The Young and Lost Club

The boys knew something was wrong. They were all treating me like I was delicate, like I was going to have a mental breakdown at any moment. It certainly wasn’t an unfounded fear: I hadn’t slept for three days straight, and hadn’t eaten for two (I had promised Ryan both, but I only managed to eat an apple and then wander around my apartment like a zombie). Last month, I had all but abandoned them, and this month I was a walking sociopath. Instead of the usual, “Clark, that sucked balls, what the fuck?” that they usually put me through, it was “Clark? You messed up that last chord, would you mind playing it again?”
Max, being my older brother, and therefore knowing me the longest, hovered around trying to fill the role of an overbearing mother. “I’m not dying of swine flu, Max,” I snapped at him, when he came towards me with a thermometer and a diagnosis from WebMD. Nevertheless, he still insisted on treating me like it was all a bad cold.
Brian, my brother’s best friend from high school and our trusty drummer, wasn’t even his normal asshole self. After I didn’t show up to recording, he came home with a stack of every girl magazine possible, ranging from Cosmo to Good Housekeeping. “Here,” he said, tossing them on my bed. “That should help you through your women problems.” It sounds asshole-ish, I know, but trust me, coming from Brian, it was the equivalent of a normal guy offering to paint my nails while we talked about my period or something.
Even Taylor, my best friend from high school, who normally set about trying to cheer me up with stupid jokes and movies, took a different approach of reserved concern. He constantly badgered me about sleeping and eating, even slept in my room, seeing as sometimes having someone else in my bed would help me sleep.
Their sympathy, however kind and from the heart it was, was neither wanted nor appreciated. It made me feel even worse. If only I could recover, if only I wasn’t being stupid, if only I could move on, we all might be having the time of our lives. Wasn’t this everything we had wanted? Wasn’t this why we had spent countless hours practicing and writing and performing? And I was ruining it. Wasn’t this why I quit my job, sold my beloved apartment, and moved back to Maryland?
I was lying on my bed, absentmindedly playing my guitar when Max walked in. “Hey,” he said softly.
“Hi,” I said. And then, hoping to avoid the talk I was sure was coming I quickly said, “I was thinking about the song Airwave Novel, and I think that maybe we should change up the-“
“Ryan told me what happened, you know.”
“How awkward.” I said, wrinkling my nose, trying to play this all off as a joke. Like I wasn’t a whore and I wasn’t still blindly attached to a guy who didn’t want me anymore. “You are my brother and all.”
“Clark,” he said sternly. “I know what’s wrong. I know why you haven’t been eating or sleeping and I just want you to know that if you can’t do this, if you can’t go on tour-“
“Don’t be ridiculous Max!” I said, sitting up. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing my ex!” My voice cracked though, betraying my real feelings.
“He’s not just your ex,” Max said quietly. “I know you loved him, and what he did to you…” he trailed off, looking angry.
“Bren…” I stumbled over the name horribly and decided to forgo it all together. “It wasn’t his fault,” I said. Even as I said it, it didn’t make sense. Of course it was his fault. So why was I defending him? Why, why, why? Why couldn’t I let it go? Why couldn’t my mind be infected with poisonous thoughts of him so it was easier? Why did he have to be so perfect in my mind? Why couldn’t I even say his name?
“Bullshit,” Max said with a scoff, and opened his mouth to begin what I could only assume would be a very long brotherly rant about how I always dated assholes and someday, I’d find someone who would love me, and on and on until I would start crying because I had assumed that that someone was going to be Brendon.
Taylor saved me. He walked in my room and threw my cell phone on my bed. “Alex called. Again.” He said dully. “I told him you weren’t around. Again.”
I snatched my phone, opening it and quickly erasing his calls.
“You should call him, Clark.” Max said, chiding me. “He’s a nice guy and you all get along really well.”
“You’re encouraging me to see a man hoe like Alex?” I said incredulously.
Max pursed his lips. “I just want you back to yourself.”
“You sound like Ryan.” I grumbled, trying to ignore another stab of guilt.
“Well, Ryan’s a smart guy. You should listen to him.” He got up and left, leaving Taylor at the door. We looked at one another for a moment.
“You look like shit.” He informed me.
“You’re a delightful person.” I snapped back.
He shrugged. “I try.”

Recording wrapped up fairly quickly, and we were all pleased with the result, even my sudden wishy-washy feelings had gone away, and if not for present circumstances, I would have been ecstatic. We had a party after our last day with a couple people from our label and those who worked at the studio; I was flying out in the morning to see Ryan. I did my best, I did my hair, I put on a cute dress from back in the NYC days (I had to discreetly safety pin it, I was losing weight), I made an effort to be social.
I could trick people into thinking everything was fine. I could uphold a certain image of the old Clark, the fun, sharp tongued, clever one. The one I used to be and the one I would give nearly everything to be again. Most people didn’t know that in our rented house, I would lie in bed and cry from being so exhausted and from the whiplash my brain was giving me for thinking too fast. I had been successful in fooling Alex (although, maybe not when I had left), and if I could do that, then I could fool the strangers around me.
I would have made it through without any sort of hitch, if the guys from All Time Low hadn’t decided to show up. I was over in the corner talking to Adam Lynch, one of the guys from our label, when I noticed none other than Jack Barakat bounding for the bar, with Zack Merrick behind him. Adam was still talking as I searched quickly around the room for…there he was. Alex was doing the same thing I was when we suddenly locked eyes. He clearly meant business because he headed straight towards me.
“Excuse me,” I said to Adam and started walking. I wanted to run away, but I knew Alex would catch up with me, so instead I went to Jack and Zack, Alex wouldn’t confront me in front of his friends.
“Goddamn Barakat,” I said, grinning at him. “You drink like a fucking fish,”
Jack looked down at me, “How’s the weather down there Lewis?” The All Time Low boys, or rather, more just Jack (he always was an oddball) had all dubbed me Lewis because they felt I needed a nickname to be part of the group, and the only thing they could think of was Lewis and Clark.
“Haha,” I said dryly. “Go for the short joke, typical. Hi Zack,” I said, waving to him.
“Sup, Lew?”
“You’re looking well.” Jack continued, wagging his eyebrows at me in a knowing way. “Getting lots of exercise?” He completed the comic with a couple of hip thrusts.
“Fuck you.” I said calmly, but inside I was seething. Of course Alex would tell Jack, let alone the rest of his band mates. He never did know how to shut his goddamn mouth.
“I think that’s Alex’s job,” Jack said, snorting at his own joke.
I was seeing red, but trying to stay calm.
“Oh relax,” Jack said, noticing I was pissed anyways. “It was only a matter of time.”
Alex had finally shown up, “Matter of time before what?” He asked, but he was looking at me. I studied the bar next to me, avoiding looking at him.
“Before you guys fucked.” Jack said bluntly, quickly finishing off his third drink.
There was a brief pause.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Zack said, sliding around the three of us, squeezing my shoulder as he passed.
It was rare I found myself without words, but here we were.
“Dude,” Alex said, looking about as furious as I felt. “What the fuck?” He shoved Jack hard in the shoulder.
“Fuck both of you.” I said loudly. They both turned to me, open mouthed, but I rushed on. “You fucking assholes, no one invited you here.”
“Clark, Clark! Come on,” Alex said as I started walking away, he grabbed my arm, but I yanked away.
“Don’t touch me,” I hissed. He dropped my arm instantly and held up both his hands. “What the fuck are you doing here? Why’d you come?”
“You wouldn’t answer my calls, I just wanted to talk to you.” He said seriously.
“It’s called taking a hint.”
“I already told you, ‘I don’t play by the rules.’” He tried to reach out to me again, but I took a step back.
“This isn’t a game Alex!” I said, on the verge of screaming. People around us were looking, so I lowered my voice. “Why couldn’t you keep your fucking mouth closed, just once, Alex, why is that so hard?”
He answered my question with one of his own, “Why didn’t you call and let me know you were in Maryland? We always do that!”
I faltered. Admitting why was admitting that I wasn’t okay. I had always called him before. “I didn’t because seeing you reminded me of him.” I said finally, still not being able to say his name.
“You still love him don’t you?” He said, crossing his arms.
I shrugged and looked away, blinking away tears.
“Well, tough shit,” He said suddenly, turning right back into the cocky Alex Gaskarth I remembered. “Cause I like you, and you obviously like me enough to sleep with me. I like what we have.”
“Excuse me? There is no ‘we.’ We are friends and that’s it.” I said coldly.
He frowned. “Brendon’s obviously moved on, why can’t you?”
I choked at that, feeling my heart literally constrict, a pain so sharp and it didn’t really fade. “What?” I whispered. “What did you say?”
His mouth dropped open as he realized what he said. “Fuck.” He moaned. “Fuck. I should not have said that. I’m going to get murdered.”
“Bren…he has a girlfriend?” I said weakly.
“Forget I said that.” He pleaded. “I wasn’t supposed to say-“
His sniveling apology made me furious and even more infuriating was the fact that everyone had been trying to keep this from me. “Why?” I demanded, cutting him off. “No one thought I could handle the truth?”
He winced at my words. “Not like that Clark … no one wanted to hurt you more than you already were.”
“I’m fine!” I shouted, no longer caring if anyone heard. “He’s obviously fine, I’m obviously fine! Everything is fucking FINE.”
“Clark,” He tried again to touch me but I didn’t let him.
“I’m going to California tomorrow,” I said. “Don’t bother me while I’m there. In fact, don’t bother me ever again.”
“Don’t…” He said, running a hand through his hair.
“No.” I said. “I’m done.”
I needed a drink, and badly. I needed to go home. At that moment, I felt a stab of longing for my own apartment, the one back in New York. I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to sort through everything. I wanted what I had before this entire mess. I strode up to the bar, ordered a dry martini and told him to keep them coming.
I saw Alex leave out of the corner of my eye, but none of his friends followed.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Jack said, standing in front of me. Rian Dawson stood behind him and nodded in greeting to me. “I didn’t realize it was…all that.”
The bartender handed me another drink, and I downed it quickly.
“Shouldn’t you slow down, Lew?” Rian asked cautiously.
“No.” I said shortly.
“Will you please accept my apology?” Jack persisted. Jack was the kind of person who apologized constantly until you announced that he was officially forgiven. He couldn’t stand people being angry at him, couldn’t bear the thought of one of his friends being anything less than pleased with him. The first time he apologized to me, he kept asking if I was sure everything was okay until I asked if he wanted a certificate to prove it was all forgiven. Last time I had seen his apartment, it was still on the fridge: a napkin with “I hereby certify all is well between Mr. Jack Barakat and Ms. Clark Abrams” written in green crayon.
“Yes,” I said, the memory of that softening me. It wasn’t Jack’s fault. The conversation with Alex would have been the same regardless if Jack had started it or not. And what’s more, this was guy world. Crude jokes were made, there was no secrecy, there were no games. I had always preferred it that way, and that would never change. I preferred a blunt approach, which was why I never had girls for friends. “It’s perfectly fine, Jack.” I assured him when he started to apologize again. I drained another drink. If someone didn’t forcibly step in and stop me, I would probably kill myself with them.
Luckily, that person was Taylor, who could sense danger from miles away. “Clark?” He said, snatching my fifth drink from me. “I need you to come be my Guitar Hero partner, right now.”
“Alright.” I said. “Give me my drink.”
“Nope.”
“I hate you.”
“Hi guys,” Taylor said, drinking it on his own, making a face at the pure alcohol. “How are you?”
“Hey man,” Rian said. “Congratulations on the album and everything.”
“Thanks,” Taylor said. “It’s awesome you all came, thank you.”
“No prob.”
“I’m going to steal Clark for a little bit, alright?”
“Yeah, we’re actually going to head out,” Jack said, standing up. He gave me a hug. “Don’t worry about Alex,” he told me.
“Yeah,” Rian agreed. “He won’t call you.”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully.

I spent the rest of the night playing video games with Taylor, trying not to think. When I got on the plane at 8 am the next morning, I hadn’t slept a wink.