Categories > Celebrities > Aerosmith > Remember
Hello all! This is a story I'm rewriting. It's told from my OC's point of view. Please give it a try. :)
Prologue
My parents raised me to be a good girl. All my life, I was taught three basic things from my parents. The first was that in order to do well in life, you must do well in school. It makes sense, right? Your education is a very important thing. Well, I had gone to school. True, I hadn't aced all of my classes, but hey, at least I passed with a range of grades from As to Cs. I never failed. Secondly, my parents taught me that to be successful in life, I would either have to go to college or get a job so I would have money to support myself. College didn't appeal to me so much, so I got a job. It wasn't a very high paying job, but it was still a job. Any sort of job is better than no job, right? The third thing I learned from my parents was to find a religion that worked for me and gave me "peace of mind". Mother is a devout Christian and my father is agnostic. It's funny how the two never argued about religion. All they told me was to make peace with my spiritual self.
You know what? I did all those three things my parents told me to do. I got through school, I have a decent job that pays the bills for my shitty apartment, and I've been agnostic for as long as I can remember. There's something wrong though. Despite meeting all three of my parents' expectations, I'm not happy. Oh no, I'm far from that. Even though my parents told me how to be successful in life, they never told me how to be happy.
A long time ago, I asked my mother what made her happy. It took her a long time to answer my question. I remember finding it weird how such a simple inquiry took so much thought. Finally, she told me that my father and me made her the most happy. So basically, family was made her happy.
I think this is where I've gone wrong. Do I have a family of my own? No. I'd like one, but it seems like that's just not going to happen. It doesn't matter that I've been out of the house for years now. Nobody wants to marry me and settle down. I seem to be the only one on this planet who just wants a normal, happy life!
I stare glumly at the wooden table I'm sitting at in the center of my apartment. I live in an incredibly cheap apartment because like I said earlier, my job barely pays the pills. Glancing around myself, I see that the apartment is a mess. Actually, a mess is a bit of an understatement. It looks like a hurricane went through here. Dirty clothes are piled up in the corner of the room, begging for me to do the laundry. The sheets on the bed are dirty and need to be washed. Broken bottles are strewn all over the floor and cigarettes are littered all over the couch.
I should clean, shouldn't I? Well, I can't. I seem to be stuck to my chair at the table and my hands seem glued to the bottle in front of me. If I try to get up, I'll probably fall over from lack of energy. I haven't slept for days and although my head is pounding, I ignore it and try to think through my problems. Problems are something I have. Not just one, but a large multitude of problems.
Problem number one is that I'm sick and I can't go to work. I'm not sure how I got so sick to be honest. Maybe stress and worry make you sick? I haven't been eating or drinking anything that isn't mostly alcohol. I wouldn't say I'm an alcoholic, but...well...that's what they all say, isn't it?
I've evaded work for the last five days. That's too long. I'm going to get fired pretty soon. I work as a barmaid. Just about anyone can do that job. Any day I'm going to get the phone call that alerts me that I've been fired. What then? I'm going to need another job unless I want to get evicted from my apartment. I can't get another job though, not when I'm so sick. Onto problem number two...
I'm pregnant. I did a pregnancy test a few months ago and it came out positive. I hoped and prayed that I wouldn't be pregnant, but it turns out fate must be against me or something. My nightmare is true; I'm going to have a baby all on my own. I don't want to have a baby on my own. Years ago, I had to put a baby up for adoption. This time, I'm determined to keep my child, but it sure would be nice to have an actual family, not a disjointed family with me trying to work and raise a baby alone.
My mother warned me about this when I was younger. She told me to only sleep with the man you get married to. That way, they're committed to you and any child you might have. However, at the time, I thought it was just some stupid Christian rule and so I sneered at it and tossed it aside. Now I'm wishing I had paid a little more attention to my mother's advice.
So basically right now, my life is in ruins. I feel like I've already failed my unborn child. I'm not taking good care of it at all. I'm not exercising, I'm not eating, and all I'm drinking is booze. Great way to take care of your baby, right? Grr, I'm such a failure. It's all I've ever been and all I will ever be.
Anger flares up within me and I bring beer bottle number eight to my lips. Ugh, is it really empty already? I glare at the empty bottle and send it flying across the room. Smash! It bangs against the wall and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have the neighbors yelling at me to keep it down over here in a few minutes.
I chew on my lip until it starts bleeding. I'm so screwed and there's no way out of this grave that I've dug for myself. I have no extra money to go see a doctor. I can't get to work because I'm sick. Without work, there's no money and I'll end up being kicked out of my apartment. It's like a chain reaction that I can't get out of.
Anger continues sizzling through my veins. I want to blame this situation on somebody other than myself. It's not my fault that all this shit is happening. I did everything right! I followed my parents' advice for the most part and according to them, I should be living a decent life. You know who's fault this really is? It's my ex-boyfriend's fault!
I immediately feel better as I realize I can blame this whole situation on Steven. It's his fault for getting me pregnant and for getting me hooked on alcohol. If you think I'm bad for being an alcoholic, then you ain't seen nothing yet. Steven is like the king of drugs. He's done drugs I've never even heard of and if he doesn't watch it, he's going to end up killing himself. I guess that's what happens when you end up in a rock and roll band. It really is all about sex and drugs. ...Mostly drugs though.
I love Steven. I really do. That's why I broke up with him when I figured out I was pregnant. He was having a hard time not cheating on me with all the groupies fawning over him constantly and I didn't want my child to be raised by a fucked up father. Unfortunately, my baby's mother is turning out not to be much better.
Anyways, so I broke up with Steven. I told him I was sick of his lifestyle, the drugs, the girls, and all that chiz. Steven was hurt. I swear he never saw it coming. He didn't get mad though. He took the breakup in stride and that was the end of us as a couple. I didn't think life without Steven would be much different than life with Steven.
...God, was I ever wrong! I couldn't stand life without Steven. I started drinking, stopped taking care of myself, and basically started going crazy. Sounds like I really went overboard, right? I guess that's just the way I am. I'm bipolar and although I don't use that as an excuse for anything I do, I do tend to act unusually at times.
Glancing to my right, I eye the bottles of pills I bought just the other day. I could down both those bottles of pills and try to end this misery once and for all. My hand automatically reaches towards the bottles and then I remember my baby. My hand stops moving and I frown. If I overdose, I'll kill my baby as well. Still though, the baby is probably already dead from all my substance abuse anyways. My hand creeps towards the pill bottles once again.
Bang, bang, bang! Jerking my head up, I cuss under my breath and turn my glazed eyes towards the door. Now who could that be? Probably the neighbors complaining about me making too much noise in here. Whenever they get annoyed, they always rap on the door as a warning to me. I wait for footsteps to retreat from the door, but I don't hear any.
"Lacey! I know you're in there. Please let me in," a familiar voice sounds from outside my door.
I try to swim through my muddled thoughts and figure out who the voice belongs to. Suddenly, after so many sleepless nights, I feel myself getting tired. Either way, I don't feel like opening the door right now. I just want to be left alone. Pretending I'm invisible, I stay quiet and wait for the person to leave.
Smash! The person forcibly kicks the door. It flies open since I forgot to lock it. Immediately feeling self-conscious since I'm just wearing one of Steven's long shirts, I bring my knees up to my chest and glance at the door. Oh, it's Joe. Joe is many things to me. He's my childhood friend, another ex-boyfriend of mine, and is still my best friend all these years later.
Joe's dark eyes flicker all around the room. He looks positively shocked at just how trashed my place is. I used to be neat and orderly before my life turned into a chaotic mess. Hurrying over to me, Joe pushes dark hair out of his eyes and asks, "Lacey, what the hell has happened to you?"
I open my mouth to speak, but it seems to take too much effort to talk. Leaning back in my chair, I just mumble, "I think I'm sick, Joe."
"You think?" Joe echoes me incredulously. "Damn it, of course you're sick! You need to get to a hospital now. I'm taking you there."
Joe leans down and picks me up in his arms as if I'm light as a feather. I make a half-hearted attempt to pull Steven's shirt down around me as I mumble, "I don't have any money for doctor bills. C'mon, Joe, put me down. I need to change if we're going out."
"No, you don't. You're all fucked up. Hell, you're as bad as Steven if not worse. We're going to the hospital this fucking minute," Joe replies firmly, fire flashing in his eyes as he carries me out of the apartment and doesn't even bother to shut the door behind him.
"Joe, shut the door..." I complain even though I'm starting to feel really weird now. My head is spinning and my eyelids feel heavy. I don't like being moved around. No wonder I just stayed on that chair night and day for the most part.
"I don't care about the goddamn door right now! I care about you!" Joe practically shouts in my ear. "How'd all this shit happen anyways? Where's Steven?"
"We broke up," I admit, feeling an ache from somewhere deep within me. Correcting myself, I add, "I mean, I broke up with him. It was for the best."
Joe shakes his head in frustration as he carries me through the hallway and contradicts, "No, it was not for the best. Steven's been acting all screwy and you're...you're..."
"I'm what?" I ask before my eyelids feel like five pound weights and literally come crashing down over my eyes. Now in the dark, I slur, "I'm tired, Joe."
"No, Lace, you're not tired! Damn it, Lacey, stay with me!" Joe pleads.
I try to force my eyelids back open, but it's no use. I'd try to stay awake for Joe's sake but I can't. I'm tired of fighting and I'm tired of sleeplessness. I allow the darkness to take away my consciousness and I fall into a dream of when I first fell in love all those years ago when I was sixteen and living a relatively normal life in Hopedale, Massachusetts...
Prologue
My parents raised me to be a good girl. All my life, I was taught three basic things from my parents. The first was that in order to do well in life, you must do well in school. It makes sense, right? Your education is a very important thing. Well, I had gone to school. True, I hadn't aced all of my classes, but hey, at least I passed with a range of grades from As to Cs. I never failed. Secondly, my parents taught me that to be successful in life, I would either have to go to college or get a job so I would have money to support myself. College didn't appeal to me so much, so I got a job. It wasn't a very high paying job, but it was still a job. Any sort of job is better than no job, right? The third thing I learned from my parents was to find a religion that worked for me and gave me "peace of mind". Mother is a devout Christian and my father is agnostic. It's funny how the two never argued about religion. All they told me was to make peace with my spiritual self.
You know what? I did all those three things my parents told me to do. I got through school, I have a decent job that pays the bills for my shitty apartment, and I've been agnostic for as long as I can remember. There's something wrong though. Despite meeting all three of my parents' expectations, I'm not happy. Oh no, I'm far from that. Even though my parents told me how to be successful in life, they never told me how to be happy.
A long time ago, I asked my mother what made her happy. It took her a long time to answer my question. I remember finding it weird how such a simple inquiry took so much thought. Finally, she told me that my father and me made her the most happy. So basically, family was made her happy.
I think this is where I've gone wrong. Do I have a family of my own? No. I'd like one, but it seems like that's just not going to happen. It doesn't matter that I've been out of the house for years now. Nobody wants to marry me and settle down. I seem to be the only one on this planet who just wants a normal, happy life!
I stare glumly at the wooden table I'm sitting at in the center of my apartment. I live in an incredibly cheap apartment because like I said earlier, my job barely pays the pills. Glancing around myself, I see that the apartment is a mess. Actually, a mess is a bit of an understatement. It looks like a hurricane went through here. Dirty clothes are piled up in the corner of the room, begging for me to do the laundry. The sheets on the bed are dirty and need to be washed. Broken bottles are strewn all over the floor and cigarettes are littered all over the couch.
I should clean, shouldn't I? Well, I can't. I seem to be stuck to my chair at the table and my hands seem glued to the bottle in front of me. If I try to get up, I'll probably fall over from lack of energy. I haven't slept for days and although my head is pounding, I ignore it and try to think through my problems. Problems are something I have. Not just one, but a large multitude of problems.
Problem number one is that I'm sick and I can't go to work. I'm not sure how I got so sick to be honest. Maybe stress and worry make you sick? I haven't been eating or drinking anything that isn't mostly alcohol. I wouldn't say I'm an alcoholic, but...well...that's what they all say, isn't it?
I've evaded work for the last five days. That's too long. I'm going to get fired pretty soon. I work as a barmaid. Just about anyone can do that job. Any day I'm going to get the phone call that alerts me that I've been fired. What then? I'm going to need another job unless I want to get evicted from my apartment. I can't get another job though, not when I'm so sick. Onto problem number two...
I'm pregnant. I did a pregnancy test a few months ago and it came out positive. I hoped and prayed that I wouldn't be pregnant, but it turns out fate must be against me or something. My nightmare is true; I'm going to have a baby all on my own. I don't want to have a baby on my own. Years ago, I had to put a baby up for adoption. This time, I'm determined to keep my child, but it sure would be nice to have an actual family, not a disjointed family with me trying to work and raise a baby alone.
My mother warned me about this when I was younger. She told me to only sleep with the man you get married to. That way, they're committed to you and any child you might have. However, at the time, I thought it was just some stupid Christian rule and so I sneered at it and tossed it aside. Now I'm wishing I had paid a little more attention to my mother's advice.
So basically right now, my life is in ruins. I feel like I've already failed my unborn child. I'm not taking good care of it at all. I'm not exercising, I'm not eating, and all I'm drinking is booze. Great way to take care of your baby, right? Grr, I'm such a failure. It's all I've ever been and all I will ever be.
Anger flares up within me and I bring beer bottle number eight to my lips. Ugh, is it really empty already? I glare at the empty bottle and send it flying across the room. Smash! It bangs against the wall and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have the neighbors yelling at me to keep it down over here in a few minutes.
I chew on my lip until it starts bleeding. I'm so screwed and there's no way out of this grave that I've dug for myself. I have no extra money to go see a doctor. I can't get to work because I'm sick. Without work, there's no money and I'll end up being kicked out of my apartment. It's like a chain reaction that I can't get out of.
Anger continues sizzling through my veins. I want to blame this situation on somebody other than myself. It's not my fault that all this shit is happening. I did everything right! I followed my parents' advice for the most part and according to them, I should be living a decent life. You know who's fault this really is? It's my ex-boyfriend's fault!
I immediately feel better as I realize I can blame this whole situation on Steven. It's his fault for getting me pregnant and for getting me hooked on alcohol. If you think I'm bad for being an alcoholic, then you ain't seen nothing yet. Steven is like the king of drugs. He's done drugs I've never even heard of and if he doesn't watch it, he's going to end up killing himself. I guess that's what happens when you end up in a rock and roll band. It really is all about sex and drugs. ...Mostly drugs though.
I love Steven. I really do. That's why I broke up with him when I figured out I was pregnant. He was having a hard time not cheating on me with all the groupies fawning over him constantly and I didn't want my child to be raised by a fucked up father. Unfortunately, my baby's mother is turning out not to be much better.
Anyways, so I broke up with Steven. I told him I was sick of his lifestyle, the drugs, the girls, and all that chiz. Steven was hurt. I swear he never saw it coming. He didn't get mad though. He took the breakup in stride and that was the end of us as a couple. I didn't think life without Steven would be much different than life with Steven.
...God, was I ever wrong! I couldn't stand life without Steven. I started drinking, stopped taking care of myself, and basically started going crazy. Sounds like I really went overboard, right? I guess that's just the way I am. I'm bipolar and although I don't use that as an excuse for anything I do, I do tend to act unusually at times.
Glancing to my right, I eye the bottles of pills I bought just the other day. I could down both those bottles of pills and try to end this misery once and for all. My hand automatically reaches towards the bottles and then I remember my baby. My hand stops moving and I frown. If I overdose, I'll kill my baby as well. Still though, the baby is probably already dead from all my substance abuse anyways. My hand creeps towards the pill bottles once again.
Bang, bang, bang! Jerking my head up, I cuss under my breath and turn my glazed eyes towards the door. Now who could that be? Probably the neighbors complaining about me making too much noise in here. Whenever they get annoyed, they always rap on the door as a warning to me. I wait for footsteps to retreat from the door, but I don't hear any.
"Lacey! I know you're in there. Please let me in," a familiar voice sounds from outside my door.
I try to swim through my muddled thoughts and figure out who the voice belongs to. Suddenly, after so many sleepless nights, I feel myself getting tired. Either way, I don't feel like opening the door right now. I just want to be left alone. Pretending I'm invisible, I stay quiet and wait for the person to leave.
Smash! The person forcibly kicks the door. It flies open since I forgot to lock it. Immediately feeling self-conscious since I'm just wearing one of Steven's long shirts, I bring my knees up to my chest and glance at the door. Oh, it's Joe. Joe is many things to me. He's my childhood friend, another ex-boyfriend of mine, and is still my best friend all these years later.
Joe's dark eyes flicker all around the room. He looks positively shocked at just how trashed my place is. I used to be neat and orderly before my life turned into a chaotic mess. Hurrying over to me, Joe pushes dark hair out of his eyes and asks, "Lacey, what the hell has happened to you?"
I open my mouth to speak, but it seems to take too much effort to talk. Leaning back in my chair, I just mumble, "I think I'm sick, Joe."
"You think?" Joe echoes me incredulously. "Damn it, of course you're sick! You need to get to a hospital now. I'm taking you there."
Joe leans down and picks me up in his arms as if I'm light as a feather. I make a half-hearted attempt to pull Steven's shirt down around me as I mumble, "I don't have any money for doctor bills. C'mon, Joe, put me down. I need to change if we're going out."
"No, you don't. You're all fucked up. Hell, you're as bad as Steven if not worse. We're going to the hospital this fucking minute," Joe replies firmly, fire flashing in his eyes as he carries me out of the apartment and doesn't even bother to shut the door behind him.
"Joe, shut the door..." I complain even though I'm starting to feel really weird now. My head is spinning and my eyelids feel heavy. I don't like being moved around. No wonder I just stayed on that chair night and day for the most part.
"I don't care about the goddamn door right now! I care about you!" Joe practically shouts in my ear. "How'd all this shit happen anyways? Where's Steven?"
"We broke up," I admit, feeling an ache from somewhere deep within me. Correcting myself, I add, "I mean, I broke up with him. It was for the best."
Joe shakes his head in frustration as he carries me through the hallway and contradicts, "No, it was not for the best. Steven's been acting all screwy and you're...you're..."
"I'm what?" I ask before my eyelids feel like five pound weights and literally come crashing down over my eyes. Now in the dark, I slur, "I'm tired, Joe."
"No, Lace, you're not tired! Damn it, Lacey, stay with me!" Joe pleads.
I try to force my eyelids back open, but it's no use. I'd try to stay awake for Joe's sake but I can't. I'm tired of fighting and I'm tired of sleeplessness. I allow the darkness to take away my consciousness and I fall into a dream of when I first fell in love all those years ago when I was sixteen and living a relatively normal life in Hopedale, Massachusetts...
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