People would think it would be impossible abandoning the important people in your life. But when they constantly reminded you of the past, the pain, and everything you wanted to disconnect from—it was easy.
Selfish or not, Cars was better off without me.
Plus, with Cars came Andy and vice versa. They were a package of emotion and cutting that off, the ache, it was what I needed to move forward.
“Be right there.” And I would after my stiffness softened and my brain stopped sticking to Andy and how she’d feel wrapped around me.
He didn’t question me but instead, left, and I waited until he was back in the booth before texting Andy again.
Let me know when you figure out that pleasure is meant to be with every fuck and not only with toys, and I’ll be here. If you stay with him, though, I’ll know.
Know what? She quickly responded this time, taking no time at all. Almost as if she knew I wouldn’t wait forever. Because I wouldn’t. If she decided she wanted him, I’d give up entirely.
Whether to cut these ties forever. Even typing the words felt final, and maybe those words forced her hand.
We’re family, Madden.
We aren’t. Everything I want from you is the furthest thing from familial. Adoption papers might call you a Black like our fake last name, but you’re mine. Blood mattered to some, but we weren’t blood. Even if we were, nothing mattered when it came to Andy and me. Even if it took seeing her after five years for those emotions to spark inside me.
I’m not yours, Madden. We can’t do this.
I’ve got a set to practice, Andy. You have three weeks. Tick-tock.
Shoving my phone into my jeans, I headed to the booth, seeing the guys waiting patiently. Carrig tapped imaginary drumsticks, mentally practicing his set. Memphis played with his strings, tugging with an assuredness only a bassist had.
Stony stared at me. Worry seemed to be his default setting and it pissed me off that he had any type of feeling toward me other than the norm for bandmates. I was grateful Cars and him became close—which I’m grateful for. Abandoning my best friend ate at me for a long time, but detaching from the world felt less like drowning and more like floating.
I missed Cars on my hard days when I sliced through my skin, taking away the urge with the blood spilling from me.
I hated myself most days when I thought of him alone.
Ink was my escape for many of my mood shifts. Tattooing others and myself gave me purpose, then I found these fucks and found more.
“Etched Words I Never Could Say?” I questioned, knowing it was one of the hardest songs for me. It was a living thing, the lyrics were tattooed to my heart, etched on the very muscle so every time it beat, I was reminded of my messed-up existence.
“Yeah, we wanted to do it once more with your vocals,” Memphis confirmed. I grimaced, feeling the sea of depression pull me under.
Pulling my guitar strap over my head, my heart hammered. This song was one of the only ones I didn’t want to do on the tour. It spoke of the darkest parts of me, the ones that hurt more than a knife to my throat as I begged for death.
Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to feel.
It had been a long time since I reopened these wounds, allowing them access to the brokenness of me. Memphis started, then Stony. When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and lost myself.
If I could change the distance between us,
I’d give you life and welcome death.
If the world needed a sacrifice to bring you back,
I’d sacrifice myself to offer it all.
If blood was meant to be spilled,
I’d give the world’s blood to get one more chance.
For so long, I died, waiting for the breath to come into my lungs.
I drowned,
Begging for death.
You left as I died slowly.
So goddamn slowly.
I’m still here, can you see me?
As the blood leaves my veins, do I feel closer to you?
I’m coming for you, my forever night of bliss.
Just one more kiss, just one more kiss.
When I finished, my chest felt tighter, it felt like emotions overwhelmed every breath I took. Something inside me died when my parents did, then it continued to decay whenever I sang this song.
“Holy fuck,” Carrig panted, before coming toward me. He clapped me on the back, and then Memphis and Stony did too. I flinched and they dropped their hands, knowing my dislike of touching. My skin crawled at the quick feeling, my body begging for a Brillo pad or a fucking knife.
“No one could sing that like you,” Stony complimented, his face full of fierce emotions.
“Fucking hurts,” I barely muttered. The guys knew my story. My parents died four days before my nineteenth birthday. While I got the house, money, Vertigo Records, and half of Windowless Skies, I’d lost the two people I never had the time to love enough.
Regret ate at me, even if I couldn’t change it or ever get more time. I didn’t choose to have them go on tour. I didn’t ask to raise myself. I didn’t want to lose them. Hatred mimicked love; opposites while being somehow woven in the same way. I hated them as much as I loved them. They robbed me of their time and the world cheated me out of their lives.
“They’d be proud,” Stony stated, his voice softer somehow. He didn’t like when I felt helpless, much like Cars in that sense. His eyes bored into mine, conveying what he didn’t say.
We are proud. The guys never stopped telling me how proud they were of me staying alive, pushing in the only way I knew how, even if it wasn’t healthy.
I didn’t want to feel more, so I set my guitar down, not offering the guys a glance before walking out of the studio and into the cold air.
Going into my pocket, I pulled out a joint. What I’d do for a fucking escape right now. Lighting it up, I sucked in as much as I could.
I might be a pothead, but fuck, even this was too much. Coughing a bit, I let it out. My fingers gripped it, as if somehow it would be my lifeline for everything.
“Sound like a newbie,” Memphis ribbed, his voice reminding me of a smooth drink. Hearty, rich, and a bit warmer than normal tones.
“Inhaled too deeply,” I mustered, my throat feeling a bit rough from the exertion.
“Maybe if you allowed yourself to deal with the shit you experienced, you wouldn’t need to constantly escape.
“Says you,” I grumbled, thinking of how Memphis lost his daughter when she was three, never one to cope with that loss. He was similar to me. Sad. Broken. Unable to truly live.
“That shit is different.”
“Is it?” I asked, offering him my smoke. He took it, inhaling deeply.
After letting out the smoke, he stared at me with a knowledge only someone who has lost would understand. “I raised her while Malina was fucking high. The court forced me to share custody.”
“My parents were taken too.”
“Yeah, but there’s a different pain in losing a child, when you’re supposed to protect them, love them, and be their hero. Your parents were grown, they raised you, and they were dealt a shitty hand by fate.”
“It’s hard to see past my loss,” I acknowledged. Because it was true. Seeing past the fact that I barely got them for my nineteen years of life was impossible.
I may have had them for that time, but being as they were gone nine months out of the year most years, I didn’t truly have them.