to herself as his fingers caressed her swollen lips. He dropped his hand with a sigh, she could feel the energy drain out of him.

“I’ve almost ruined my life, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but its not too late,” she said softly.

“Will you…will you still be here when I get out?” Howie prayed that he hadn’t completely destroyed what was between them. Lyric nodded, relief filled his face. “What about my family, the press, and the fellas? Does anyone else know?”

“I didn’t go to the police or to the hospital, Howie. I haven’t talked to anyone but the rehab center, not even your family. I’ll leave that up to you, to explain it to everybody.”

“Thank you. I don’t deserve to have someone like you in my life.” Lyric didn’t argue with him, she felt the exact same way right at the moment.

“I’ve made all the arrangements already, the center will have a car waiting at the airport. Your suitcase is in the car. You have just enough time to stop at your meeting and explain to the label and to the fellas that you need some time off.”

“What do you think they’ll say?” he asked as he climbed into the passenger seat of her SUV.

“I think they will be happy to hear that you’re finally getting help.” She started the car. “Everyone has been worried about you for a very long time.”

As they drove off, Howie turned in the seat to see two suitcases. “Two bags?”

“One is mine. They won’t let me stay with you for long, but you shouldn’t have to make the trip alone.”

Silence filled the car as they drove towards downtown LA, the stop and go traffic as miserable as usual. Lyric looked over at Howie, he was lost in his own thoughts. She hoped he was finally thinking about what he’d done to everyone around him.

“Did you mean it?” Howie asked, his voice barely audible above the engine noise.

“Mean what?” Lyric glanced over at him, his face was serious.

“You said last night that you loved me.”

Lyric was surprised that he remembered. She hesitated before answering, she didn’t want anything to distract him from his mission to get clean and sober. But she thought that maybe knowing someone on the outside loved you would be some incentive.

“Yes, I meant it.”

“Even after what I did to you last night?” His voice faltered.

“Yes.” She swallowed hard, fighting the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “I know last night wasn’t the real you. The man I fell in love with is still inside you, wanting to come back.”

“I’ll be that man for you again, Ricky. I promise.”

“I trust you.”

Howie was quiet for a moment. “I love you too.” He reached out his hand, Lyric took it and squeezed it gently.