Its those famous last words that did him in, that always did him in. He fucked up. Hit some fucking car, got arrested, ended up here. He betrayed everyone who cared about him, made an absolute mock...
Fingers balled up into fists, eyes clenching tight. He pressed his head against the wall, wondering how everything had happened, how he had gotten here. Everything was such a blur, becoming sharper with each thunderclap of pain that rung out through his head.
He wanted to get better, he really did. He had promised himself, he'd promised his friends, his family, told them all, swore on his own life that he'd get better. He wanted to, more then anything, more then he had any of the other times he had tried to. But all of that motivation he had, all those promises he had made, the subconscious knowledge that if he went on his body would simply give out, none of that could help him now...
Was it really worth it? One last escapade for old time's sake? Getting wasted, ready to take that one last dose, he was so ready to stop, but that animal that lived inside him just had to have one last blow out, had to fuck over all those people he made promises to one last time. Of course, it was that timeless philosophy: what harm can one last try do?
Its those famous last words that did him in, that always did him in. He fucked up. Hit some fucking car, got arrested, ended up here. He betrayed everyone who cared about him, made an absolute mockery of all the time and energy that had put into helping him, and for what?
Nothing seemed worth it anymore. He had screwed up like this so many times, he honestly hoped that no one cared anymore. All the tears shed, all the love those around him had shown, and he kept throwing it away. Why should anyone care what happened to him anymore? It would probably be best if no one cared, anyway. If he just drifted away, whether he just die or disappear, he wouldn't be the problem he was now.
More thoughts whirled through his mind. Would he end up in prison? Would his new friends, his new band, really, his new brothers, would they abandon him? What about his family? His wife had had enough, this was the perfect for her to just pick up and leave. Fuck, why should he even care anymore? It would be best. No one would be wasting their time any more with him. That would be the silver lining, he reminded himself, listening to the heavy thuds of footsteps in the hallway. No one would waste any more time.
With a heavy, defeated sigh, he shut his eyes, drooping forward, resting his head in his palms. There was something deep down, deep in his heart that still wanted one last chance, wanted to try one last time to fix things. But, no, he told himself again. It was better to just give up, lie down and die. All hope was lost, and the best thing he could do for everyone he had hurt was to take one last, less-than-graceful bow out of their lives.
That thought joined the myriad of others that swirled around in his mind, every one of them haunting him, every ghost of his past taking a terrifying form. Each possibility of what could happen, every word that everyone could say to him, they all whirled around, making his head throb.
The heavy thud of footsteps resounded through the hallway outside, and his fingers ambled to his temples, gently massaging. They'd pass, like they had for the past few hours he'd been there, past few agonizing hours. He pressed his eyes shut further, throwing them back open when he heard a thud against the door, looked up when he heard the creak as it opened.
Hopeful eyes stared up at a less than pleased officer, studying his icy countenance for a brief moment. He almost felt like those eyes were freezing him in place, until the officer finally blinked.
"Get up, Weiland, time to go," he said blandly, tapping his shoe on the ground, like he had a better prisoner to attend to.
"But I...what?" he stammered back, still glued to the bench. What was happening? Were they moving him to a different cell? That had to be it. Its not like anyone would bail him out. Everyone had to have abandoned him by now, they just had to have.
"Somebody made your bail, get up off your ass, and lets go," he instructed. There was no way. Was this some kind of joke? Sure, cops had been mean to him before because he was some rich rockstar, but fucking with his head like this? There was no way they'd go that low. But there was no way anyone still cared, was there?
"Are you deaf? Let's go!"
Scott immediately roused himself from his thoughts, and shakily got to his feet, ghost of a tremor running through him. Slowly, he walked to the door, following after the officer with his head hung, eyes focused on the tiled floor.
No matter how many times he went through this, no matter how predictable every step was, he was always nervous. Always could feel his breath hitch as he stepped toward the door, palms sweat as he took those steps down the hall, that anxiousness as he rounded the corner and shut his eyes, expecting to see his lawyers disenchanted face as soon as he opened them again.
The blonde looked up at mention of his name, setting a pen down on the pine desk before him. There were a few forms on the surface in front of him. Had he...?
"Hey..." Duff said softly, the officer walking off. He looked a bit rough around the edges, a hint of a five o'clock shadow on his face, eyes tired. It almost looked like the last few hours had been just as hellish for him as they had been for Scott.
So many new questions whirled around in his head. Did Duff bail him out? If he did, why? They hadn't really known each other that long...he really cared that much?
"You, uh, okay?" Duff asked softly, sounding like he already knew the answer.
Scott shuffled his feet, apprehensively looking up a moment later. His eyes met Duff's, and all of the disappointment, anger, and overall disillusionment that he expected to see was conspicuously absent. He wasn't getting one of those 'looks' that he always got before. All Scott could see was compassion, and all that wariness, all the thoughts that there was no one left who cared vanished.
"C'mon, dude...let's get outta here..." Duff said, voice equally as soft as the last time he spoke. His muscled arm slid across Scott's shoulders, and the singer looked back up. Scott nodded slightly, so slightly his head hardly moved. He took a moment to take in the caring glow of his friend's eyes.
He'd been saved from drowning in his problems again. There was always someone there, every time he went under, whether he liked it or not. But this time, his rescuer saved him in more ways than one.