Cupping a steaming mug of coffee in both hands, I feel my fingers for the first time today. Wrapped in a blanket, I’m covered from head to toe in Joey’s gym clothes. I can’t remember the last time I wore jogging bottoms or a hoodie, but right now I can’t imagine ever wearing anything but.
“You had me worried, brother,” Joey says, sitting next to me and holding his hip flask. “Here, I think you need some of this.”
I shake my head. “I’m never drinking again.”
“From what I hear, that might not be a bad idea. But right now, you need to get warm.” Without permission, he pours a generous shot into my coffee. “Okay, explain yourself,” he continues.
“I wish I could. The last thing I remember is standing outside the office after quitting and screaming at Tony.”
“You screamed at your boss?”
“Yeah.” I gulp from my mug, the additional whisky almost forcing it up my throat again. “I guess things spiralled from there.”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“Nope. I woke up on some bleak bathroom floor, half naked and feeling utter despair. It’s not even hazy. It’s like someone erased my mind.”
“I see,” he says, swigging from the flask.
“What have you heard?” I ask, glancing at him before looking at my curled up toes peeking out from the bottom of the blanket.
“I’m not sure you want to know the answer to that.”
“That bad?”
“I don’t know where to begin. Plus, I only have bits of the story. I didn’t start looking for you until Thursday night.”
“Do my parents know?”
“No. Although I decided if I didn’t find you today I’d tell them and call the police.”
“The police?”
“What else was I supposed to do? Christ, I thought about calling B.”
I laugh, a slow, small, pitiful, despairing laugh.
“I figured you may have killed her…or she’d killed you.”
“Maybe I did,” I say.
“I suppose we can’t rule anything out.”
I sigh. “What happened to me?”
He takes another sip from his flask but says nothing.
“The highlights,” I say. “Not too much detail.”
“I don’t have much detail to give you,” he says, pouring another shot of whisky into my coffee. “On Wednesday night, you were seen in Hi-Fi, Smokestack, and Neon Cactus. You were thrown out of the last two.”
“Who was I with?”
“Nobody. I spoke to all the door staff, and those who remember seeing you said you were alone. All night. And Jerry, one of the guys behind the bar at Neon Cactus, said you were silent the entire time. You just propped yourself at the end of the bar and kept yourself to yourself. He said you didn’t seem too drunk at that point.”
“Why did I get thrown out, then?”
“You fell asleep.”
“Great.”
“But you were fine, for the most part. They led you out, put you in a taxi, and all was well. Except you apparently got out of the taxi and walked into Smokestack instead.”
I sip my coffee, the rich aroma mixing with the hum of whisky.
“Anyway, you were thrown out of Smokestack at around two o’clock, and from what I can tell, you didn’t go into another bar afterwards, at least, not one of our regular hangouts.”
“I don’t remember any of this,” I say, pulling the blanket closer to my chin.
“This was the bright part of your little adventure. It got pretty damn weird after that.”
“What do you mean?”
“No doorman or bar staff have seen you since Wednesday night.”
“How the hell did I get into this state, then? If I didn’t go into any bars, where did I go?”
Cocking his head, he squints.
“Oh, Jesus, where did I go?”
“It’s hard to say, but nowhere good. Stevie saw you several times, though.”
“Stevie the drug dealer? That Stevie?”
“Yep.”
“But…I hate that scumbag.”
“Apparently not. You kept calling him.”
“I called him? How did I get his number?”
“The hell if I know. I can’t understand the guy at the best of times, but he’s especially useless at three in the morning. Anyway, despite being baked off his face, he did call me a few times after he saw you, although he never gave me much information.”
“Why?”
“He’s a piece-of-shit, that’s why. He sells crack to people and smokes more than he sells. I’m lucky he called me at all.”
Resting my head on the back of the couch, I stare at the blank TV screen. “What did I buy off him? I didn’t smoke crack, did I?”
Laughing, he wraps his giant hands around my shoulder. “I don’t think so. You did have quite the party, though.”
“More than weed?”
“You kidding me? Definitely more than weed. He couldn’t remember what he gave you, but it involved a cocktail of pills, blow, and a little acid, too.”
“Acid? Cocaine? What the hell?”
“Whether he’s telling the truth or not, I don’t know, but considering the state you’re in, it’s fair to assume you tried a few new treats.”
“Why would I? I’ve never…”
“Once you start a rollercoaster ride like that, you don’t get off without a fight.”
I push my hand through my hair and massage my temples. “Why didn’t you tell him to stop selling me stuff?” I say, whining.
“He’s a piece-of-shit-drug-dealer, Aus. He’ll sell drugs to anyone.”
Groaning and moaning, I pull the blanket over my head to hide as much shame and pain as I can. “Fine. Fine,” I say, my voice muffled by the fabric. “Where did I end up? If I haven’t been in any bars for the last three days, where have I been?”
“I’m not quite sure.”
“But you know everyone.”
“Brother, you have to understand you’ve spent the last few days hanging out with a bad crowd. I don’t exactly bump shoulders with crack addicts and meth-heads, okay?” He stands up and takes another swig from his hip flask. “A few people do think they may have seen you, although it’s hard to say because they were high.”
“Who? Who saw me?”
“This girl I know, Josie. She thinks she saw you at some party in Bramley, although I’m not sure she’s ever met you, so she may be talking nonsense. But Ross…he’s sure he spoke to you last night. He can’t remember where or for how long, but he seemed pretty certain. The problem is, these people are high as hell. You can’t believe a word they say, which is why I’ve been so worried.
“Seriously, you scared me. At first, I figured you were letting off steam and enjoying the bender of a lifetime. I was actually proud, although a tad disappointed you didn’t include me.” He sits next to me again, topping up my coffee with another splash of whisky. “Last night…I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to call your parents because I kept thinking as soon as I did you’d turn up. I didn’t want to worry them or get you in trouble, so I waited…and waited…”
He turns away from me, looking out to the darkening Leeds’ skyline. “It’s like reliving this craziness with B all over again. You descended into a world you don’t belong in, and you’re lucky to come out of it unscathed.” He faces me now, with a half-smile and tired eyes. “I have no idea where you ended up this morning, but some scumbags live near Jim. Promise me you won’t do something like this again.”
“I promise, Joe. And I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.“
“It’s fine,” he says, gripping my shoulder with a heavy hand. “You’re safe and it’s over. I think the best thing we can both do is forget about it.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re right. I’m sorry, and thanks for looking for me. I’m lucky to have—“
“Say no more,” he says, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. “You know I have your back, although you may
like to get yourself checked out in the next day or two.”
“Why?”
“You know,” he says, pointing towards my crotch. “Checked. Out.”
“You think…I might have… No, I haven’t had sex with anyone, Joe.”
Laughing, he opens the fridge and grabs two bottles of water. “You’ve had sex, alright.”
“No…no… I don’t feel like I’ve had sex.”
“Trust me, you’ve had lots of sex. You don’t go to parties like that and not have sex.” He tosses me one of the bottles and spins the other in his fingers. “You have one hundred percent had sex with some suspect women you would never consider having sex with under normal circumstances.” He opens the bottles and takes a deep swig of one. “Hell, maybe more than suspect girls…”
“Shit,” I say, holding my thighs. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Shrugging, he sits back down beside me. “Anyway, how did all this begin? Since when do you tell your boss to fuck off?”
Draining my mug of coffee and whisky dry, I sigh once more. “I have no idea. I just lost it. I sat in the same chair I did for my interview and considered everything that’s happened since uni - not just all this shit with B and the baby, but the job, and moving back home, and becoming this lemming who wakes up each morning and does the same thing, day in, day out. I lost it.
“He wanted to help me, not fire me. He knew something was wrong, but all I saw was this man who started this nightmare. I hated him, which made me hate myself because I’m the one who made the decision to get a job like that.
“It’s like you’ve been saying for months, this isn’t me. This isn’t who I want to be, and this isn’t the life B and I talked about. Maybe this is why she did what she did, because—“
“Brother, B didn’t do this because you got a job. You know that, right? You know how crazy that sounds?”
“I know, but maybe it played a part. She didn’t fall in love with a graphic designer. I write and draw and create art that matters, but do you know something? I haven’t written or created anything in months. I grew up pretending to be this artist who would push against conformity and live a life of meaning, but the moment the world pushed me back, I fell to my knees. The minute I took that job is the minute I gave up.”
“Aus, that’s crazy.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“B did what she did because she chose to. It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not your boss’ fault. It’s hers.”
“I know. I know, Joe, and for the first time I honestly believe that. Waking up this morning and seeing what she’s done to me…I hated her. I hated her so much.” I grit my teeth and clench my tender fists. “But it doesn’t change the fact I gave up on me. I know I can’t blame myself for what she’s done, but I can’t blame her for all of this, either. I took that job, and have made a whole host of shit decisions of late; sitting in that shitty office made me see.
“I’ve been so weak and scared. Leaving uni, taking the first job I could find, acting the way I did when B told me about…him…I feel so far removed from the guy I dreamed of becoming. I was so angry at Tony, but the truth is, I was angry at myself. I guess I took my anger out on myself, because why else would I do all this?”
The room goes quiet, the wind attacking each window with blows and slaps.
“It’s been a tough few months,” Joey says, walking over to his high-rise balcony doors. “And I won’t lie, you’re right. You shouldn’t have taken that job. You’ve made a lot of decisions over the last couple of years I’ve found hard to accept, but that doesn’t make you weak. We’re still kids, brother. I know we’re in the real world now, but what the hell are we supposed to know? Who the hell are we?
“I hated the fact you took that job, but I respected you for it. You knew what you wanted and made decisions based on it. All you’ve ever wanted is to live a happy life with her, and I’ve never understood it, but it gave me hope that one day I may feel like that. Maybe one day I’ll take that boring, shitty job, because it allows me to settle down and have a family.
“It’s not your fault B bailed on that idea. You both wanted it. I was there, remember? I’ve been there alongside you both whilst you talked about the future. The future involved both of you, and she’s the one who gave into fear. Not you. You would have done anything for that girl, including putting your own dreams on hold. That isn’t weak. That’s brave. I love you for that, and I think that makes you the best of us.
“So, yeah…you now need to think about you again, and I agree, you’re better than a shitty job like that. You’re above a normal life of nine-to-five, and you should be out there travelling and creating, and being the best you can be. But don’t hate yourself for taking a chance on her.”
Planting another heavy hand on my shoulder, he walks back towards the kitchen as my still tingling skin warms slowly with the room. I’m tired and beaten and unsure what comes next, but whatever does, can’t be as bad as waking up half-naked on a grim bathroom floor, like the one this morning.
NOVEMBER 22nd - THE BAND ROOM:
One week. Seven Days. One-hundred-and-sixty-eight hours. Ten-thousand-and-eighty minutes. Six-hundred-four-thousand and-eight-hundred seconds. I don’t think I’ve ever done so little during an entire week, and one’s never crawled by so slow. I’ve felt every tick, suffered through each tock, contemplated and dwelled on each thought.
It’s a lot of time to think. It’s a lot of time to question every damn thing. It’s a lot of time to hate.
I don’t think I’ve hated someone or something before. It takes too much passion and energy, and it’s far too exhausting to live with hate on your mind. I miss the easy-going, worry free times of love and affection. Love is easy but hate is hard. Hate requires energy and dedication; a guy like Joey, who I sense hates a lot, has reason to hate.
Maybe we all need hate. Maybe a person requires hate to drive them towards something that matters, and away from those moments that don’t. The truth is, I don’t know what to think anymore, so many twisty-and-turny thoughts swarm my mind. Although I do know that, of all the emotions I’ve felt and suffered through these last six months, I hate hate the most.
Sitting on the ancient couch, I’m alone in the band room that’s become my home. I suppose, technically, I still live with my parents, but I haven’t spent a night there in over six weeks. I suppose I’m also a temporary squatter at Joey’s, but I haven’t slept there for the past three nights. Growing up, I dreamt of a nomadic existence, falling in love with its romantic freedom. On The Road taught me about travel, and Huck Finn about hustle. It all seemed so free, yet in reality, freedom’s the most confining prison of all.
Damien Rice hums to my mood, part of a mixed CD I made a decade ago. I used to smile as he sang, his hurt and pain somehow soothing. These days, it intensifies my lethargy, although I feel better today than I have done in weeks. Each day does get easier. I’m sad and lost, but the heaviness feels lighter than it was. My chest isn’t as hindered, my limbs not as restricted. I still feel lost. I remain jobless and loveless and, all in all, hopeless. But it is easier today than it was yesterday.
A strange hope creeps through the horizon, a purpose of sorts, and one that edges nearer. I can’t yet grasp it. I can’t yet see it. I don’t know why I know it’s there, but I do.
“It’s strange,” Joey said last night. “This feels normal. Sitting in the band room, drinking, laughing, plotting… We’ve been here before, brother.”
“What are you trying to say? I no longer depress you?” I said.
“I think it’s because you don’t depress yourself.”
“I’m still depressed.”
“You were always a little depressed. You have a rather depressing face.”
“Maybe it’s because you depress me.”
“I’m the life of the party. Don’t you forget it.”
“Then why are you here with me on a Friday night? Shouldn’t you be out DJ-ing? Or corr
upting some innocent young girl?”
“No girl is innocent.”
“Not after they spend a night with you.”
“Hell, yeah,” he said, smiling. “And besides, I’m here for you. And for us. I miss this. Normal life got in the way of the life we had planned.”
“No worry of that anymore.”
“Silver linings, Ausdylan Elvis Ashford. What would we do without them?”
Damien Rice fades into Connor Oberst, the faulty light above flickering in tandem. I thought I knew every inch of this room, but over the past week I’ve uncovered several hidden quirks. Like the way the faulty light flickers six times each and every time; no more, no less. Or how, when it rains, a small damp patch forms in the left corner by the door. Or how, at night, mice scuttle back and forth behind the walls, and sneak under the floorboards.
Sitting, staring and waiting for nothing, I watch the room and sip warm lager. I couldn’t face alcohol for a few days, and may never attempt whisky again. But there’s something soothing about lager’s taste. It mixes well with my mood and drowns my mind of too much thought about her.
Because when I think of her, I hate. And when I hate, I think of everything: her…this…him.
Such a long week, and so much of it painful. Such a long six months, and almost all of it painful. Life, on the whole, painful. Joey’s said it for years, too wary to believe in happiness’ hype. Maybe he’s right, maybe not. Like I say, I’m unsure what I think anymore. I think too much, but of little in all.
“Brother, oh brother, tonight we escape this wonderful room,” Joey says, charging through the door as it smacks against the wall. “And before you say no, you don’t have a choice. There’s an impromptu gig we’re going to, and because I cannot miss it, you cannot miss it. There’s no way I’m leaving you here on your own, so before—”
“Okay,” I say, wrapping my right leg under my left, and twisting to face him.
“Okay? Just like that?” he says, folding his arms. “No arguments?”
Somewhat surprised myself, I nod.
“Are you sure? Because I have a list. I actually wrote them down,” he continues, pulling a sheet of crinkled paper from his pocket.
“Do you want to read it to me?”
He sighs, sitting beside me. “No, I guess not.” Picking up a beer from the half empty crate, he leans back. “This is weird.”
“All I said was okay.”
“I know, but I hadn’t planned on you saying yes. I figured you…would fight it.”
“Do you want to go?” I ask.
“Of course I do.”
“Well then, just go with it.”
Sipping, and eyeing me up and down, he shrugs. “If you say so.”
I can’t figure out my mood. I hate, and don’t want to, but in some ways, I do. Each day I remind myself I should continue to mourn and be angry, be sad and full of regret. I don’t want to hate, but I need it, surely? She did this to me. She took away my son. She forced me to love a life I wasn’t ready for, only to push it out of my reach.
I shouldn’t want to see a band or say yes to anything. This lager shouldn’t taste sweet, because the whisky from a few weeks ago didn’t. I’m not ready to let go of the pain and rebuild, so why do I feel better? Why do I feel lighter? Why don’t I think about her as much, and when I do, why I don’t I clench my fists and wish I knew more about her secret existence?
Why isn’t the curiosity there, or the longing for everything in that folder to be wrong?
Have I let go of her? Am I ready to? I’ve lived what feels like my entire life based around her, and us, and what we would achieve together. I couldn’t possibly be ready to move on after a mere few weeks. I can’t possibly be ready to heal after a wound this deep.
“Anyway, we have to be in Leeds by ten, so we’ve plenty of time to pre-game and listen to good music, which, might I add, Bright Eyes and Damien Rice don’t achieve. Come on, brother, this playlist is a decade old. Let it go.”
“You love Bright Eyes.”
“Correction, I loved Bright Eyes. Many moons ago. But right now we need something uptempo, like a little jazz or funk.”
“The music box is all yours,” I say, motioning towards our old mixer.
“Hell, yeah,” he says, springing to his feet. “I’m excited about tonight. I know we’ve had nights like these a thousand times before, but tonight feels special. Dare I say, a change of direction?”
“Don’t get too excited.”
“I don’t know, I sense my little Aus is back. My partner in crime. Are we back, Aus?” he says, hovering over me and slapping my knees. “Are we back? Are we back to rule the world like we’re destined to?”
“Shut up.”
Laughing, he turns and moves to the mixer, fiddling with dials and turning up the volume. “We’re back,” he says, louder. “We’re going to travel, ruffle a few feathers, sleep with lots of insecure girls with father issues, and corrupt the ones who don’t.” He spins and faces me, that damn smirk spread across his cheeks. “I can’t wait until you sleep with your first redhead. Redheads are straight up insane, and guaranteed to make you question life.”
“How about we just go to a gig?” I counter, holding back a smile.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? You’re trying to picture what she looks like.”
“Shut up.”
“You are, I can see it in your eyes, you dirty devil.”
“Shut up, I’m nowhere near ready for that. And I hate to spoil your fun, but I doubt I will be for a while.”
He bites his lip and turns the volume down…another smirk. “Oh, man, I’ve just realised, you’ve never properly kissed another girl, have you?”
“Shut up, Joey.”
“You haven’t, though, have you?”
I screw up my nose and lower my chin, “No.”
“This is amazing. You get to experience your first kiss again, and the first time you undress a girl when you’re so drunk you can’t tell she’s even a girl. And the boobs…brother, there are so many different kinds. Don’t get me wrong, B’s were pretty good, but—“
“Shut up, you idiot.”
“And the legs and smells, and the quirky little traits they all have. Like how they each have a unique bite, and the way they…you know,” he says, angling his eyes to my thighs. “Brother, you’re going to have a bloody ball. I can’t wait for you to meet a Cassandra.”
“A Cassandra?”
“I’ve only met two Cassandras in my life, and they were both crazy. Girls named Cassandra are freaks, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I laugh. “Shut up. All I want to do is go to a gig.”
“And you will, but tonight’s only the beginning. My brother, I have so much to teach you. So many tips to share. All these years I’ve wanted to, but couldn’t, yet here we are…a perfect team at last.”
“Tips? I don’t need tips. You’re forgetting I’ve had sex plenty of times before.“
“Don’t talk nonsense,” he scoffs, sitting next to me. “What you were doing with B all those years doesn’t count. You were making love, or whatever you want to call it. It’s time for you to have sex, which is a very different proposition altogether.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Nope, you are, if you think you’re equipped to make a girl scream and shout your name. They expect you to take charge and be naughty and do…stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Oh, yeah. The kind of stuff they would never admit to wanting, and the kind of stuff that makes them blush, but trust me, they want it. If you don’t give it to them, they’ll find someone who will.”
“So, you then?”
“Exactly.”
I laugh again.
“We’re going to have fun. I’m excited for you.”
“You’re excited about me having sex with nymphomaniacs?”
He stands again and walks back to the mixer. “Not just the sex. About everything. About you being Aus
again, and you living life. Nothing about this last six months has been good, and I’m proud you’ve got through it.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m over it.“
“I know you’re not, but you’re getting there. I’m not saying it’s a clear run from now on, but trust me, it’ll get easier.”
I nod and smile, a genuine one. The type of smile I barely remember. “I know.”
“And that bender of yours, as bad as it was, will help.”
“Now you are talking nonsense.”
“I’m not. You needed to let loose and create unthinkable chaos. We all need those utter low points in life, and we all need to disgust ourselves from time to time.”
“Well, I certainly did that.”
“You don’t just escape hardship,” he says, leaning against the amp. “You need to push and fight through it. It’s a battle, and sometimes it gets dirty. Sometimes you get so filthy you don’t think you’ll make it, and sometimes you need to form a greater pain in order to overcome the real agony.”
“And that’s what I did, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Better than most, too.”
I sigh, shivering at the thought of the hangover and the torture that seemed to last for days. Nothing but hazy snippets from those dreaded days remain, cloudy memories that may be dreams, of me huddled in a corner with a bottle in hand; or staring into the eyes of someone I don’t know, and who looked at me, pleading for help, sharing a pain of their own; and tears…lots of fallen tears dripping down my cheeks…tears I needed to shed and let go of, because, like Joey says, maybe we overcome pain by punching a hole right through it.
“Did you ever find out what I got up to? I ask.
“No,” he says, shaking his head as he flicks through a stack of CDs.
“You sure about that?”
He stops for a second, unleashing that damn smirk once more. “I’m sure.”
“I suppose some things are better left alone,” I say, sensing my best friend knows more than he’ll ever let on.
“They say ignorance is bliss, don’t they?”
“Who are they?”
“Smart people.” He chuckles. “Or ignorant people.”
I smile and nod. “I do appreciate you, Joe. I know I put you through a lot those few days, and for the last few months. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“What sort of friend would I be?”
“I mean it.”
“And so do I. Anyway, I kind of owe you, don’t you think?”
I reply with silence, holding my words on the tip of my tongue.
“At least all of this has helped me understand your crazy way of thinking,” I say, standing up and joining his CD flicking.
“You’ll never understand me, brother. Some people are too awesome to be understood.” He slips a CD from a clear sleeve and winks. “Now, this is more like it. This will get our blood boiling and ready for the night ahead.”
“Let’s do this.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he says, planting both his hands on my shoulders. “He’s back, ladies and gentleman. He’s back, bigger and better than ever.”
Fiddling with more dials, he turns his attention back to the mixer. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, this letter came for you today.”
He pulls it from his pocket and places it in my palm. I sink. That lightness disappears and the heaviness returns.
“I must say, I’m a little disturbed you’re getting mail sent to my place. Does this mean you’ve officially moved in?”
I stare at the envelope. I’m frozen to the floor, my limbs unable to move. Heart racing, stomach churning, those laughs from moments ago seem like distant memories already.
“You okay?” he asks, turning down the volume before the song has a chance to build. “What’s up with you?”
“The letter,” I whisper.
“What about it?”
“The envelope. The handwriting.”
“What about it?”
“It’s from B,” I say.
NOVEMBER 22nd - JOEY’S PLACE: