Sleepless Nights Of Drug Induced Nightmares

My eyes pop. I stumble forward and grab the phone, my heart aching to hear her voice.

“Hey!” Jack’s chipper voice greets me.

“J-Jack?” I stutter, disappointed.

“Nice to see you to, old buddy. Do you-”

“Jack, are you with Jasey?”

“No, why?”

“The phone,” I sigh, “it said it was her.”

“Jack and Jasey look a lot alike, just a simple mistake.”

A small sigh escapes my lips, blowing the rest of the powder off the table. I hit my fist against it in annoyance.

“So do you think you can make it to a concert tonight? Rian and Zack are ok with it. The other band’s drummer broke his arm, so they can’t go on… It’s in New Jersey,” he adds rather hesitantly.

My heart sinks. New Jersey? That was Jasey’s home town. As far as I know, after she left me, she went back home. She had been living with me or her friend Claire the whole time she stayed here. After I got out of rehab, I spent a few weeks trying to contact her before I went back to my old dealer instead. Jack, Zack, and Rian had been annoyed, but quickly gave it up, telling me if I wanted to ruin my life, I could.

So I had gone with it. I had gone straight back to what I was before, only now I was depressed and spent a lot more time masturbating.

“Alex? Hello? Can you come?”

“Huh?” I shake my head, clearing away my train of thought. “Oh, uh, yea.”

I hear Jack nod, which he often does, forgetting his is on the phone and the only indicator is the sound of his hair swishing around, before the phone clicks dead. Quickly, I slip on shoes and step out the door with a sniffle at the cold air, even flowing up onto the 6th floor of my apartment complex. The elevator, as I’ve learned from years of inhabitation, is way to slow for my taste and so I run directly down the stairs, praying he’ll be there. Usually, he spends a lot of time at the bar down the street from me, so I expect that’s where I’ll find him.

A hiss escapes my lips as I step outside, the cold air biting at my exposed arms, making me regret my haste. I pull at the sleeves on my tee shirt, making them cover as much as they can, and walk as quickly as I can, trying not to look suspicious. Maybe it’s a left over side effect of the drugs, or maybe its just paranoia, but I can’t shake the feeling of being stalked. Everyone in the street stares as I walk. I fidget slightly and glare at an old woman with her granddaughter as they pass me closely, the little girl looking up at me with wide eyes. The woman takes her hand and pulls her away from me; I’m dangerous.

I’m glad for the safety of the bar, as well as the inviting scent of booze and smoke, though there was an undertone of barf. I glance around the room quickly, sighing with relief once I spot his messy face, hidden below a beer mug. I take the seat beside him and wait for him to finish his drink before sliding some money on the bar in front of him. He raises his eye brows at me, briefly taking into consideration the fact that I bought from him only two days ago, but shrugs, grabs the money, and hands me a small packet. We both nod, not making eye contact, and I stand up.

I know the guys are probably there already, so I should hurry, but somehow, I don’t care enough. My hands smooth my greasy hair over my head, my eyes twitching back and forth, catching sight of a van pulling up. I cock my head questioningly as the door pops open and Jack’s head sticks out the side, his cell falling away from his ear back into his jacket.

“Get in, we’re late.” He says, quickly retreating again.

As I step into the back of the small tour van, which, from the outside, probably looks like a rapists van, white without windows, I can see they’ve already shoved all our instruments in the back corner.

From the driver’s seat, Zack plugs his nose and makes a face at me, “are you drunk? You smell like a damn bar.”

I shake my head, not bothering to reply aloud, partly because the music on the radio is so loud (Zack only drives with loud music, he says he’ll crash if he doesn’t) and partly because I’m fondling the package of crack in my pocket. After thinking for a minute, I decide to save it for right before the show and hopefully, have some left for after, when I have to go out and meet all the twelve year olds who will be throwing themselves at me. Oh damn you, stunning looks.

“What were you doing out here?” Rian asks, poking his head from the passenger’s seat.

“Fresh air,” I answer without missing a beat.

Lies spiral deeper and deeper into the abyss.

Rian shuts up, only stares, making me think maybe I answered just a little too quickly, but the past is the past is the past. There’s nothing more to it. [Even if it’s only a few seconds ago.]

My phone vibrates its way out of my pocket, hitting the floor and sliding over to Jack, who tosses it back to me without looking. I don’t know what the Hell is wrong with him, but he’s been pmsing since I got in the van. If I would have to guess, after all these years of knowing him, it would be because he was hiding something from me, something everyone but me knew. But then, paranoia and I had recently formed a strong bond.

#%#%#%

And then Zack is shaking me awake.

Disoriented, I look around to find the van was completely empty aside from me. There is an overly bright sun shinning overly hot rays into the van, directly, of course, into my eyes. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and, fluffing my bangs, step out to get a good look at the venue. My back leans casually against the van’s now closed door as my eyes scan the tall, graffiti marked walls of the building. As far as I can tell, we’d never played here before, but it was hard to keep track after so many tours. From the size of the outside though, I knew the stage would be epic.

“How long ‘til we go on?”

Zack glances at his watch, “about twenty minutes, the other band is almost done their set.”

Nodding, I follow him backstage, listening for a second before deeming the band new, as I’d never heard them before. Pop-punk, part electronic, same old, same old; what teenage girls want, teenage girls get.

I sneak into an empty room, pulling the drugs out, and slash them up into the neat little lines with a piece of paper that was tapped to the door when I entered. They run through me quickly, not quickly enough, but at least by the time I have everything cleaned up, I can feel the effects heating up. Repetitive is the only word that comes to mind at the moment; it always is the same thing. As I go to find anyone else in the band so I won’t miss my cue, I start to think about asking for harder drugs next time. A little change.

Jack, the first one I see, is seated on a couch in a small room to the left of the stage, tuning my guitar, his by his side.

“Thanks,” I take my seat, and my guitar, as he finishes.

“Mm,” he nods without looking up at me.

I lift the strap around my neck, adjusting until it I find the right balance, and move towards the stage as I hear the other band leave, followed immediately by our introduction.

The stage, as I expected has plenty of room to move around, to dance and make suggestive motions towards Jack that made the little teenies go wild. That’s always been my favorite way to start shows, so, taking hold of the mic, I take my place beside him and wrap my arm around his neck, giving one of my famous little speeches to intro our songs. I’m unsure of whether to look at the eyes in the crowd or to shelter myself from the possibility of Jasey.

I know I’m stupid, I know I’m naive, and no matter how many drugs I pump into my system, I’ll always be the same old child who can’t even say no to himself. And as we transition to the next song, I look out to the countless screaming fans. They’re waving their hands and jumping and a few are dancing together; the normal shit. I spot one thing that makes me grin especially wide: a boy and a girl, no older than fourteen by their looks, waltzing together in the middle of everything. She has her head resting on his shoulder and he leans down to press his lips to the top of her head for only a second. I can tell they’re going to last.

Around them, more younger teens, but the further back you look, the older the fans. In the very back of the venue, people our age are swaying their hips, mostly looking bored, probably here with a younger sibling, but a few dancing around laughing. I almost stop singing the slow sweet song we’re playing now [say you’ll mean it] when I see her. Can’t say it wasn’t expected, but Jesus fucking Christ I feel tears stinging my eyes. I shake my head slowly, walking across the stage, away from Jack so I can sing in my emo corner.

[Emo corner;; The corner in which Alex stands alone during his sad songs and looks down, which makes his hair fall into his eyes giving him an ‘emo’ appearance. He also occasionally, when feeling particularly upset, likes to face the corner because he can contemplate his problems without anything distracting him, as he is very distractible, and on special occasions, cries.]

I allow myself to study a few of the lighters that the kids are waving, and take one more glance at Jasey, unsure of whether I’m relieved she’s not crying or upset, while Jack sings his part. The lights of the venue, now dimmed as we near the end of our set, shine multicolored lights on my shoes, which reflect back into my eyes making them burn, so I look at Jasey again.

“Call me a name,” I catch her eyes and hold them like glue, “kill me with words.” She glares menacingly, but doesn’t look away; “forget about me,” the look in her eyes promises ‘I already have,’ “its what I deserve.” She mouths ‘I know.’

I finish the song and quickly thank the crowd, not able to give the speech I had planned about Jasey, spiteful and bitter. I find the room where I had done my first line, break out the crack and break down crying.

But you ditched the car and left me to.