Fragile Hearts

“Did I ever tell you that you fail at acting?” Jimmy says nonchalantly.

Brian furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”

“Your so-called kiss on the beach the other day? It sucked. I could see right through it.”

“That’s because you know what’s really going on, Jim.” Brian rolls his eyes.

“It didn’t fool anyone. Not when you leaned in looking like you were kissing your grandma.”

Brian grimaces, lifting his bottle of beer to his lips. It’s empty, and he catches himself at the last second about to call out for Michelle.

His mood sours even more, so he gets up off his chair and heads inside his house to grab another cold one before Jimmy can get another word in. He knows he shouldn’t have let Jimmy over to have a couple of beers in the back. Especially not when Jimmy asked.

Did he really look that repulsed when he kissed Kasey? Sure, he still wishes it were Michelle kissing him back, but Kasey isn’t hideous. Not by any means.

“I’m just sayin’, man,” the soft voice comes up behind him again.

Brian sighs. “Yeah, Jim. I get it. Just make out with her every second we’re around you guys so it’ll be more believable. ‘Cause that’s what I used to do with Michelle.”

Jimmy furrows his eyebrows. “That’s not what I’m saying, Bri. And you know it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Brian relents, pursing his lips.

“Here, I know the perfect distraction.” The tall, blue-eyed man rummages through Brian’s cabinets until he finds a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

Brian snorts. “Seriously, Jim?”

“And jamming, of course.”

“I don’t have a drum set.”

“But you have a piano,” Jimmy winks.

Hours after Jimmy leaves the house, Brian stumbles upstairs with an empty whiskey bottle into the kitchen. Jimmy’s idea had been a good one, especially since he let Brian have most of the bottle of Jack.

The answering machine on the kitchen counter flashes red with one new voicemail. Brian glares at it, not having heard the phone in the first place while he was in the basement with Jimmy. He really isn’t in the mood to listen to anyone, he just wants to go to bed and prepare for the hangover he knows will visit him tomorrow, but his finger presses the play button anyway.

And Michelle’s voice fills the kitchen.

“Hey Bri, I just wanted to call and see how you were doing. We haven’t spoken since you met Beau and I was hoping you were okay.”

Brian rolls his eyes. What a joke.

“My lawyer also told me that he never got the papers back from you. You haven’t even gotten a lawyer yet, have you?”

Brian hates how Michelle could be so calm about this. How she can talk to him so softly even when she wants something? That never happened when they were together. She would always whine and complain, even if jokingly, when he made her wait too long.

That bastard mechanic was changing her.

“Well, I really need those papers signed, Bri. Please.”

Suddenly, a giggle erupts from her end, causing Brian to clench his free hand.

The phone sounds like it is moved, and the voices come out muffled, but still audible. “B- stop! I’m almost done, I’ll be there in a sec.” Then the phone is shifted again. “Think about it, okay?”

Brian rips the answering machine from the counter, throwing it across the kitchen with a strangled yell. He knows it’s only the booze talking, but he can’t help the overwhelming anger and hatred he has for Beau. The way Michelle called him B. Fuck, she used to call Brian B. He hates how he stole her right from under him.

The empty bottle of Jack Daniels flies next, shattering against the tile floor.

Like hell he’ll sign those papers.

Brian picks up the cordless phone from the floor, that miraculously still works. The answering machine took most of the impact with the wall. And he dials Michelle’s cell.

“Hello?”

“Get your ass home right now, ‘Chelle.”

“Bri?”

“I said come home!” Brian yells. “You belong with me, not that fucking bastard!”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not fucking drunk and you’re not staying with that bastard any more!”

There’s a short silence, infuriating the guitarist.

“Answer me, Goddamn it!”

“Brian, I think you should call back tomorrow.”

“No, fuck you. You need to come home right fucking now!”

“Give me that,” a deeper voice invades the line. “Hey, look dude. Hang up and call back when you’re sober, okay?”

At the sound of his voice, Brian starts to see red.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you cock sucking-”

“If you call back, I’m calling the cops.”

And the line goes dead.

Brian screams again, throwing the phone. This time, it isn’t so lucky as the battery flies out. Hot tears sting his eyes as he tries not to let them go, slumping against the counter with his head in his hands. Defeated.