How A Heart Breaks

I hold onto the only other thing besides me that Pash left behind; his sweater, which one week ago he let me use as a pillow. His scent, it’s all over it. I hold it against my chest, up to my nose, and inhale deeply. His scent hits my nostrils and for a moment I believe it’s a drug because it’s that addicting.

But it’s just a sweater.But it’s Pashs’ sweater.

My chest, it feels like it’s caving in on itself. It feels as if all my organs are slowly, but surely forgetting how to function correctly. My heart beat is slow and I feel almost lifeless, because everything I look at, everything I do reminds me of Pash and I feel like shit knowing that it’s my fault he left.

For the past 7 days I have woken up and looked at the bed next to me with a smile and a chirpy ‘good morning old man’ on the tip of my tongue…but then I see one of the guys lying there and I remember; Pash isn’t here.

We go to interviews, to concerts, out to eat and I laugh, we tell jokes, and I look to my side, to where Pash would normally be. My lips part and I’m ready to speak, to tell him something funny, to laugh with him, but then I remember; Pash isn’t here.

It hits me hard every time and I frown. Sometimes I find myself staring off into the distance, at the empty space where Pash normally would have been. I find myself day dreaming of what would have happened if I hadn’t been so stupid.

I imagine him there with that confident smirk on his face. I imagine him being right here with me like old times, acting like we always did, just joking around, and enjoying ourselves. But in the end I always remember; Pash isn’t here.

It’s like being slapped one too many times. The guys know that I took this pretty hard and they try to get me back by spending time with me, laughing, and just enjoying our time together, but it doesn’t work because; Pash isn’t here.

I sigh and sit up, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. It feels nice, welcomed on my fingers so I keep it in my hands as I move to the desk where a pencil and paper lay. I’m trying to write a new songs and so many different idea’s are coming to mind, but I just can’t seem to phrase it properly, to make it just right.

Pash normally always helps me. He’s normally always here, right beside me, listening to me talk, listening to me spit out curse word after curse word when I can’t get things right, laughing at me or with me, but he isn’t here. It doesn’t feel right for the umpteenth time I crumble the paper up and toss it.

“Damn it,” I snarl angrily and I run my fingers through my hair. I heard from Pash six days ago. He called us to tell us he arrived safely and was looking for an apartment. He promised to keep in contact, but him just keeping in contact with me is not enough.

I don’t know why, but I don’t want to just talk with him. I want him to be here. I want him to be right here, by my side. I want to tease him and see him smile, hear his laugh clearly, and see how angry he gets. I want to be next to him on his 23rd birthday and poke fun at his old age.

I want Pash with me. Not with anyone else.

Is that selfish to say? Is that weird to say? It’s just, we’ve been so close for so long that it feels like it’s just supposed to happen, like we’re just supposed to be like that, but I still feel selfish for wanting him all to myself.

I sigh and get back into bed. Hayden is fast asleep on the bed beside me, he has no idea that I’m not sleeping. I look at the clock and it reads 4 A.M. I’ll be waking up in 2 hours to leave for the next gig. That isn’t unusual. For the past 7 days I haven’t been sleeping and something is telling me it’s only going to get worse.

~

I take a seat on the couch, out of breath and exhausted. Nathan hands me a water and I smile at him before chugging it down. It feels great on my throat since I was just out there singing my lungs out.

“So…when are we going to get our new guitar player?” Julian asks and my hands clenches to form a fist around my bottle.

Nathan shrugs and replies, “I don’t know. We’re busy now with interviews and gigs. Maybe when we get off tour?”

My body begins to shake. My head is throbbing and I can feel the anger in the pit of my stomach. It’s rising, getting higher and higher, hotter and hotter, like a volcano waiting patiently to erupt and when it does…it will be big.

“That’d be best. Besides I’m too lazy now to actually go to auditions and watch them,” Hayden laughs as if it’s a joke. This only makes me angry further and this poor water bottle, I feel so sorry for it. It’s clenched tightly in my fist and if it were a human being, it’d be dead.

“It’ll be hard-”

Without thinkingrationally at least I stand to my feet and scream, “No!”

The three of them fall silent and I feel their eyes on me. I feel it, the questioning gaze, but it should be obvious why I’m so angry. It should be so painfully obvious, but they look at me, completely oblivious to the reason why I’m so angry, why smoke is now blowing out my ears.

“No!” I repeat and slam my fist hard against the table. It shakes and the three of them jump at my sudden movement. “Don’t you dare talk about that!”

“What do you mean Port-”

Before Nathan can finish I stomp out of the room, screaming four words at them. “We aren’t replacing Pash!”

Because we can’t. Pash is Pash. No one can compare to him. He was, is, and always will be our friend, my best friend. He will always be our guitarist, one of us, one of the Slinger’s and no one, I repeat no one will ever replace him.

Over my dead body.