Angels Fall First

17

The tears had sprung unbidden to her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to show them she was weak, but when Tuomas had turned away from her, she couldn’t help herself. Tuomas was never like that! He always gave everyone a chance to explain themselves, he would listen and determine from there. Did he really distrust her so much? Tarja felt the defeat crawl over her skin, burrowing its way into her heart and mind, and she realized that they wouldn’t be dissuaded from hating her. And as she walked out of the hotel lobby, head down, a spark of anger flared inside her. She knew they didn’t read the article. She knew from the way Jukka had gone to lower Marco’s arm, from how the bigger Finn hadn’t answered her question. They hadn’t read the article but yet were more than willing to condemn her, blame her. The anger flooded her, and the defeat she’d felt, the sadness, were washed away. She raised her head, straightened her shoulders, feeling the heat in her cheeks and gritting her teeth. They were just as assuming now as they had been in 2005. She had hoped they’d changed, that they would realize she hadn’t turned into some “diva” who thought she was better than they were. She’d never felt that way! Somewhere along the line, they had grown further and further apart, until it came to the point that Tarja was certain she’d done something wrong, but she reasoned then that Tuomas or one of the others should have told her. They’d been treating her just as coldly as she’d been treating them, and yet, somehow, she was the one at fault. It seemed they would still choose to blame her before looking at any other possibilities.

“Tarja! Wait up!”

Tarja turned quickly at the sound of her name, mildly surprised to see Jukka jogging to catch up with her. She withdrew all her anger, pulling up the mask, hiding her feelings.

“Yes?” she said coldly, looking down her nose. He’d think it conceit, and let him tell the others that she, Tarja, was just as much a diva as she had been before. Tarja didn’t care. Things would be simplified if Nightwish was removed from her personal life completely. Jukka paused, confusion crossing his face momentarily, quickly changing into contriteness.

“I’m really sorry for how Marco reacted,” he said apologetically.

“It’s fine.” She made sure that the emotion was kept entirely out of her voice. She was detached, she felt almost as though she were watching herself from a distance, just an actor on a stage.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She turned on her heel, her hair whipping behind her shoulders, and walked brusquely away from the drummer, aware of his eyes on her back as he watched her leave.

It wasn’t until she was back at her own hotel that everything she felt was amplified tenfold. She sat at the desk where she’d penned the letter to Tuomas what felt like eternity ago, but was only a couple of weeks, and buried her face in her hands, trying not to cry and failing. She wished she was at home, that she was in her own room instead of a hotel room, surrounded by her own belongings, but her house had been undergoing renovations for the past month and wasn’t expected to be done for at least two more weeks. There was nothing, and no one, here to comfort her, and she didn’t understand why it bothered her so much, that Nightwish thought badly of her. She had gone for years without saying so much as a word to them, though of course sometimes she couldn’t help but miss them, and now things could go back to how they were before. But before, she never thought they hated her. She’d thought that somewhere they could, especially Tuomas, still find warm feelings for her, still think well of her like she did them. Now, though, she knew they hated her, and that they would never miss her, never want to see her again, and that was what upset her. This was it, this was the absolute end of what had been between her and the four guys in the band, the end of the friendship she and Anette had built over the last couple weeks. They would never look back on her with fond memories again. The anger and sadness mixed inside her, twisting her stomach into a knot, blurring her vision, and she sat hunched over the desk that was not her own, with no one there to tell her everything would be alright, and she cried.

A calmness and acceptance settled over Tarja. She wouldn’t see Nightwish again, and they would hate her. She felt empty inside, couldn’t seem to make herself care. She observed her reflection in the bathroom mirror, noting the smudged makeup and tearstains with a certain detachedness. She heard a small beeping from the actual room, her cell phone, and went to check the text message. She was genuinely surprised to see that it was from Emppu, asking if they were still on for Wednesday. Joy and disbelief fluttered in her heart. Maybe they didn’t hate her after all.

“If you still want to, then we still are,” she typed back, then sat waiting for his reply, heart beating excitedly.

“Ok,” came the reply a few minutes later, and Tarja stared at the phone. Emppu probably didn’t have any idea how happy he just made her, but the relief seemed to melt something in her heart and she smiled, a smile that she couldn’t seem to quell. Emppu didn’t hate her!

Wednesday finally rolled around and all morning, Tarja did anything possible to distract herself. Via text messages, Tarja and Emppu had decided that they would grab a cup of coffee from Starbucks after lunch and then walk around for a bit. She couldn’t concentrate properly on anything, worried about her meeting with Emppu. She hadn’t spoken to Marcelo since before the tabloid was published; it was a confrontation she was trying to avoid. Every time she saw him, he seemed to sneer at her, knowing he had won this time. She never rose to the challenge of bringing him down a notch, not wanting to have another argument after the one she’d had with Marco. She desperately hoped that today wouldn’t lead to an argument with Emppu as she walked to the Starbucks they planned to meet at. He wasn’t there yet when she arrived, so she ordered a coffee and took a seat to wait for him. The Starbucks was pretty much empty, the lunch rush having passed, and there was only Tarja, a woman leaned over a laptop, and a man reading a book, and, of course, the baristas. There was a nice sense of peace here, quiet and warmth that she hadn’t felt yet this week. She watched absently the passers-by through the window, barely registering what she saw, until Emppu passed by. She shot out of her seat, all sense of peace gone from her body, and nervously waved to him as he entered. He smiled stiffly and headed over to the counter to order his own drink. Tarja stood beside him as he waited and the two said nothing. It wasn’t until the coffee arrived that Emppu spoke.

“Hi,” he said, cautious.

“Hi,” Tarja responded, equally cautious, and the two stood there awkwardly.

“Should we, uh…” Emppu jerked his head in the direction of the door, indicating that he wanted to leave.

“Right, okay.” Tarja followed him out of the coffee shop and they walked side by side, in silence, for a good couple of blocks before Tarja couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“How’s Anette?” she asked.

“She’s been better. But she’s okay now. That tabloid stunt didn’t go over so well.”

“It wasn’t me…” Tarja said softly, looking down at the cup she was holding in both her hands. Emppu thought it was her too. She felt tears sting her eyes and quickly blinked them away. He had to have a reason to be here, then, if he believed she’d told them.

“Then who was it? Anette didn’t tell anyone other than us and you.” His tone was accusing, she could feel him glaring at her. She didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to tell Emppu that she’d told her husband even though she shouldn’t have, didn’t want to give him more reason to think that Marcelo controlled and shaped her to his whims. But she had to, because if she didn’t, then the rest of the band would hate her for something she had never done.

“Marcelo.” She whispered it, not looking at Emppu. When he didn’t respond, Tarja looked up to find his eyes on her, fury nestled deep within them. She didn’t have to explain how Marcelo had found out, because Emppu had already figured it out. She had told him because she was his wife, and marriages shouldn’t hold secrets. Still, Tarja had never, ever seen Emppu so angry. He looked away quickly, and Tarja could see the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth. She didn’t know what she could say to make things better. Sorry wasn’t enough, Emppu wouldn’t think she meant it, even though she really, really did. So she said nothing, kept her face down. She didn’t tell Emppu that she hadn’t wanted the tabloids to ever find out, even when Marcelo tried to pressure her into it. She didn’t tell Emppu that she and her husband had barely been on speaking terms since the day Anette had told her. Words could never justify what had already happened.