the parties, on the tours? Give me some credit."

He had believed it, because he'd needed to. She was, and had always

been, the quiet light of innocence in all the noise and madness. "I- I'm

tired, Emma."

"Tired? Need a lift? A little buzz to take the edge off reality? Give

me the name, Stevie. After all, I saved your life. It seems only just

that I should help you lose it."

"I didn't ask you to save my life, G.o.dd.a.m.n you." He lifted a hand as if

to push her away, then let it fall limply on the sheet. "Why didn't you

leave me the h.e.l.l alone, Emma? Why didn't you just leave me alone?"

"My mistake," she said briskly. "But we can do our best to fix it right

up." She leaned closer, bringing him a whiff of soft scent as her voice

and eyes hardened. "I'll get the tucking drug for you, Stevie. I'll

get it. I'll feed it to you. I'llpush the needle in whatever vein you

might have left. h.e.l.l, maybe I'll even try it myself."

"No!"

"Why not?" She lifted a brow as if amused. "You said it was a good

drug. Isn't that what you said to Dad? It's a good drug. If it's good

enough for you, it's good enough for me."

"No. G.o.dd.a.m.nit. Look what I've done to myself." He held out his

scarred and scabbed arms.

"I see what you've done to yourself." She threw the pad and pencil

across the room. "I see exactly what you've done to yourself. You're

weak and pitiful and sad."

"Miss!" A nurse came through the door. "You'll have to-"

"Get out of here." Emma whirled on her, fists clenched, eyes blazing.

"Get the h.e.l.l out. I'm not finished yet."

She left. The hurried sound of her retreating feet echoed.

"Leave me alone," Stevie murmured. The tears were spilling out of his

eyes, seeping through the fingers he pressed to his face.

"Oh, I'll leave you alone, all right. When I'm done. I found you lying

on the floor, in your own blood and vomit, beside the gun and the

needle. Couldn't you make up your mind which way you wanted to kill

yourself, Stevie? It was just too d.a.m.n bad, wasn't it, that I didn't

want you to die. I pumped life back into you, right there on the floor.

I

cried because I was afraid I wouldn't be quick enough or good enough or

smart enough to save you. But you were breathing when they took you

away, and I thought it mattered."

"What do you want!" he shouted. "What the h.e.l.l do you want?"

"I want you to think-think about someone else for a change. How do you

think I would have felt if I'd found you dead? Or Dad-what would it

have been like for him? You have everything, but you're so h.e.l.l-bent to

self-destruct you could have twice as much and it wouldn't matter."

"I can't help it."

"Oh, that's a poor excuse, poor and pitiful and sad and completely

suitable to what you've made yourself" She was near tears now herself,

but she fought them back, letting the bubbling anger pour out instead.

"I've loved you ever since I can remember. I've watched you play and

year after year been astonished by what you're capable of creating. Now