Leaving Here Without You

Johnny walked along the pavement, hands in his pockets and eyes glazed over as he looked out over the beach. The wind blew a light breeze over his hair, weaving in and out of his dark mohawk, and he sighed audibly. It was a crisp morning, the air was still sharp with the chill of winter and it was too early for the crowds of people down by the beach. Johnny walked faster along the path beside the beach, concentrating only on the movement of his feet and avoiding collisions.

Rain began to drip down from the cloudy sky, large droplets that ran down his back and froze his neck as it landed. Looking up to the sky, he hauled his hood over his head. It stood three inches off of his head with his hair, and the wind knocked it back. The weather was quickly taking a turn for the worse, and he pulled his beanie hat from his back pocket of his jeans. Cramming it down on his head, he pulled the hood over again and this time it stayed as he pulled it tight against his head.

Turning back towards where his car was parked, he decided to run. The sound of his footsteps resounded in his head until they were all he could hear. Inside the car he slammed the door shut behind him, and let his hood fall down. As he turned the ignition, the small car roared to life and his radio leapt into action.

So this is the world you left behind, this is the guilt that consumes you.

He drove on, no destination in mind. Aimlessly, he drove through side streets and watched people go about their daily lives. The music in the background was just a noise to him, and the rain on the windows blurred the outside world away. He sat in his own little world, remembering.

Jimmy had only been gone a week and a half. It felt like the time he had disappeared for two weeks without telling anyone and Matt had nearly strangled him when he came back. Only this time Matt's hands would be empty, and there would be no call from Brian at three in the morning telling him to get the fuck over here.

He'd never be slung around like a backpack again, punched and kicked until he considered leaving it all behind and struggling through college. Those moments only lasted minutes though; someone would always reassure him he was here for more than use as a punching bag.

So die alone, this is the one thing I won't do.

Without thinking, Johnny turned onto a sidestreet and stopped in front of a shop. The wood was painted a bright yellow, and the writing on the window informed him he was outside, "Betty-Ann's Flowers". It was still raining, so he parked illegally and ran in through the pale yellow door. Inside, he ducked behind a pot of lilies and avoided the owner's eyes as she dealt with other customers. The flowers around him were too bright and cheerful; he was looking for something that didn't scream happiness from every pore.

The flowers he chose were white magnolias, wrapped up in a bouquet with a white bow to match. He didn't meet the eyes of the lady, and paid without a word. Secretly, on the inside, he was trying to work out what he was going to do. What he was going to say. The car was still warm when he slid back in; he'd accidently left the keys in the ignition and the doors unlocked. His stuff was still there, but it was mostly luck that someone hadn't stolen his bass in the back seat.

The car started again, but this time with a bit more of a groaning, grunting noise that sounded painful. He reversed out of the street with a glance thrown over his shoulder before gunning it down the street.

So say your payers, 'cause I ain't leaving here without you.

The path down the centre of the cemetery was made of pale, grey gravel that crunched under his feet. The rain was still falling heavily, but he lowered his hood and removed his hat out of respect. He was a hundred yards away from the grave when his feet decided they could go no further.

His eyes watered, and he gave a grumpy swipe at them to hide the tears. Johnny took each step further forward forcibly, each step closer to the truth became harder and harder. His black trainers made too much sound, the noise hurt his ears. Everything was, all wrong. Life was too empty without Jimmy.

He crouched down in front of the gravestone, but within seconds his legs gave way and he collapsed in a sobbing heap on the grass. He's sofuckingangry that he's gone, left without him.

Seems we all have friends to find.

"Asshole." He takes the word back immediately. He doesn't say so.

He doesn't move, or say anything for a long time, until the rain stops. "Matt punched me a couple of days ago. It was wrong." He sniffles, feeling ridiculous. "Brian punched him back, and they ignored each other for a day. Zacky fixed it though. I don't care. Not right now."

Water dripped off the end of his nose. He would have a cold tomorrow. "You should be here. Everyone's falling apart. Matt pretends nothing's changed, and no-one will talk about you. I’m pretty sure the girls spend all day together – with Leana. They surround her like a protective blanket. She’s gonna be okay. I’m not sure the rest of us are.

“You’ve left at the hardest moment. Jesus, I hate what you’ve done to everyone.” He flopped limply down to the ground, flowers falling to the ground as he released the tears. “Prick, asshole, cocksucker. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

He was kicking at the stone, scratching at the solid, unmoveable rock. His nails ripped and the tender skin of his fingertips was revealed and torn. They bled furiously, but Johnny didn’t notice. He kept screaming at the grey stone: ”Why did you leave?”

Strong hands grasped him, and lifted him off the ground. His face was pressed against a soaking shirt, and his band mates crowded around him. They stood in silence as he cried, rain running down their face to disguise their tears.