Sonata

I think this is a good place to stop and tell you some things.
Pause all this shit and explain. Everything, from beginning to now, has been a somewhat isolated incident, if you will.
What do you really know so far, did you think about that?

Hello, I'm your narrator.
The girl who you've been following this whole time, and everything through my own eyes; only seeing events from my point of view.

I'll enlighten you with a little bit about me.

My name is Evelyn Graham.
I never got a middle name, I think my father was too busy.

If you look up my family name in the phone book, you'll find him everywhere. Pick up a newspaper, you'll see.
Even a magazine: He's there.
Ben Graham.

Wavy brown hair that's always slicked back for a meeting, or an interview. Natural, tanned skin; a gene that I absolutely did not get granted with. Straight, lightly yellow teeth, and the eyes I had possessed. Two oceans in sockets.
I couldn't tell you if his teeth had become more yellow throughout time, but I can tell you that it hadn't been because of me.

It wasn't because I wasn't willing to spend time with him, but more towards it being reversed.

He was never around in the big, lonely house, and I mean that metaphorically of course, because it was total chaos in the physical sense. Hired help was found plentiful, but was no family of mine.

My mother had left when I had blown the candles out on my 5th birthday, but since I never talk to my dad, I never remembered to ask him why. She just packed up and took off, then the two of us remained. He never dated after that, I could recall him moping around our mansion for a while, but then eventually, he found his next love: work.

And boy, did he show this girl admiration.

That was why I spent all my time in my room; contemplating slitting my wrists, or taking shots of Draino. I never would, obviously, but nothing made me feel better more than the fantasized face of my dad when one of the maids found me.
Even Carolyne.

You hadn't forgotten about her, have you?
Think back to the beginning; the "bint" that had taken me with her to the grocery store, where I was reunited with Curtis and Nicholls. Ring a bell?
She would positively ravish the fact that I had finally decided to drain my blood or poison my insides.
Or snap my neck.

We've hated each other since day one, and from that point, it had been a competition to see which one would be the first to go. For awhile there, she was winning, which is what I've been trying to get at.

Every night I would come home from the club; after Oli had snuck me to my front door and pecked me on the cheek, and once I got to bed and only awoke to the same sun each morning, she was always bitching.

She was a passionate psycho who loved the strict regulations, and always teased me over my suffering and saying that it will never get any better; that I hadn't listened to a melody in so long, and you could see it on my face.

I was dying on the inside, and it was only a matter of time before it surfaced to my skin. But thanks to that fateful night where I sat in front of my favorite, empty record store, when I was certain that I had lost everything that life had to offer, when committing suicide never looked better, I had been saved.

I had gotten my fix almost nightly, and she had no fucking clue.

And to ensure that I'll spare you the sentiment, I'll only add on to say that I couldn't have been more grateful. But anyways, this is where I stop my reminiscing, and the dreary past spent at home.
So, as a precaution to what I'm about to tell you, I'd like to say that I am sorry.

This is where your story takes a turnaround.
For the most part, it's been about all my bar adventures, extravaganza bullshit with boys who were minor league famous; these fuckers who I only ramble on and on about on the subjects of their illegal excess of drinking and driving, their encounters with fans, and behavior towards each other.

Thinking back, do you feel cheated?
Taken advantage of because everything that's been mentioned up to here had them and bullshit topics related to them?

This started out pretty nicely, in moving the story plot along anyway. From death, to suffering, to an overload of celebration.
Let me assure you now, everything from here on out is where our story becomes tremendously fast.

How many times can you listen to their antics being repeated in different situations, and continuously getting the same, successful results?
Apparently, many.

Very little risk has been introduced so far, and honestly, that's a horrible observation. I never allowed you into the world of danger that haunted them every damn night.
Whenever there would be a loud crash, the boys were always looking over their shoulders, in fear of the cops. I painted you a picture of them always smiley and carefree, only worried about who will get the most wasted so they can drive us all home.

I'm such a fucking liar.

I've only shown you all the good parts, and sadly that only constitutes of ten percent of our time together. It is a rigged social iceberg. What I haven't shown you is the heavy haze of anxiety and fear that was around us; encompassing their performance, which I haven't even indulged you in, solely because it was at a minimum volume.

You'd have to hold a stethoscope to the foot wide thickness of the steel door to get the softest notion of a pulse.

They were petrified that the police would be right outside, and had planned to bust through and take them away, one by one, in front of all their devoted fans. They had voiced the dangers, and precautions they took in order to make it considerably more difficult for it to happen, but it only left me more afraid.

No longer will you see things from the way I perceive them, my attitude towards other people or familiar friends, or progressing nights that I've only shown to be intoxicating.
I'm not saying that everything was bullshit completely, but I sugar coated the hell out of it.

No more.

Say hello to the dangers of going against the law.
Living in fear, but at the same time, in the moment.

These last few weeks is where everything went straight downhill...