Tomorrow Might Not Make It

Another night, another bottle of Jack Daniels, and another random hotel room full of empty liquor bottles.

That was what life was like for Brian Haner Jr on his 'off' days, or, in other words, when he wasn't spending time with his best friends doing what he loved. This was what he had been reduced to... running off from every problem, desensitizing himself to every single emotion.

Sometimes he wondered why he’d rather live than die.

He couldn't face anything other than getting up on stage and shredding with his guitar. Take some responsibility, his wife had said. As he thought about this, he took another swig of his liquor, nearly falling out of his chair in a drunken stupor. For once in your life, think about someone other than yourself.

Michelle would never put up with this at the house, not with their new born daughter. He wouldn't even let himself do that around her, he wasn't completely stupid. Yet there he was, running away from his daughter and his wife like he had always been doing with his time off in the past six months.

Yes, he had a kid at home. Did he care for his child? Yes. That was a no brainer. But in his dark, sick mind at that moment, he felt as if he were protecting her from himself in some twisted way.

On tour, his behaviour could be put up with to a certain extent. Because he was a rock star, after all, and crazy shit happening was just a part of their lives at that point. His band didn’t know about the... activities he did in his spare time, though. They merely thought he was at home, playing husband with the wife and daddy to the daughter. Being a man.

Las Vegas is the city of lights and where you go when youwant need to get completely wasted and forget about everything.

What was he doing? Why couldn't he stop thinking about everything he'd temporarily left back in California? This hadn't happened before... usually, he could just drink himself into oblivion.

Stop making a beast out of yourself, he remembered his wife say to him, and again, at the thought of it his lip curled in a silent sneer. He wasn't angry with Michelle, but at himself for doing this to her. It was only another reason for him to drink. I may be making a beast out of myself, but at least it gets rid of all the pain of being a man.

Never could he be a good father, not with his band's constant cycle of recording and touring with his band. He'd miss out on the majority of his daughter's life, but music was what he loved. If he could have both, he would. If he picked one over the other, he'd be selfish. So, of course, he drove off to a place where he knew no one and drank his problems away.

Countless mouthfuls of liquor later, Brian didn't even know how he was still awake and being able to sit up reasonably straight in his chair at the same time. His stare was just as blank and hollow as the TV's picture he was looking at.

Here, alone in the expensive hotel room he'd rented just for one night, every single one of his barriers had been brought down. He could always rely on his cocky, arrogant side to help make himself feel better, but tonight, His confidence was leaving him on his own.

Not being able to forget any of this made his drunken mind that much more depressed. His bottle of Jack Daniels was just not doing its trick tonight, and he let the bottle fall to the floor with a loud crash.

So this was what his life was going to be like. Playing in a band, that was great, but the rest of the time, he made a complete ass out of himself in front of both his wife and daughter. He slowly inhaled, trying to smell the cinnamon scented air freshener that had nearly made him sick earlier. All he could smell then was the noxious alcohol smell of his breath.

Alcohol was all he knew anymore. He lived it and breathed it and that was it. He didn't know how much longer he could take that, not when he knew his baby daughter was at home without him, when he could be a good dad... if he just got over his stupid, selfish, childish fears.

His band mates could have very well helped him, they would have been glad to, but he didn’t want their attention, at least not in that form. Pity was all he'd get for doing this and all he wanted was understanding.

When he finally started to lose consciousness, a wave of fear pulsed through his heart. What if he drank himself into a coma? What if he never woke up? What if he never got to see his daughter again?

With those thoughts going through his head, he clumsily reached into one of his front pockets after having to haphazardly feel around for it, and took out his cell phone. He squinted at the touch screen when his large hands tried to maneuver it, and after a few moments he managed to hit speed dial number one, his house. He'd never forget that.

"Hello?" It was just after midnight. Early by his standards, and late by Michelle's. In the background, his could hear his baby crying. He didn't reply for a moment, just listening to his baby girl at home without him. "Hello? Brian, I swear to God if you're calling me while you’re drunk—"

"I'm sorry." He cut her off, his voice wavering after he hiccuped.

"What?”

"I'm sorry, Michelle. I'm so, so fucking sorry."

In that moment, not knowing he was going to live through the night because of the disastrous amount of liquor he'd poured down his own throat, and not knowing what tomorrow would bring, all he could feel was guilt and all he could be was sorry.