Healing

All John could think about was her. Her smell, her hair, the way her face lit up when she smiled, and, most of all, the way she kissed him. He missed her with all of his being.

That day marked the seventh week since she'd walked out his front door.

It was raining the day she left him, he remembered that. One of the first times in almost three months it'd rained in Tempe. He also remembered the look on her face when she told him she was done, that she couldn't handle this life anymore.

She said that she'd always love him, but never the way she did before.

John runs a hand over his face, before standing up and walking over to the window. While he had been remembering, rain had started to fall. More memories of her come rushing back. "Great," he murmurs, turning and making his way towards the kitchen.

His drinking has gotten worse. He had promised her that he'd stop, but he never did; that was one of the reasons she left. She couldn't handle the fact that he drowned all his problems in booze. John supposes that she probably wished that he would have talked to her about how he felt, but that's just never been the way he did things. He kept things bottled inside, for reasons he also liked to keep to himself.

He never imagined this would happen. Everyone figured they would get married. He thought they were really in love.

The days just got harder; he slept more than twelve hours a night and slept well after noon most times. The more he slept, the less he thought about her, which was fine with him. Sometimes, though, on one of those odd days when he wouldn't really drink at all (drinking made him fall asleep, which was another reason he enjoyed it so much), he would lay awake at night, thinking about her.

Often, he'd pace his bedroom when he couldn't sleep. One time, he'd gone so far as to punch the wall.

Things had just gotten so hard for John. He hadn't really been showering, and, since they were finished with their tour, he wasn't really doing anything with the guys. They were all spending time with each other and with their families, but he preferred to spend his time shut up at home, the curtains drawn. They'd all told him that he deserved better than her, and maybe that was true, but he didn't want anyone else. Kennedy had even tried to set him up with one of his friends, but John didn't get along with her. She had also pointed out how bad John smelled, so he'd laid down a fifty dollar bill for dinner and walked out of the restaurant. He knew he wouldn't have been able to handle much longer in her company.

Now, though, he's wishing that maybe he'd tried dating one of the few girls his friends had set him up with. He was so lonely. Even if he wouldn't admit it to himself, he missed the presence of another person on the other side of the bed that he was so used to waking up next to every morning. Some mornings, on those rare days he didn't sleep past noon, he would roll over and pat the bed, before realizing he was alone.

John now supposes that maybe it's not her that he actually misses, but the company of another person. His mom had told him to get a dog a few weeks ago, and he chuckles while he thinks of it. She was probably right.

Walking back into the living room, he sits on the couch with the bottle of scotch he'd forgotten to pour into a glass and sighs. How had he let his life become such a mess? It used to be all about the band, the music, the fans. His entire being had revolved around making people feel good. Now, he couldn't even make himself feel good. All he wanted to do was lay down in his bed and sleep for a week straight. He rarely talked to his parents or his brothers any more, which was strange. John had always been close with his family.

He had been getting skinnier, too. He'd always been scrawny, but now he was practically just skin and bones. Mealtime was hard, too, because all he could imagine was her dancing around the kitchen, baking and cooking everything she felt like. So, he just skipped meals and drank the pain away. That was easier than remembering.

John thought a lot about what he possibly could have done to make her stay. She was obviously set on leaving, though. He had talked to Jared the other day, who was very good friends with her, and Jared said that she'd left Tempe. That she had even thought about leaving the state of Arizona altogether.

He couldn't stomach the thought of ever having to face her again, so he was kind of grateful to know she had left.

John checked the clock on the wall. 6:15, it read. He sighed. Way too early to go to sleep yet. Maybe he'd take a walk. That always helped to clear his mind.

Suddenly, John realized that maybe he didn't want to clear his mind, because this pain was really all he'd known for the past few weeks. He sighed, stood, and walked to the door to take his walk.

He hadn't even realized that he'd left his scotch on the coffee table.

Maybe this was the first step to healing.