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When I wakeup the next morning, my head is pounding, and my stomach is rolling. It’s just as bad as the morning after my birthday, if not worse. I push myself up and take a long, hot shower. I sit in the bottom of the tub and let the water pour over me while I try sweating the rest of the alcohol out of my system.
When the water runs cold, I step out and wrap my towel around my waist.
I place my hands on the sink and look at myself in the mirror. I don’t even know who’s staring back at me anymore. My long, wet hair hangs over my bloodshot eyes. I have dark circles under them, and my cheeks seem hollow. I guess that’s what I get for going on a three-day drinking binge.
Getting irritated just from looking at myself in the mirror, I raise my hand and punch the glass. It shatters and falls to pieces all around me. A sharp, stabbing pain gets my attention, and I look at my hand to find a large piece of the mirror protruding out from between my knuckles.
I pull the piece out, and blood pours from the wound, dripping into the white sink that’s filled with broken glass.
“Fuck!” I grab a wash cloth and run it under the cold water before applying it to my hand. I apply pressure and sit on the toilet, getting dizzy from sight of the blood. When I pull the cloth away, at least a dozen tiny cuts and nicks are also bleeding.
Fed up with acting like a baby, I pour alcohol on my hand and wrap an Ace Bandage around it to stop the bleeding.
I leave the bathroom and the mess for another day.
After I dress, I head to the kitchen for some food. I find a half-eaten foot long sandwich, and I take it out. Tossing it on the table, I grab a warm beer from beside the fridge and sit down. I pop the top and take a long drink, letting the warm bubbles wash down my dry throat.
I turn the sandwich over to unwrap it and find a sticky note. It reads, “Dane, eat lunch. I’ll be back soon. Love, Alissa”
Seeing the note only pisses me off. I throw the sandwich as hard as I can into the trash can and take my beer back to the couch.
I sit and look at my guitar, but don’t dare to touch it. All I can think about is that stupid song. Why would I do that to myself? Why pick an awesome song to be tainted? Without meaning to, the lyrics start playing in my head. It only drives me crazy. Why did she do this to me? Why did she leave, and why won’t Sean fucking own up to it?
I should’ve seen this shit coming and prepared myself, but Sean?Fucking Sean? He doesn’t have anything I don’t have. He’s a fucking pussy. Why pick me a year ago just to let it end like this? To cheat on me with him?
How could I have even loved her? She did nothing but use me.
I finish the beer and go to get another. After I grab the beer, I’m passing by the table when I see something tucked away between the salt and pepper shakers.
I stop and study the piece of paper. Was that there before? I grab the note and take it back to the couch. With my unopened beer in my lap, I unfold the paper and read the note.
That’s when I understand.
She didn’t leave me because she cheated on me. She left because she thought she was holding me back.
How could she think that? I told her time and time again she was all I wanted. I still don’t want anything else. Doesn’t she know that any achievement I have in life will be nothing without her? She’s what made my life great. Not my band or the music we play.
I’ve always enjoyed playing music. I love the rush I get when a crowd watches my every move, when women dance in front of me, hoping to get my attention. But now that she’s gone, I don’t give a shit anymore.
My reason to care is gone. She was the one I played for. She was the reason I worked so hard.
I mean, yeah, I want to make it big, but not for me. For her.
The night she left, the guy in the suit was with a record label. But then I noticed she was gone. When we took our break, I left and didn’t come back. We could’ve had our own deal right then, but I passed on that just for her.
I didn’t know it at the time, but when Mark and Zach came looking for me later that night, they had good news. The guy with the record label approached them and gave them his card. He wanted us to come into the studio and record. But none of that meant anything without her.
It still doesn’t. I don’t want that life, not unless she’s by my side.
Since that night, I haven’t seen the band. I told them I wasn’t interested in signing a record deal. I don’t even want to play anymore. Without her, my life is nothing.
What good is getting your dream if you have nobody to share it with?
I lie around the house doing nothing but drinking for a week. Until my dad finally comes in, throwing around his weight.
I’m on the couch, bottle of Jack in my hand when he storms through the door. He takes the bottle without a word to me.
