Chapter 22
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
A,
I’ve been out of the hospital for a day now. Overdid it in Chicago.
Everyone thinks it was an accident—just me being a thoughtless junkie.
I told everyone it was an accident, too, but Ari called me on my bullshit.
He’s the only one who ever sees through me.
Plus, I stole his pills to mix with my drinks that night so he knows exactly how much I took.
No one accidentally takes that much, and I never mix my shit like that. I know better.
I couldn’t control myself, really. Felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin.
There’s this constant weight pressing down on me that just won’t relent, and I’m so tired of holding it up.
I can’t even remember the last time I didn’t feel it there.
Even as a kid, the demons were always there, growing bigger and heavier each day.
Usually I black out when I get fucked up enough, but for some reason, I remember all of this clearly. Maybe that’s my divine punishment for pulling this stunt.
I had already run through most of the whiskey on the bus before we got to the venue that day.
Heather sat me down and made sure I ate something.
She brought me two McDonald’s burgers and fries and wouldn’t let me leave until I’d finished everything.
I ate because I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had something that wasn’t just peanuts or booze.
Not eating’s become a habit. Numbness sets in faster that way.
The show went fine. The food and a nap sobered me up pretty good, and it wasn’t my best performance but definitely wasn’t my worst. I hit every note, got the audience jumping with us, and we covered a Deftones song for the hundredth time.
It makes me feel nostalgic whenever we cover them.
Reminds me of when the band first started; I only wanted to cover Deftones and emulated Chino as much as I fucking could. Such a wannabe.
After the show, we had an afterparty. More drinks, a blowjob from some brunette in the bathroom whose name I didn’t bother learning.
More drinks. Smoked with Ari and Luke for a bit, watching them laugh about something I was too fucked up to understand.
Then some blonde back at the hotel—I don’t even remember how we got there.
Same as always—told myself maybe this one would be enough. Maybe this time I wouldn’t think about you.
But she wanted to cuddle, pillow-talk, whatever. Something about that moment made me want to rip my skin off before I let her touch me again. She had freckles, and for a second, I thought I was home. When I realized I wasn’t, this void opened up and sucked me into it.
Shit flooded my brain. I kept hearing Dad screaming at me and Ari. He told us we were worthless so many times that I feel the word is carved into me.
I’ve worked so hard to prove him wrong. I want to leave a legacy, to make something of myself. All of it because of him.
Isn’t that fucked? I tried running from him, but I ended up dedicating my whole life to him. I’ve given him power without even realizing it. Every decision I’ve made has been based on spite. Makes him the winner in the end, doesn’t it?
I mean, how fucking old am I? I should be over this shit by now.
Something about that realization brought out this deep-seated hatred I’ve always had for myself. And I kept repeating that Deftones song over and over in my head. Kept repeating the part about never having fucking wings.
I told the woman to leave, and when she did, I was alone and my head spun.
Kept repeating that over and over: never had wings.
I’ve never had wings. Never. I was fucked from the beginning.
This addiction, this fucking brain—all of it was predetermined when my parents decided it was a good idea to bring their bullshit together into children. I was destined to never get life right from the moment the DNA strands formed.
I’ve done what I wanted, and it still isn’t fucking enough.
So I dug through Ari’s bag. We shared a hotel room that night. He was still at the party so he couldn’t stop me, and I knew he had something in there. He always has bottles of who-knows-what with him, and I found a baggie of random pills. I knew the white ones were codeine. That would do.
I wanted to sleep. I wanted the thoughts to stop. I just wanted to stop hurting. I didn’t want to fight anymore.
The pills washed down with the vodka so easily. I just got in the bed and waited. Sang that song over and over in my head.
You were the last thing I thought of. I was glad that I left you behind. At least you wouldn’t be the one to find me.
I’m sorry,
Jay