Symphonies of the Damned

There weren’t any words that could be used to describe my anger.
Just, fuck Jake.
I didn’t understand where he got off, that he thought he was allowed to talk down upon me.
To talk down upon Ashley.
He was being an inconsiderate bastard, who honestly believed he had a fucking right to talk like this.
Fuck!
Honestly, it would be a lot more reassuring if Jake was strictly religious and was raised to believe that way.
At least then, it was from an ‘It’s-What-I-Was-Taught’ standpoint.
But, no.
Instead, he was being a shallow jerk who was afraid of losing fans that didn’t even deserve to chant our name.
If the fans were homophobic cunts who believed it is okay to treat people like shit, then they weren’t fans of ours.
I just wanted to scream.
I wanted to scream bloody fucking murder and just let out every pent-up emotion I had ever felt.
Not just today, but for everything.
I had a child on the way; it was just a short six months before they were born and their innocent eyes would open.
I didn’t even know if I was responsible enough to be a father!
There were relationship issues and custody matters that needed to be resolved before I could even consider this.
Did Juliet even want me to lay a hand on this child?
I’ll be damned if she doesn’t.
Things had finally fallen into place with Ashley and we had kick-started our relationship to a wonderful start.
Who would have figured a day in a brooding city such as Seattle would be enough to bring such endeavoring emotions?
We had barely made it official when Jake decided he had to be a cunt about everything and just…
Ugh!
Have I said it before?
Whatever, I’ll say it again; fuck Jake!
There was a small part of me that felt bad for just walking off the bus and leaving Ashley to deal with the mess.
I had reached my breaking point.
I just couldn’t do it anymore, and I needed a moment by myself where I could just breathe.
Where I could just think.
There was a faint vibration coming from my phone, letting me know I had an incoming text message.
I didn’t bother checking it.
The bottle of whiskey was snuggled against my chest, hidden inside the flap of my leather jacket.
I wasn’t about to be arrested for public drinking.
Not when I wasn’t drunk yet.
I wasn’t entirely sure where we were; I knew it was a fairly large city with a lot of tall buildings and buzzing highways.
It was the middle of a modernized city; three times as big as Seattle.
I didn’t know where I was.
Quite frankly, I didn’t even care right now.
I just needed time.
I knew where the tour bus was parked, and I knew where the hotel we were staying at was.
Well, I knew the name of it anyway.
It was still fairly cold; my jacket wasn’t enough to keep me warm and I had chosen the skinnies with the most rips.
Fuck.
I was too skinny to retain any heat, and I was paying for that.
Just, fuck.
The soles of my gray Vans scraped against the concrete as I shuffled my way through the busy streets.
I just wanted to find a place where there wouldn’t be too many people.
Ugh.
I avoided the direction of the venue, where our fans were eagerly awaiting the sold-out show which would begin soon.
Just an hour to think.
There were coffee shops, bars, and cafes lining the sides of the streets; full of frazzled people chatting away, and pretending to have a life.
Full of miserable and lonely people, drinking away any problems.
Full of pretending teenagers, taking their so-called love interests out on their first dates, only to cease communicating the next day.
Wow.
Aren’t we just full of sunshine today?
Must be the whiskey speaking.
Thinking of, I pulled the bottle out of its hiding place and marveled in its beauty.
It was like liquid fire.
Unscrewing the broken cap, I let its bittersweet contents glide down my throat and leave behind a burning feeling.
It’s just what I needed.
Leaning against the copper-stoned walls, I finished off the gleaming bottle in front of all the innocent passerby’s.
Whatever.
I was just another Jack Skellington-like creature with dark eyes and a tall, lanky body to follow.
I was just another rock-star wannabe with heavy tattoos and shimmering piercings to match.
I was just another brooding man with black clothing and an empty bottle of alcohol in his shaking hands.
Who the fuck cared?
We all had our own problems to deal with, and I didn’t need anybody staring at me for the way I dealt with mine.
When the bottle was empty, I let my fingers uncurl and smiled when the glass shattered beneath me.
Bending down, I picked up a piece of glass.
Turning it in my hands, I watched as the setting sun glinted off the splintered edge with a colorful light.
I wonder…what would it feel like?
Would its cutting edge hurt as much as knowing my so-called best friend didn’t accept me for who I was?
Would it hurt me as much as knowing I had destroyed a perfect relationship and lost possible rights to my child?
Would it hurt me as much as all the pain and bullshit I was forced through when I was in high school?
Clenching my fingers around the useless crystal, I let out a hiss as the broken shard pierced into my palm.
Letting the glass fall, I watched the ribbon of blood escape.
Huh.
So that’s what it felt like.
My head was spinning, both from alcohol and all these whirling thoughts.
It was a physical pain.
Honestly, it was an immense relief to feel something physical instead of pure mental turmoil and distress.
It felt nice actually, to feel something different.
I’m not sure what I was thinking when I decided to cut into my palm with the glass, but it felt nice.
These were just the ramblings of a drunken man.
A confused, drunken man.
I didn’t know what I was going to do about Jake…or Juliet. I didn’t know what I was going to do about anything.
Everything was just getting to me; all the stress.
The only thing that made me happy was Ashley, but Jake wouldn’t let me have a single moment of sincerity.
Stumbling away from the broken bottle, I continued my walk.
I stopped in front of a bar.
The same bar my darkened mind had pointed out all the miserable and depressed people drinking away.
People like me.
Liking the idea of more poison in my veins, I followed my instinct and stepped inside the dank place.
It smelled wretched; of burning alcohol, vomit, and sweat.
It didn’t matter.
Heading towards the half-lit bar, I waved down the bartender and mumbled out the first drink I remembered.
He nodded, turning his back to me and began preparing my drink.
When he turned back, he was placed a tall glass with an amber liquid and a sugar-coated rim.
Pretty.
I drank it pretty quickly, barely registering the sweet and orange-y taste it drowned my tongue in.
I wasn’t here for flavor.
I just wanted to get fucking wasted.
When the drink was finished, I settled on a glass of straight whiskey this time.
My poison of choice.
The liquor was fresh; with a sharper taste than I remembered.
I loved it.
When I finished a second glass, I pulled out a couple crumbled bills and tossed them on the countertop.
I tripped against a crack on the floor, causing a blush to form on my cheeks.
Fuck.
I couldn’t even walk straight.
It was worth it though, if it gave me a peace of mind and let me forget all about…all about…
I couldn’t even remember what the problem was.
Perfect.
My phone was still vibrating, but I couldn’t remember how to work the pockets of my skinny jeans.
Not that I could remember the passcode anyway.
Trudging through the darkened skies, I let out a gasp of realization.
The show.
“Alone at night you…you, for everyone who’s hurt you…” I sung out softly, trying to remember the words.
Oh, well.
It’s not like I could remember the damn lyrics anyway.
“I’m just trying to breathe, just trying to figure it out, because I built these walls…just to watch them crumbing down.” I made up.
“That was pretty good.”
“Thanks.” I answered the faceless voice.
It was a random arrangement of words I had made up on the spot.
“Yeah, what’s a pretty boy like you doing wandering these streets all by himself?” another voice spoke up.
Looking up, I caught sight of four burly guys surrounding me.
I didn’t want to seem stereotypical, but I couldn’t help but internally smirk as I took in the charcoal-colored bodies of the three tattooed men, and the slightly-ripped physique of the white man.
Wannabe wangster.
“What are you laughing at?” he demanded, adjusting his red snapback before cracking his knuckles.
I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips.
This guy…
He was trying so hard to be accepted by the other guys, he just wanted to make a good impression.
I was ruining that for him.
You could tell by the frustrated glint in his faded blue eyes as he took in the other men’s amusement.
“You.” I spit out, biting back a smile.
“I’ll give you something to laugh about!” he sneered, taking a supposed-to-be menacing step toward me.
“Jesus Christ, this is going to be good.” I stumbled out, letting out a drunken laugh and shaking my head.
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, fucker!” he continued, throwing himself at me.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Could this get any better?
I couldn’t stop the booming laughter that erupted from my chest as I stumbled backwards under his weight.
He was an avid church-goer too!
“Show him who’s boss, Chris!” one of the heavier men cheered on. “Let that fucker know who he’s dealing with.”
“What are you, afraid?” I taunted, turning my smirk towards him. “Think you’d be bad in a fight, that you’d send this…twat in your place?”
Twat?
Seriously, I couldn’t come up with something better than twat?
I need to stop hanging out around Danny.
“What did you just say?” the dark man seethed, taking a step closer.
“I said, you’re a cunt.”
Not only that, but I needed to learn to keep my damn mouth shut. All it ever did was get me in fucking trouble.
I hadn’t noticed they were herding me away from the public eye and behind a run-down building.
“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chris demanded.
“A faggot?” I asked lightly, grinning like an idiot.
Dear fuck, I need to stop letting the whiskey speak for him. This was wrong; all wrong.
“What the fuck!”
I heard the resonating slap before I felt it.
It was like a thousand needles pressing against my cheek, before turning into a lit match and an open flame.
Fuck, that hurt.
The impact was intense enough, I assumed you could see each individual fingerprint on his calloused hands.
“Wow, you even hit like a faggot.” I teased, swallowing back the pain.
“You’re going to regret that.”
It wasn’t Chris, or the other guy.
In fact, it was the tallest one of the dark trio who was glaring at me with furious eyes and a tight-lipped smile.
I was fucked.
He stepped up, pressing me against the back of the building before offering a gentle grin.
“I’m assuming you’re the dipshit’s bodyguard?” I asked, mocking the first one.
“Devon is my fucking brother…” he seethed. “And no one talks to my bro that way, you little cunt.”
I was staring into his coal-colored eyes, starting to tower in fear.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into?
There was a sharp pressure against my arm, and it occurred to me I wasn’t wearing my jacket anymore.
I must have left it in the bar.
Fuck!
The soft feeling turned into a burning slash, before it turned warm and I felt something thick trickle down my arm.
Tearing my stare away from Devon’s brother, I focused on the unknown feeling happening.
There was blood running from a wide gash on my upper arm.
How the fuck…
Light glinted off the welded metal, catching my attention towards the weapon that sliced through my skin.
It was a pocket knife, being firmly grasped in this man’s hand.
“Well, fuck.” I mumbled.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Chis smirked, trying to act all tough.
Okay, he was really irritating.
“Shut up asshole.” I muttered, glaring at his anger-causing face. “All of you, just shut the fuck up already. Fucking useless cunts, think you’re so cool when you’re not even capable of anything.
Especially you Devon.” I sneered. “You have to send your fucking brother to help you out because you’re that incapable?”
Fuck.
Drunken ramblings, please disconnect from my mouth before I say the wrong thing one more time.
“You want to see that I’m capable of?” Devon questioned, pushing his brother out of the way. “I’ll show you.”
He landed a solid punch to my gut, knocking the air out of me.
“Pussy.” I gasped out, trying to breath.
Anger flushed his cheek as he kicked me to the ground and held me in place with a foot over my ribs.
“You asked for it, mother-fucking bastard!”
His foot was grinding down, bruising my skin and cutting off my air.
Fuck.
My phone started vibrating again, but I sure as hell wasn’t able to answer it at this very second.
“I’m going to show you what I can do…” Devon seethed, leaning down to get in my face and whisper menacingly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own jackknife.
Unfolding it, he pressed it against my neck and let the cold edge rest against my Adam’s apple.
“Then…I’m going to kill you.”