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ALI
Two Days Later
He promisedhe promised me anything but smack. Oh, fuck it, let’s not be cool about this. He promised me he’d touch anything but Heroin.
But here we are.
When we talked after our kiss the other night, I thought we were going somewhere. That maybe we had enough water under our bridge to really make a go of something. He promised once this tour was over, when we had some breathing room, and we were back home we could talk about it.
About us.
Because we had a chance. A chance of something.
But now he’s lying there, motionless. Machines connected to every visible part of his body, his face pale, his body motionless because he’s injected so much junk into his blood-stream. Because he thought it would be a good idea to go fucking joy riding.
I’m watching his band mates cry for him. I’m watching his sister howl her eyes out, sob his name again and again. I’m making statements for the press, for the record label. I’m managing the situation when all I want to do is cry too. For someone to hold MY hand and tell me the man who I’ve loved for years is going to be okay.
To tell me the man who I thought I had a chance with is not going to die.
Because that’s the way they are talking.
I’m a mess, distraught, as I cry silent tears not only for Max but for the tatters of what I thought could have been a blooming relationship.
I love him goddammit.
But I hate him too. Hate him for making me feel these things, for putting so much damn pressure on himself, for reacting so stupidly and rashly and mostly I hate him for injecting that poison into his blood stream.
For letting it win.
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