These Are the Fast Times

Butcher

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“Who the fuck invited her?” I angrily demand of William in the dressing room. He looks at Sisky and Mike for help. “I know it was one of you,” I hiss, suspecting William for some reason.

The tension buds as no one says a word and I continue to glare accusingly for a few minutes.

“It was me,” Mike announces, and I avert my glare from Bill to him.

“Why?” I demand through gritted teeth, glaring. He glares back defiantly.

“Because you’re a fucking wreck, Butcher!” he exclaims. “We don’t even know who you are anymore!”

I glare, shifting my gaze to the rest of my bandmates, who are conveniently avoiding my eyes.

“All you do is fucking mope and drink. You’re lucky we’re your best friends, because anyone else would’ve left you out to dry by now. Selfish. Prick,” he spits venomously.

“So that’s what you all think?” I ask. No one responds, but at least they make eye contact with me this time. “Fine.”

I storm out, slamming the door behind me. Before I make it outside the venue, long, thin fingers grab hold of my arm. I turn around.

“You have to fix it,” William says solemnly, holding me there, even though I’m not trying to break free.

“There’s nothing to fix,” I hiss back. “Let go.” He hesitates before taking his hand back.

“You don’t have to admit it, but you know I’m right. And you’re going to be completely miserable until you talk to her.”

I leave without responding.

I don’t even know where I’m going.

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I sway a little on the bar stool I’m sitting on, hunched over yet another bottle of beer.

I couldn’t tell you for sure when, but at some point, some girl sits next to me and starts talking.

She’s pretty. She has a smile that reminds me of Lila’s.

“You’re in that one band, aren’t you?” she states as she studies me. “I’ve seen you a few times around here. You’re the bassist?” she asks, stirring the straw in her drink that I vaguely remember buying her.

“Drummer,” I correct. I glance around the mostly deserted bar, wondering how soon closing time is.

“Oh.” She takes a sip from her glass. “What do you call the guy who hangs around with the rest of the band?” she asks, smiling slightly.

“Never heard that one before. Hilarious,” I quip. I drain the rest of the bottle in one gulp.

“Sorry,” she replies. I shrug in response and ask the bartender for another round.
“Don’t be.”

Another few beers in me, and I lean over to kiss her because I’m drunk enough that it passes as confidence, and she doesn’t seem to mind. Or maybe she’s as drunk as I am. At any rate, she kisses me back. I rest my hand on her leg.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask, after I finish off my current beer. She studies me for a while and doesn’t say anything.

“Why are you doing this?” she finally asks. I shrug helplessly.

“I…I guess I’m tired of feeling alone. I’m sick of waiting for things that are never going to happen. I’m tired of waiting for things- for people- to change.”

“You shouldn’t give up on her,” she replies, without missing a beat. She finishes the last drops of her drink.

“I never said I was talking about-”

“It’s obvious some girl’s got you messed up,” she continues anyway, standing up. “So I’m going to do the both of us a favor and leave.” Her small hand squeezes my shoulder gently. “You should go home and get some sleep.”

“Nice talking to you,” I mumble as a goodbye.

“Good luck,” she replies, leaving. “Thank you for the drinks.”

I sigh.

I close my tab and take her advice, trying not to think about how Lila’s most likely a few blocks away at Melly and the guys’ apartment but still too far away for me to do anything about.