Seize the Day

When I awoke, I was in a bed too large for four people, burrito-rolled in a black down comforter. The blinds were pulled, but it was still too bright to be morning. I looked around, trying to gather my bearings and remember where I was. The bed was far too comfortable to be my own. There were several small square red and black pillows, that were probably neatly arranged once upon a time, scattered around me. As I tried to wriggle my arms free, I noticed a slight movement on the bed. I managed to sit up and saw Matt sitting at the foot of the king-sized mattress, cross-legged looking back at me. Of course. I was living it up, rockstar-style last night.

“The nightstand. There’s some Tylenol and Gatorade there.” He pointed at the large black wooden nightstand to my right, beaming that signature smile right at me. “You’ll need it, I promise.”

“Why are you so cheery this morning?” Sitting up to reach for the painkillers and sports drink proved to be more strenuous than I was ready for. “Uuggghh,” I moaned.

“It’s hardly morning. And did you forgot already? I’m a big-time rock star. Partying like last night is pretty much an everyday occurrence for us.” His smile was infectious, even though it literally hurt my face to return the action. “It takes much more to get us as hungover as you are. Even Johnny’s already up and at ‘em, and you know he drank more than you did. All three of them have checked to make sure you actually did wake up. That’s why I came up to check on you.”

“What time is it?” I asked. Even talking hurt. Slowly, a couple flashbacks of the previous nights events came flooding back to me. I remembered the four (or was it five?) empty Jack Daniel’s bottles on our table and groaned again.

“It’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon. You’ve been out for almost 12 hours. You had until 4:30, and I was calling an ambulance,” he said. I couldn’t quite tell how serious he might have been.

“Sara!” I blurted, too quickly. The sudden rush made me clutch my head, and fall sideways back to the bed.

He continued grinning. “I’ve already talked to her today too. She called several times, and since you didn’t wake up to someone jumping on your bed like a 6-year-old, I didn’t think you were going to budge to a phone ringing. Even if it is a kickass ringtone, and every 15 minutes.” He paused for just a second. “I answered for you. She knows you’re ok, and that I’ll get you back to the Hills soon. …ish.”

The ringtone, I thought. Must be weird for him to have had to listen to himself screaming every time Sara called to check on me. “Soon-ish? You’re still holding me for ransom?” The Tylenol was already starting to help, and I was feeling a little better. “How long have you been sitting there staring at me? And wait, you were jumping on the bed trying to wake me up?” I started to unroll the blanket from around me as he laughed, but I stopped suddenly.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Hmm. It seems I’m not wearing any pants,” I said questioningly. “Matt… We, uh, didn’t…” I couldn’t even finish the statement. I simply stared down at my hands, feeling the blood rushing to heat my cheeks. Dear god, why can’t I remember anything from last night? I was starting to panic.

“N... OH.” He caught the tense look on my face and laughed. “No! Nothing like that!”

Great, it’s laughable that I even thought about the possibility of my involvement in a night of drunken groupie sex, I thought, mortified. I willed myself to keep a straight expression.

Apparently, I hadn’t been as good at keeping the sting of his laugh off my face as I thought I had. “No!” he said quickly. “I’m not laughing at that. Um, that…” His attempt at communicating exactly what was so funny to him was failing. “I was laughing because I can’t believe you actually don’t remember anything about last night. Although, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I did have to carry you into the house.”

Fantastic. You’ve made a fool of yourself, yet again.

“But I’m not in any way implying that I didn’t want… that I,” he began. “Well, that I didn’t think about trying something, because I did. You were conscious, and would have been more than able to, uh, consent. And more than willing, I’d guess too. But it just didn’t feel right.”

“More than willing? Oh god, I tried to rape you, didn’t I?” I asked, purposely over-exaggerating my expression and horror. I was, however, only half kidding. “It was the Jack. Whiskey makes most people fighting mad, right? It does the opposite to me. I get a little touchy-feely, and more than a little, um, well, horny, to be blunt.” I was trying to keep my tone light, but wasn’t sure if I was achieving it. I knew better than to drink that much; it’d gotten me into trouble before.

And now I’m just another drunk groupie who’s thrown herself at him. Unique first impression, there, Viv.

“Well, it’s not like you threw yourself at me, or anything,” Matt said, reading my mind. “You were pretty touchy-feely, as you say, once we got back here, though, that’s for sure. I sat in here with you until you fell asleep, trying to stay out of arm’s reach. Unfortunately for me, your fuckin’ arms are longer than I gave you credit for.” He ducked and laughed as I lobbed one of the red decorative toss pillows at his head.

“Thank God for small miracles. I happen to get the most stand-up good-guy super famous mega rock star in all of rock and roll history to take care of me.” I relaxed considerably, as he grinned. “So, do you mind telling me, then, why I’m not wearing any pants? I apparently don’t remember anything past getting into the limo.”

I sat groaning and covering my face with my palms at regular intervals as he took nearly a half hour to recount the night’s events, starting from the moment we left the club. There was the limo ride itself, during which Brian and I both managed to stand up through the sunroof and howl at the passing nightlife. The headache I remembered beginning in the limo was soon overridden and temporarily remedied by the flask of Jack Daniel’s that Brian had smuggled into the limo. There was also the stop for food, where I ordered three Big Macs at a Burger King. Last but not least, there was the trip from the car into the house, where Matt literally carried me piggy-back in the door and up the stairs, because I couldn’t stand up on my own. Once in the bed, I allegedly attempted to coax him out of his pants and under the covers next to me. When he refused, I finally resigned to sleep, taking a full fifteen minutes to struggle out of my own jeans and tights, throwing them angrily across the room.

At least I remembered that part. I’ve fallen asleep in those fishnets before, and it is not comfortable, I reminded myself.

“Damnit. I’m sorry I was such a handful!” I moaned. “I’m sure the last thing you guys were looking for when you ‘kidnapped’ me was another groupie to get shitty drunk and try to get in your pants.” I was embarrassed, but his warm smile told me it was ok.

“Are you kidding me? Having you around was the most fun we’ve had in a long time,” he answered. “Johnny and Brian have both already asked me today when they can get schwasted with you again. Not often do they find someone with a penchant for whiskey as big as their own, especially a girl.” The grimace on my face as he said “schwasted” nicely complimented the smirk on his.

“Oh no. I will not be drinking any whiskey, Jack, Jim, or otherwise, for a very, very long time.” Mostly, I was vowing this to myself. “Not beer, wine, vodka or other booze, either, for that matter.” The Tylenol had fully kicked in, but my head was still buzzing.

“I’ve heard that one before. I don’t think you’ll make it a week,” he dared.

“You’re on!” I accepted.

“As long as you’re around here, you’ll never make it,” he said. He sounded almost wistful.

“M. Shadows,” I said, emphasizing the usage of his stage name, drawing it out. “Does that mean I should expect to see you and your lovely trio of lackeys more than once during my two-week stay here?” Now it was my turn to smirk.

“If I have anything to do with it, that’s exactly what that means.” He smiled a very different smile at me this time. There was definitely something behind it. “Besides, you get a Southern accent when you’re drunk. It was cute.”

I hung my head. I always prided myself on the fact that even though I’ve lived in Kentucky for almost 15 years, I didn’t have a typical Kentucky accent. Until I get tipsy, that is. “You hush about the accent,” I scolded. “Throw me my pants, will ya?” I asked, pointing across the room at the pile of clothes. “I guess you’re probably going to want to get rid of me sooner rather than later.”

“Actually, the bathroom’s right down the hall. There are some clothes in there than Brian brought over. He said you looked to be about the same size as Michelle, so try them on. Take your time, get a shower, all of that, if you want,” he told me.

“Brian’s already been here? I am an amateur at this hangover thing, aren’t I?” He laughed at my raised voice.

“Oh, you really didn’t wake up, did you?” The mischievous smile returned. “You assumed that it was me jumping on the bed to wake you up. I said that someone had.” He laughed at the shocked look on my face. My jaw had dropped before I could think to stop it. “He tried for like ten minutes before he gave up. He really wanted to take us out for breakfast and introduce you to Michelle. Do you always sleep like the dead?”

Keeping the comforter securely wrapped around my unclothed bottom half, I crawled closer to the foot of the bed and laid on my stomach, crossing my arms under my chest. “Well, let’s recall my schedule yesterday, shall we?” I began, looking up at him. “I got up at 5:30am Eastern time, spent an hour at the airport, 4 hours on a plane, another 2 hours in a different airport, yet another 4 hours on a plane, 2 hours wandering around a city I’ve never seen, and then however the hell long we all partied last night. Not to mention, there was quite a lot of alcohol involved with said partying. I may have been a little sleepy, thank you very much,” I chided, and swung another pillow at him. It caught him squarely on the jaw this time. “But to answer your question, yes, I always sleep like the dead. Always have.” I punctuated my little rant with the broadest smile I could muster. Something caught my attention. “Can I ask you a crazy question?”

“Of course,” he said, but then hesitated a moment. “Well, I guess so. It’s not too crazy, is it?” I was not any more immune to that smile now than the first time I saw it last night.

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“Tell me about your tattoos,” I responded.

“What about them?” he asked.

“Everyone gets tattooed for a reason, whether it’s something that means a lot to you, or one too many shots at a bar. There’s always a story. Tattoo stories are almost as good as scar stories.” I slapped on my mock-horrified look again. “Too many shots. Uh-oh, no one got tattooed last night, did they?”

He chuckled. “No, no tattoos this time around. A lot of them are kind of self-explanatory.” He pointed out each piece he’d gotten inked, moving t-shirt and jeans fabric when necessary to show. He told me about the first tattoos he got as a hardcore kid, and about the full sleeve depiction of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The old-fashioned microphone was, like he’d suggested, self-explained, as was the Deathbat across his stomach. I reached out and touched the back of his right hand, where it was resting on his knee. “And that one’s for Jimmy. But I’m sure you already knew that, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s the one that caught my eye and made me ask,” I said.

“How about yours?” he questioned, glancing down.

“This one,” I said, pointing to the point just below the nape of my neck between my shoulder blades, “was my first. It’s the constellation Capricorn, my zodiac sign. It was done just after I graduated high school. I’ve got a phoenix here,” pausing to roll a bit and pull up the side of my tank top to display the brightly colored bird up the left side of my ribcage. “I got it after I got divorced. You know, rising from the ashes, learning from mistakes and all that. Alex drew it for me. Then there are these.” I propped myself up on my elbows, raising my chin. The nautical stars and swallows were obviously visible just under my collarbones in the shirt I’d been wearing since I’d met him. “They’re for my grandfather. He was in the Navy, and passed away several years ago. And this one,” I said pointing at my very colorful shoulder piece, “is obvious. The Nightmare Before Christmas is my all-time favorite movie, so I got a scene from the film inked.”

“What about that one?” he asked, pointing almost behind me, at my lower back. I turned to follow his gaze. As I’d wiggled around, my shirt had inched up my waist just enough to expose the bottom edge of my newest ink.

“Ah, that one.” My reply was simple.

“Yes, that one. What? Am I not allowed to see that one?” He was making his voice as alluring as he could. Little did he realize, I was already positive that the only things on this Earth more alluring than his regular speaking voice were his eyes and his dimples.

“Of course you can, just don’t laugh,” I begged, serious. “It’s actually my favorite.”

“Why would I laugh?” He leaned over and inched the hem of my shirt up just a bit more. To the right side of the small of my back just above my belt line, I had song lyrics inscribed in what I thought to be a beautiful script, interwoven with a musical staff with the notes to the melody of the song. It was all in black ink, no color, no embellishments; just the words and the music. I’d felt a little too much like a stalker fan when I’d had the tattoo inked, but I knew that it was just that poignant and important to me at that time, like music in general always has been, that I had to have it done. Now I waited for comment from the one person in the universe whose opinion on the matter actually counted -- the one person in the universe I was certain would never have any idea the tattoo even existed.

I felt his breath almost catch when he realized what it said.

”Trials in life, questions of us existing here, don’t want to die alone…”

The hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms stood on end, but not just from hearing him read the words to me. Of course I knew what it said; I’d had it permanently written on my body. I’d said it out loud countless times. But he was singing the lyrics to me, his lyrics. I actually shivered as his hand stayed on my back where the words were embossed in my flesh while he sang, his finger tracing the twists and turns of the musical staff. His impromptu solo performance carried on far longer than the one line displayed on my skin, through the end of the tune.

“Silence, you lost me, no chance for one more day. Silence, you lost me, no chance for one more day…”

“It’s beautiful, V,” he sighed as he finished the last line of the song.

“Thanks.” I tried to compose myself, to not let my voice shake when I spoke. That song made me teary-eyed just about every time I heard it come across my iPod playlist. There was no way hearing it breathed directly into my brain by the man responsible for its emotionally intense lyrical content and incredible vocal melody was going to do any less. Keeping my answer short made this a little easier.

“I’ve seen a lot of fans’ tattoos, and a lot with ‘Seize the Day’ lyrics, but I have to say that I love this one,” he said. “As much as the chorus of that song means to me, and all the guys really, that line has always been my favorite. The chorus came almost as an afterthought. Why did you decide on that one?” he asked.

I sighed, trying to gather my thoughts. “A couple years back, my brother got very sick -- his heart.” My voice was still unsteady. “We almost lost him. Even though I knew there wasn’t anything I could do to help, I felt like I needed to be there with him. So I stayed with him in the hospital almost every night after his surgery, watching over him with all of the tubes and monitors attached. More than one of those nights, I played ‘Seize the Day’ on repeat while he slept and I didn‘t, just reminding myself that we never know what’s going to happen.” A single tear managed to slide from behind my right eye.

He began absent-mindedly rubbing my back where his hand still rested as he listened to me.

“Then, one afternoon, in the car with me, on the way to the hospital to visit him, my mom had a heart attack. So we had both of them in the hospital at the same time. Ever since then, it’s been my life motto to always tell the people I love just how much I do, with no looking back. There’s not enough time to worry about the little stuff, to wonder why we’re here. We just are, we gotta deal with it.” I realized I had been talking into the bed in front of me, rather than to Matt. “Sorry, bummer story, huh? Everyone’s ok now, back to normal. It just sucks that it takes something like that to remind us that we can’t take things for granted.”

He stayed quiet for a moment. “Wow,” he finally said. “That’s a lotta shit to deal with.”

“Yeah, a lot of shit it was. And as the oldest child, I felt like it was my job to be the strong and unwavering one. It was a lot,” I admitted. “I almost cracked on several occasions.”

He continued gently rubbing my back. “And the musical staff? Why that?”

“I’ve always been really attached to music of all kinds. It’s always affected me more than I think it does for a lot of people. I mean, I know everyone has a favorite song, and I know that there are a lot of people who’ve gone through things even worse than I have, and a lot of songs that speak to those situations,” I said. “But I’ve always felt connected to music a lot, especially for a person who doesn’t make it. I don’t play any instruments, but I used to sing.”

“Used to? What made you stop?” he asked.

“Just never took it anywhere. I was in choir and chorus in school, even took personal vocal lessons, but I just never did anything with it. Probably couldn’t sing for shit anymore if I tried,” I grinned.

“Well, for what it’s worth, it’s a beautiful tattoo, and I’m amazed that I’m a part of it,” he mused.

“It’s worth a lot. And you’re not just a part of it. They’re your words,” I told him, honestly, looking back up into his eyes. “So, that means if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have such an awesome tat.”

“Then you’re welcome,” he said, leaning down to my face.

He was nearly touching my nose with his, when we heard a door open and then yelling. “Shads! You here, man?”