Status: Updating while working on rewriting the earlier chapters (and deleting some stuff).
Infinite
Twenty-eight
Life goes on. It has to, I guess. I wake up every day with Karl giving me concerned looks at the breakfast table, and every day I find myself more annoyed with it. My arms are left with scars that slowly start to heal.
Our record is released in early November, and people actually seem to like it. We’re incredibly pleased with how it turned out, but I think all of us were half expecting the bubble to burst when people started to hear us for real.
The self-titled album mostly got praising reviews but some lukewarm (“Infinity need to grow up and find their own sound”), but there are none entirely flaming. A hundred people show up for our first meet-and-greet a couple of weeks after the release, and while it’s not the largest crowd ever, we’re totally blown away by the fact that people even showed up.
We’re featured in the November issue of Rock Sound, and we’ve supported Panic! at the Disco throughout October. Things are going great, and that’s something I’ve never really experienced before. To think that only a year ago, our headquarters was Red’s basement and our largest audience hadn’t exceeded two hundred people makes your head spin. It’s incredible.
We’re at Starbucks, celebrating a little before we have to go home and get ready for tonight. We’re playing in the Village and we have to be there by four thirty.
“I’ll never understand how you can get that stuff down your throat,” Hunter says disgustedly, indicating at my cup of chai latte and pulling a face.
“And I’ll never understand how you can drink coffee without milk or sugar,” I retort. “That’s just disgusting.”
How I ever could date Gerard and not drink black coffee, I’ll never know. That’s pretty much part of his persona.
“You’ll never get through life without learning to drink coffee properly, Aub,” Noel says from his side of the table. “I had to teach Jake, we wouldn’t have gotten to second base if he hadn’t started to drink coffee.”
"Too much information, Noel."
Noel finally told us about his boyfriend, who turned out to be the drummer in one of the bands we shared The Grudge with all these months ago. I took a while for me to find out, though.
“I was happy and you weren’t, so I thought it could wait,” he said when I asked why Hunter and Karl knew but I didn’t. “You didn’t need to know about happy couples.”
I still felt left out. I also felt a bit guilty for not noticing that there was something different – one of your best friends getting a boyfriend is something that you should notice, right?
But all I cared about then was to make it out of bed in the mornings. It wasn’t until last week that I realized that I hadn’t thought of Gerard at all that day, and it almost felt like a betrayal. There was a time when I was so consumed by the breakup that I couldn’t think about anything else, and now it’s a memory. It still hurts, but it’s a memory.
The door to the wardrobe in the hallway of our flat holds a full-length mirror. I'm standing in front of it wearing nothing but my underwear, without makeup and with my hair in a messy ponytail.
The scars haven’t faded yet. I doubt they ever will disappear completely. I have the kind of skin that heals quickly but leaves long-lasting scars.
I know I’ll have to show them sooner or later, since I can’t really go around wearing long sleeves forever. After a while, being on stage in the spotlights becomes almost unbearable. And I only have myself to blame.
Our record is released in early November, and people actually seem to like it. We’re incredibly pleased with how it turned out, but I think all of us were half expecting the bubble to burst when people started to hear us for real.
The self-titled album mostly got praising reviews but some lukewarm (“Infinity need to grow up and find their own sound”), but there are none entirely flaming. A hundred people show up for our first meet-and-greet a couple of weeks after the release, and while it’s not the largest crowd ever, we’re totally blown away by the fact that people even showed up.
We’re featured in the November issue of Rock Sound, and we’ve supported Panic! at the Disco throughout October. Things are going great, and that’s something I’ve never really experienced before. To think that only a year ago, our headquarters was Red’s basement and our largest audience hadn’t exceeded two hundred people makes your head spin. It’s incredible.
We’re at Starbucks, celebrating a little before we have to go home and get ready for tonight. We’re playing in the Village and we have to be there by four thirty.
“I’ll never understand how you can get that stuff down your throat,” Hunter says disgustedly, indicating at my cup of chai latte and pulling a face.
“And I’ll never understand how you can drink coffee without milk or sugar,” I retort. “That’s just disgusting.”
How I ever could date Gerard and not drink black coffee, I’ll never know. That’s pretty much part of his persona.
“You’ll never get through life without learning to drink coffee properly, Aub,” Noel says from his side of the table. “I had to teach Jake, we wouldn’t have gotten to second base if he hadn’t started to drink coffee.”
"Too much information, Noel."
Noel finally told us about his boyfriend, who turned out to be the drummer in one of the bands we shared The Grudge with all these months ago. I took a while for me to find out, though.
“I was happy and you weren’t, so I thought it could wait,” he said when I asked why Hunter and Karl knew but I didn’t. “You didn’t need to know about happy couples.”
I still felt left out. I also felt a bit guilty for not noticing that there was something different – one of your best friends getting a boyfriend is something that you should notice, right?
But all I cared about then was to make it out of bed in the mornings. It wasn’t until last week that I realized that I hadn’t thought of Gerard at all that day, and it almost felt like a betrayal. There was a time when I was so consumed by the breakup that I couldn’t think about anything else, and now it’s a memory. It still hurts, but it’s a memory.
The door to the wardrobe in the hallway of our flat holds a full-length mirror. I'm standing in front of it wearing nothing but my underwear, without makeup and with my hair in a messy ponytail.
The scars haven’t faded yet. I doubt they ever will disappear completely. I have the kind of skin that heals quickly but leaves long-lasting scars.
I know I’ll have to show them sooner or later, since I can’t really go around wearing long sleeves forever. After a while, being on stage in the spotlights becomes almost unbearable. And I only have myself to blame.