Who knew we would both forget my birthday?
Spencer's sitting next to me on the couch in our tour bus. The other boys are sleeping, but we couldn't sleep. It seems that we never sleep. The TV in front of us is on, a movie playing. Neither of us are paying any attention to it. I don't even think Spencer has noticed that I'm sitting next to him yet. He's crying slightly, his eyes staring blankly at the TV as his head rests on his hand. There's no real emotion apparent on his face. Not that I should be talking. I haven't shown an emotion that wasn't forced in ages.
I bring the cold bottle I'm holding in my hand up to my lips. The water condescending on the outside running down my fingers as I take a sip from it. That's another thing I don't think anyone has realized that I've been doing a lot of recently; Drinking. It's become my new favorite pastimes. I think it's because when you were around you stopped me from drinking. I didn't need to feel numb.
Spencer's phone goes off and we both jump. He looks at me, his eyes scanning me as I bring the bottle up to my lips once more. I can tell just by looking at his face that it's the first time he noticed I was sitting there next to him. He answers it, whispering. I can't tell if it's because he doesn't want me to hear what he's saying of if he doesn't want to wake the other people on the bus. He was smiling. A truly happy smile. I envied him as I finished off my beer, putting the glass on the small table that I had my feet propped up on. Spencer paused for a moment, turning to look at me.
"It's Jon....He wants to wish you a happy birthday." He whispered as he glanced at me. My brows furrowed together.
"It's my birthday?" I asked as I picked up my phone. Sure enough the date was right. Spencer and I both forgot. "Um...Did Ryan say anything?" I don't know why I bothered to ask. Like you would actually say something positive for me. Spencer gave a small sigh.
"Brendon." He said slowly and in a somewhat disappointed voice. I nodded, getting up and grabbing another beer. I ignored everything else he had to say, only listening when he was talking back into the phone again. "He asked about Ryan.....Yeah, I know....I wish they would both make up too...." I walked away, not wanting to listen to their pity party anymore. I walked to the back of the bus, climbing into my bunk.
Do you know what the hardest part of tour is for most people? It's being away from home and family. Something that I always find funny when I think about it. Everyone I've ever toured with has had someone to go back to. I'm the only one that seems to not have family. As for my home, it'll always be with you. I don't feel safe anywhere other than in your arms. Why did you have to leave when I needed you most?
I pulled a small bag filled with white powder from under my pillow, piling a small amount of the dust onto a flat surface. It was routine for me. I think of you; I drink, I smoke, I snort. And soon after I pass out to do it again. I did one line, and then another. And just one more. I put the bag back under my pillow, knowing that no one would find it. They didn't look through my bunk. They knew better. And for the most part, they thought that I knew better too.
I pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one with a shaky hand. I placed the burning paper in between my lips inhaling as I opened my fourth beer for the night. I had a problem, a very very bad problem. Actually, I had a few. I put the cigarette in between my fingers, flicking the ash off into a small ashtray that was kept on a shelf in my bunk. I blew the smoke out slowly, hating the feeling of the poison leaving me so quickly. I took a sip of my beer. And then another. I started to chug it, downing the whole bottle in a matter of seconds. I put the cigarette back in between my lips.
Something was wrong. I didn't feel right. I felt sick. Dizzy and nauseous. My mind started to race, my vision blurring. My heart was pounding, my breathing becoming ragged. I dropped the cigarette, allowing it fall to the blankets below as I curled into myself. It felt like a panic attack, only worse. My body started to move on it's own, shaking and twitching. One of my hands grabbed for my chest, clawing at the loose fabric of the shirt I was wearing.
In that moment I wanted out. I would have done anything to get out.
The last thing I remembered was the smell of smoke coming from beside me mixed with burning flesh.
Okay okay okay. This was originally meant to be a one-shot. But let's face it, I like making stories out of nothing. So this will be all angst-y and sad and stuff. And it won't have many chapters. Okay, so it could be in between three and twenty.
I don't really plan ahead with most stories.