Eyes as Dead as You Can See

I used to be able to read his eyes as if they were an open book.

Everything with him was so easy for me to understand; a glance in my direction would have a meaningful shine to it, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

Call it mind reading, connection, or why not soul mates? It can’t get more cliché than saying you can read someone like an open book. But that’s how it was for the two of us. We knew each other so well. Even when he had been with us for just one week, there was this special connection between us.

When he joined us, he had just turned seventeen. He was so young and innocent, even if he came off completely different. The fans never for a minute believed that Eric was an innocent boy; he was a narcissist, to say the least, and always had a biting reply ready for the fans.

But as soon as he was away from the fans, on the bus, he curled up by my side, like a shy cat. That’s how he got his name, Cat. He was my little Kitten, always looking up at me with those big blue eyes, so easy to read, and purring when I stroked his hair, or slid my fingers over his shoulder as we watched a movie.

He liked having my fingers sliding over his body, the smile in his eyes when he looked up at me told me that, and maybe he still does; I can’t know that for sure anymore. I can’t read his eyes the way I used to be able to.

I wish he could see the way he hurts himself, but he doesn’t. It doesn’t seem to be as obvious for him as it is for the rest of us; to him, it's just a fun game. As long as he still is beautiful, he don’t care what he does to himself.

When he first started to drink more than normal, none of us in the band thought too much about it. He was the new addition to a rock band with guys at least a decade older than him; it was normal for him to try and keep up with us, to try to be one of the ‘older men’. He never liked the fans calling him ‘teenage Kitten’, because at that point he was twenty, no longer a teenager.

And I had long ago gotten over my guilt for sleeping with a teenage boy.

Eric was a grown up, and said he wanted to be like us. He didn’t like me calling him Kitten, it annoyed him no end. Although it had made him smile before, made his eyes sparkle, it now simply made him angry.

I hated it, hated seeing my young love, sweet little Eric, transformed in front of my eyes to someone completely different to the boy I first had met and fallen in love with. Eric had ceased to exist; I hate to know that, I hate to have noticed it when it was already too late. Now, he was Cat. Cat Casino, the name we had gave him to fit in with us.

After he turned twenty, I realized that he was different. He no longer knocked on my door with a big smile and sushi, making me laugh, like he used to do every weekend. Now, the only times he showed up was when I would call him and ask him to come over. He didn’t smile when I opened the door for him. Those wonderful eyes that I could look into, just loving that I was able to see every thought flying through his mind, were empty.

He would complain about headaches, thanks to the fact that he had been up every night for nearly the entire week, just getting as drunk as possible. Living the rock star life. I was scared that if I didn’t give him something to drink, he would leave again. Go to a new bar, or party. And he got in everywhere, famous and beautiful as he was.

I was stupid, still am, because I keep giving him alcohol when he asks for it, even though I know it’s incredibly stupid. But I just want him to stay; I want him close to me. I want him to notice that I love him.

As soon as his headache was gone, he would demand sex, acting seductive and pulling it off even though he was once again drunk. He always got what he wanted; I could never say no to him.

And then he would just leave.

In the past, when I held him in my arms, I would tell him how much I loved him, and he would do exactly the same. I used see a smile play over his full lips as I looked into those eyes. So easy to read. It was easy to see all the happiness in them, the amusement he found in my fascination for his eyes, and the love that he felt for me too.

That was then. Now, Eric is Cat. Someone I can’t read anymore.

I lost my Kitten, and I wonder where I went wrong. We probably shouldn’t have let him drink when he was just seventeen, even if he did that before joining us. And I guess we shouldn’t have let him compete with us about who could drink the most – he always lost, passing out over me. I always brought him back to his bunk, and sometimes to mine, so I could just hold him close.

Don’t ask me why we don’t put a stop to it, because I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe it's because we’re afraid that he will leave the band... or maybe it's because I’m afraid that him leaving the band will result in him leaving me all together. It doesn’t matter how awful and full of guilt he makes me feel, I can’t let go of him, not yet. I don’t think I ever will.

I will always stay by his side, holding his hair when he can’t hold back the booze, rubbing his back soothingly, to let him know just how much I love him.

Even if I can no longer read his eyes, even if I can no longer read every thought and feeling in the azure colour, I won’t let him disappear from my life. I’d rather see him damaged than be without him; I’d rather see the shine in his eyes gone than see him with someone else, someone that isn’t me. I disgust myself, but I can’t help it. Even if the reason as to why I fell in love with him was those eyes, I didn’t stop loving him when the shine disappeared.

For as long as he lets me, I will love him and make him feel loved, ignoring the fact that he doesn’t care about it one bit. I just hope he grows out of this phase and truly loves me the way I love him.

And then I will get back those eyes I love, so easy for me to read.