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The bright lightpouring in through my bedroom window does nothing to raise me from my bed. I lie, mute, naked, and broken. I turn my head to my bedside. Find my phone. No missed calls. No messages. I pick it up. Dial Ali. It rings out, keeps ringing, each painful noise hurting my insides, my gut twisting and my brain spiralling. She’s had it this time. Enough of my shit.
I need to fix this, but how the fuck do I do that? My eyes scan my bedside table again. There’s the envelope she passed me in the car last night, shaking hands undo it.
My eyes fill with hot tears as I hold the photo close to my chest. There’s our baby. Bigger than before, a little more formed. An obvious hand almost waving up at me. Our little girl. Our tiny baby girl. Fuck. I need to— I don’t even know what I need but I know this little life needs me and I’ll do anything I can to be good for her. To be her daddy. What she deserves, her protector.
I prop the picture on the cabinet as I stand. Stretch. Call her mum again. Nothing. How the fuck can I make this better if Ali won’t speak to me? I stand and pace. Desperate, searching for ideas, of ways to make Ali see I’m real. I’m good. I need her more than I need any of this. That I’d kiss fame fucking goodbye if it meant I could see her, be with her, be her man, her baby’s daddy.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I’m not sure how much time’s passed. I know I’ve called Ali at least twelve times. Each time nothing. I’ve showered, I’ve swept up, I’ve fucking hoovered. Anything to distract myself. I’ve played guitar, desperately sang songs I’m not sure I ever actually understood before, who was it that said love hurts? Oh yeah, every single song writer ever. Including us. And it does. It really fucking stings!
I’m tapping my pen on my knee, writing list after list of ways I can be a good dad, a good man, a good friend. Of ways I can appease my friends, my girl, and my family all at once. Fuck the label. Family is worth more than anything they can offer me.
Billie-Joe Armstrongis crooning away in the background. The time of his life? What was the time of mine? With my brothers, on tour. With my sister smiling. With Ali in my arms, in my bed, underneath me.
I’m dreaming so hard, I barely hear the knock on the door, until whoever it is pounds again. My heartbeat quickens as I move to the door. It’s her, it’s Ali. I know it is. She’s going to come in here all sassy and hard, but she’s not forgotten me, she’s—
“Hey, man.”
It’s not her. My smile drops slightly as Finch’s intense blue eyes stare down at me, his dark curls covering his face, an empathetic smile covering his cheeks. His ridiculously high cheekbones, his brow furrowed. My best fucking friend, even after I’ve potentially fucked him over. With his guitar case swung over one shoulder and a plastic takeaway bag in his left hand, the same awkward smile he’s had since we were about fourteen.
“Dude. You look like shit,” he says as he strides into my apartment.
“Yeah, yeah I know. I feel it too, if it makes you feel any better, Finch.”
“It doesn’t surprisingly,” he assures me as he walks straight into the kitchen and dumps the takeaway bag on the island, taking his guitar off his shoulder and leaning it against the larder cupboard.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d need food or music more, so I bought both.” He shrugs as he reaches into the cupboard to grab a glass, fills it up with water from the tap like this is just a normal Saturday night.
“I also chucked my shorts in my guitar bag in case you wanted to hit the gym,” he says absently as he drinks the water in his glass. I look at my friend, at how much it means to me that he’s here still. I’m a selfish fuck I know, I never once thought about him, about the boys, I just figured they didn’t want me, and I had to make it about me. The same way I always fucking do.
“I don’t think I can do it, Finch,” I admit.
“What? Eat these crappy noodles. I mean the place was a bit dicey looking but Cassy’s weird student friends Ezra and Amie, both assured me it was ‘immense’ I left them all at home with a bottle or two of Rosé wine and my entire record collection, which knowing your sister could be a good thing, could be a bad one.”
I snort a laugh. “Did you get some odd looks going in there?”
He shrugs. “The takeaway? Probably, can’t say I noticed to be fair,” he mumbles as he grabs a couple of forks from the drawer behind him, opens the bag, sniffs the air and screws up his nose, he looks at me and shakes his hand in the air as if to admit they smell a bit dodgy.
“Second thoughts, should probably have skipped these,” he says with a laugh.
“Nah, fuck that. I’m starving. Food poisoning be damned.” I laugh.
“You want a drink?” I ask him as I take the fork from his hand.
“Do you?” he asks me, his eyes focusing straight on me now. I know he’ll drink with me if I want, but I’m sure he’d rather I didn’t. I look at him, and answer him honestly because I’ve hardly ever been able to lie to the man.
“No. I don’t think I do,” I admit. “I’ve fucked up, Finch,” I say as I take a fork full of noodles and he pulls out a stool at the island and does the same.
“What have you fucked up?”
“Everything. You guys, the baby, Ali.”
“I’m not sure you’ve fucked up per se. I mean all of the above are pissed at you, yeah, but you’re not beyond repair, Baines my man.”
“Really?” I ask him quietly.
“Yeah, really,” he assures me.
