Growing Up Won't Bring Us Down

Life on the bus was becoming unbearable, if it had not already reached the unbearable measure by some of the guys. Jimmy and Zacky personally had already hit that mark. Matt and Brian were a bit more optimistic. Johnny would disappear every night and come back stumbling around drunk. Tonight was no exception.

“Honey, I’m home,” Johnny slurred, literally crawling up the steps at one in the morning. Jimmy and Zacky ignored him, continuing their conversation at the booth. Brian sighed, pulling himself out of his seat to help the bassist stand to his feet.

“How much did you drink?” Brian muttered as he tried to help him walk towards the bunks. Johnny couldn’t even take a full step before he was falling sideways. Of course he saw no problem with this, he was giggling the whole time.

“I out drank the fat guy! He was pissed!” Johnny snorted. Brian sighed, tossing Johnny onto the empty couch. He pouted at the four Brians now sitting on the other couch with two and a half Matts. “Hey! This isn’t my bunk.”

“If you want to go you have to get there yourself.” Johnny let out a dramatic sigh but tried to push himself up. He fell and tried again. After this happened three times he gave up, resting his head on a throw pillow.

“Johnny?”

“Hmm?” Johnny was starting to drift into dreamland. It was hard to concentrate on Zacky’s voice. He was remembering this sweet ass chick who was rubbing up on him at the bar. Needless to say, he tapped that. Maybe that was another reason he was so fucking tired, alcohol aside.

“Your daughter is seeing a psychiatrist. Figured you’d like to know.” Everyone who was sober glared at the chubby man. He shrugged, playing with his phone, probably texting his wife.

“That’s nice.” Everyone’s head now turned to Johnny, appalled looks on everyone’s face. Johnny was oblivious, his eyes still closed and cuddled up to the pillow. It was a wonder on how he was still awake.

“That’s all you have to say? ‘That’s nice’?” Brian demanded. He shocked even himself. He was usually the one to stay back when it came down to Marco, knowing Jimmy would be all over Johnny in moments, but not him. He shrugged it off and glared down the bassist.

“What else do you want me to say?” Johnny muttered, getting annoyed with Brian. He just wanted to sleep, not talk about Marco.

“That you actually give a damn? Want to know what the hell she’s there for? Something besides acting like you couldn’t care if she died?!”

“Fuck you Brian.” Johnny was yanked up by the front of his shirt and snapped his eyes open to see Brian standing above Johnny, a glare so cold he should be a popsicle by now. He shivered but was too afraid to break eye contact.

“You know what I think Johnny? You're a fucking pussy. It’s obvious you’ve been getting hammered so you don’t have to face Marco or anything that could even relate to her. You've been going out and screwing chicks so you can pretend to be in control of something. Well guess what, you’re in control of nothing. You don’t even deserve to be a father.”

Johnny shut his eyes, trying to will away the memory of his father saying the same final line. Johnny whispered out, “Don’t say that.”

“Did I hit a sore spot?” Brian mocked, his face turned into a cruel (fake) sympathetic face. His glare was quick to return, taking no pity on the bassist. “It’s true! You let Aaron and Winter fucking win. They’ve done everything in their power to send Marco packing and it worked. Feel like a man now? I hope Marco fucking disowns herself from you. You don’t amount to shit Johnny, you haven’t so far and you won’t later on.”

Now, of course, half the stuff Brian was saying was just talking out his ass, especially the part about Aaron and Winter since he didn’t truly know, but it seemed to work. Johnny’s body was shaking with silent sobs as tears made their way down his cheeks. Jimmy, of all people, noticed and frowned. “Brian, just let him go.”

“No, why the fuck should I? He deserves all of this,” Brian snapped. By now Johnny had hung his head in shame, muttering something over and over. Brian took notice, frowning and looking down at the crumpled body. “What?”

“I’m sorry Dad. I’ll do better. I’m sorry.” These three sentences were repeated over and over, getting louder each time. Soon Johnny was practically in hystericals. Brian let go, shock written all over his face at the bassist who was curling into a ball, face buried in his thighs. This was something none of his closest friends had ever seen. For lack of better things to think of to do Jimmy walked forward, scooping the broken man into his lap, rocking him back and forth. Just like he had done to Marco a few times in the past.

“It’s okay Johnny. Calm down. It’s alright.” He continued to mutter sweet nothings to the bassist. Within ten minutes the bassist was out cold. With his unconsciousness came the dead weight he was now stuck under. He made himself as comfortable as he could, his back resting against the couch Johnny had recently occupied. “What the fuck was that?”

“I think Johnny needs to see a psychiatrist too,” Matt remarked, staring at the sleeping bassist. He had never seen Johnny so vulnerable. He was always trying to be a badass, even when they were all hanging out. Vulnerable was never a word even associated with Johnny Seward.

“Has anyone even met Johnny’s parents?” Zacky’s question left everyone speechless.

“He told me once that his mother passed away and it was only his dad growing up. I had never met him though,” Brian piped up. Everyone looked back to the sleeping Johnny. Jimmy sighed and looked up hopefully to his friends.

“Someone help me out. My legs are falling asleep.” Matt obliged, raising up Johnny long enough for Jimmy to get out from under him. Matt grabbed his arms and Jimmy grabbed his legs, both working together to take the shortest of their band to his bunk. This left Brian and Zacky to share a silent conversation with their eyes.

“We’ll tell them tomorrow,” Zacky spoke, Brian nodding his head in agreement.



At four o’clock in the morning Marco sat on top of a very familiar warehouse. The same warehouse Phoenix had taken her to not too long ago. She had made a habit of coming here a lot. She sat, staring into the darkness that surrounded the area. Given there were a few street lights in the area, but none of them reached her where she was above the street.

“Marco?”

“Hey Fifi.” None other than Phoenix climbed up the ladder that reached the platform she sat on. He was using his phone for light and jumped a little as the light reached Marco. Her hair was practically falling out of her ponytail she had up and bags were under her eyes. She wore only short shorts, black Uggs, and a Vengeance University hoodie. “Thanks for coming.”

“Well the voicemail you left made it sound like you were never coming back. I had to come.” Marco smiled in spite of herself. Her sleep deprived mind had worded her thoughts wrong. She reminded herself to apologize later. “Marco, have you slept at all?”

“No. I lost my pills.” A smirk danced on her lips. By ‘lost her pills’ she meant she shove them in the bottom of the kitchen trash at Papa Gates’s house and then took it out to be picked up by the garbage man.

“And I know that is the polar opposite of what happened.” Marco stayed silent, confirming his suspicions. He sat next to her, slinging an arm over her shoulders. “What’s wrong Marco?”

“I need you to give me a smoke.” Phoenix was taken aback, staring at her wide eyed. “You can’t keep an obvious secret like that from your best friend.”

“Okay, fine. You caught me. But I’m not giving you any. Why would you need any?” Phoenix demanded, jumping into older brother mode - even though Marco was older. Besides the point.

“I could ask you the same.” Phoenix sighed, knowing he’d been cornered. Instead of pushing the subject he obliged, pulling the pack from his own hoodie’s pocket. Marco reached to grab one, but Phoenix grabbed her wrist first.

“Promise me that if you can breathe it down then you’ll stop, okay?” Marco sighed and nodded. He let go of her hand and waited until the cigarette was poised at her lips before lighting it up. She tried to inhale and entered a coughing fit. Phoenix didn’t do anything since it was a normal first reaction. After two more times he grabbed her hand that held the cigarette. “Marco, stop.”

“No! I have to do something to stop the voices. Maybe they'll leave me now!” Marco cried. Phoenix tossed the smoke over the building. He took Marco in close, tears streaming down her face. He stayed silent, unsure of what to do. Marco kept sobbing about the voices, something Phoenix didn’t know of. What was she resulting to?