You Are Exactly My Brand of Heroin

I stared down at my TOMS-clad feet with my hands tied behind my back as I sat at the foot of the hospital bed. Brian watched the commotion going on outside of our room as he, too, sat at the foot of his bed in the same position I was in. I could hear the soft sound of my brother's voice outside as he conversed with English-speaking policemen. I listened as best as I could to the details that were audible of Matt's story, and so did Brian, hoping he never incorrectly accused either of us. The policeman I assumed Matt had been speaking with entered the room, greeting us.

He reached for the pen and pad he kept in his pocket, and with a thick, French accent, said, "You must be the lovely couple." We avoided each other's gaze as the man spoke to me first. "What is your name, ma'am?" I answered every question he asked with complete honesty, telling my side of the story without interference from Brian, and I listened while Brian answered his questions and told his story. The policeman left the room, leaving myself and Brian alone again.

Brian stared at me, though I kept my gaze fixed on my swaying feet. "This shouldn't have happened, Abby," he said. "What on Earth could bring us to this point?"

"We could start with your fist meeting my jaw," I replied, my eyes finally connecting with his. He sighed as he stood, pacing the floor in front of me. We were both in relatively good condition now, seeing as we adorned a grand total of twelve stitches: six in each of us. My jaw had begun to swell and bruise, my skin turning every shade of black and purple, and Brian's right eye was slightly discolored and bloodshot from the altercation he'd, apparently, been in with Matt.

He stopped pacing for a brief moment, and when he began again, he said, "I never meant to do this to you. I would never put my hands on you in this way under any circumstances, but tonight, I just... I couldn't control my anger." It was easy to forgive him in this situation, because I, too, was guilt for maiming him, as well, but I couldn't. He is a man, and I am a woman. He physically assaulted me, though throwing a bottle of tequila at him would also be considered physical assault, and I'll never forget this night. "I'm so sorry, Abby. I don't ever expect you to forgive me for this, but I've forgiven you, because I still love you. I'll always love you."

I watched the tears falling from his eyes as they fell from my own. "I'll always love you, too, Brian, but I may never be able to trust you again. This... this is devastating, and we need time apart. We need time to heal, so I'm catching the next flight to the United States as soon as we get out of here." He simply nodded in response as the police entered with Matt, who was still in handcuffs, in tow.

"From the evidence I've collected, you are the victim. Am I correct?" the man asked me. I glanced between Brian and the policeman, remaining still as he awaited an answer. I wasn't going to reply, because he was only asking for a confirmation. Both myself and Brian could be considered victims, which meant that Matt's story had been altered. His opinion was biased, solely based on my being a woman and his sister. "Would you like to press charges against Mr. Haner?" To that, I negatively replied. I couldn't bring myself to face a court to make accusations against the man I loved. "In that case, you're all free to go," the man said as he began to release all of us. Matt grabbed my arm as soon as the both of us were free, guiding me out of the room.

Jimmy entered as we left, escorting Brian in the opposite direction. "We need to talk," he said.

Brian nodded and replied, "I know."

We were greeted by Val at the automatic doors, who immediately threw her arms around Matt's neck and showered him with kisses. I stood aside, allowing them to have a moment alone together after this tragic night. I could see the fear in Val's eyes at the hotel. She was terrified, because these strange people were taking the man she loved away from her, and it was all my fault. Everything that happened tonight was my fault, and I couldn't deny that it was so. Had I just listened to Brian rather than provoking him, we could all be comfortably tucked away in our beds, sleeping until noon tomorrow. I leaned against a nearby wall, crossing my arms over my chest. I watched along the hallway as nurses and doctors hurried along, checking their pagers, and through the crowd, I could see Brian and Jimmy at the opposite end. Brian simply hung his head as Jimmy shouted at him, Zach and Johnny standing by for good measure. It was so difficult to resist the urge to run to him, to hold him in my arms again, but I had to remember the weight of his actions. As the tears began to fall again, Matt took me under his arm, guiding me out into the Paris darkness.

I could barely see the words I was writing as the tears fell onto the paper. My flight was leaving in an hour, but I remained in the same position, contemplating exactly how I was going to do this. This was one of the most difficult moments in my life, because instead of moving forward, I was taking several steps backward. I had no other choice, though. Brian and I needed some time apart, and to allow myself sufficient time and space to heal, I had to do this. I sighed as I wiped the tears from cheek, reaching for my bags and the note I had just managed to write along with my ring. I left my room silently, clutching my possessions to my chest as I slowly walked to Brian's room. I stood before his door for a long time, kneeling and placing the note and the ring under his door some time later. I sauntered to the elevator as the tears began to fall again, thinking only of Brian.

I arrived in Los Angeles only to be greeted by my parents. My mother burst into hysterical tears the moment I entered her view while my father simply watched after me with sympathy. Astonishingly, I found Papa Gates and Suzy standing behind them, leaning against the car. I, immediately, released my mother, running into their arms as tears spilled from my eyes. Papa Gates allowed me to cry into his chest as I clutched onto him, Suzy gently rubbing my back.

"I still love him," I managed to say. "I'll always love him."

I could feel the vibrations and hear the rumbling inside Papa Gates's chest as he laughed, replying, "That's the horror of it all, sweetheart. You should never love a man with the audacity to put his hands on you in a violent fashion. I never raised Brian to do such a thing as this, and neither did Suzy. I won't make excuses for him, and I certainly won't let this stand. How could he do this to a woman, especially you?"

Wiping my eyes, I asked, "Are my parents angry with you two?" I avoided his question, uncertain of an answer I could give to him.

"They seem perfectly fine, honey. We talked with them last night after your brother called. They know you love Brian, and they were able to set our differences aside for your sake," Suzy answered.

I sighed in relief. "I'm glad. I don't want this to change things. I want to reconcile with Brian in the future, but my parents have to be forgiving in order for that to happen."
Suzy brushed a thick strand of loose hair away from my eyes as I turned to face her. "Everyone is being given the chance to recuperate, and by the time the boys come home, things may change. Your parents may see your love for Brian through a different perspective then, but for now, let them release their anger. He deserves this."

Papa Gates kissed the top of my head as he added, "Let's go. You need to rest."

I was met by Grams and Gramps as soon as we arrived at my parents' home. Grams reacted the very same way my mother had while Gramps talked with my father. Grams insisted on examining every inch of my body, closely investigating every scratch and bruise left behind. Dinner had been prepared for all of us with a room calling my name upstairs. My parents insisted that I stay with them until I had healed, but I refused. I wanted to move into mine and Brian's new home as soon as possible. It lacked a personal touch, and I'd decided to make the remodeling a project of my very own. I could already smell the fresh paint, feel the brush in my hand. I needed a creative outlet, and this was my opportunity. Only one obstacle blocked my path: my parents.

---

I was startled awake, the nightmares hurtling me into a state of reality. I sat up, searching the room for any sign of life, but it was barren and empty. I crawled out of the bed, and as I did so, I noticed the note with a familiar item attached lying on the floor. I walked over to the door, sitting on the floor as I reached for the paper. The diamond ring fell to the hardwood floor as I read Abby's familiar cursive handwriting:

Never say never, because never is the opposite of forever.

"What have I done?" I asked myself as I reached for the ring, the single diamond sparkling in the sunlight. "What have I done?"

---

I spent my days painting every wall in our home while the contractors I'd hired demolished a wall upstairs between one of the guest rooms and the new studio. After deep contemplation, I decided to maximize the size of the studio, knowing that everyone would benefit from its capacity. I rarely made contact with the outside world unless mine or Brian's parents or Grams and Gramps came to visit, leaving my BlackBerry on silent at all times of the day. I never once replied to any of the text messages or answered any of the calls I received, needing time alone. Occasionally, I spoke to them men slaving away in my home, providing them with food and refreshments when necessary, but I spent most of my time with cans of paint, an assortment of brushes, and blank canvases.

My attire was always simple: a paint splattered tank top with matching shorts or sweat pants and bare feet. My hair remained in a messy ponytail at all times, adorning a plethora of colors due to the paint, just like my clothing. I retired to the jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom at night, relaxing inside the white walls. Everything in the entire bathroom was white with purple accents, including the towels and candles. The color of the room allowed me to clear my mind at the end of the day and wake with an empty conscience the following morning, prepared to endure endless hours of tiring creativity. I had found my niche, my place of healing. The wounds had begun to close, only scars left behind as a constant reminder, but the memories remained. I felt as though I'd been in rehabilitation in the past weeks, recovering from the trials and tribulations of life itself. This time alone without interference from another living soul was peaceful, grounding.

When I wasn't pouring over an untouched wall, I was outside on the patio writing new songs. My creativity had reached its peak in more ways than one, bubbling into masterpieces and legends. I'd written handfuls of songs, others lying unfinished in several notebooks. I'd pieced others together, altering parts to fit others. I'd transposed each piece from the piano to guitar to bass to the drums to vocals. I'd written every last note down, triple checking each one. I had more than enough songs to release over five albums, but none of the music sounded like any of the previous songs I'd ever published. It wasn't average Chapter Four music by any means. It was... it was something else, something unknown, something never meant to be sung by me or played by my band. These pieces were mine, but they belonged to someone else, they spoke to the soul of someone other than myself. I quickly deciphered the message my body and soul had been sending to my mind, finally understanding the reasoning behind the feeling of lack of ownership of these songs, and when I had organized my thoughts once more, I called a meeting between myself, my band mates, and Taylor, via Skype, the very same day, which is today.

I sat on the floor of the newly remodeled, freshly painted studio, scrawling lyrics onto the walls with a silver Sharpie as I waited for my friends to arrive. The walls were jet black with only natural lighting and the glow of candles to aide my hand in writing the words. The contractors had finished the room just today, and I was very excited about decorating the interior. I'd been staring at these walls for so long that a few candles had burned to the core, a pool of scolding wax left behind to harden. The scent of vanilla wafted through the room, out the door, and down the stairs, covering the stench of the seven Sharpies I had already used. Sweat dripped from my body due to the heat that seemed to be forever caged inside the room as I continued my arduous task, and as I finished the final verse of the last song, my friends arrived. I could hear their voices echoing inside the foyer downstairs as I capped the Sharpie I'd been using, tossing it into the trash can as I left the room.

I found each of my friends sauntering around the foyer, staring in absolute wonder at the marvels I'd painted in the past few weeks. They all seemed to be astounded and amazed by the intricate details and bursts of color, speechless for a moment until Garrett noticed me at the foot of the stairs. He smiled as he jogged over to me, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around my torso. "Why didn't you call us a month ago, Abby?" he questioned as he released me, still gripping my upper arms. I had told them all about the incident between myself and Brian over the phone a few days ago when I requested this meeting. They were angry, of course, but they see my reasoning for still loving Brian.

I shrugged as I replied, "I needed some time alone. I'd already been bombarded with a million questions, and I didn't want to anger anyone else at the time."

Changing the subject, Ciara gestured to the walls and asked, "Did you paint all of this?" I only nodded in response.

"This is amazing, Abbs," Logan added.

With a smile, I said, "Thank you. I've spent weeks doing this, but I've enjoyed myself. I've also been writing, which brings me to the reason for all of you being here. I'd like to show you all a few examples of the things I've written." I guided the group upstairs to the master bedroom where piles of papers rested on the floor, others scattered across the bed. I grabbed a few of the stacks, placing them in each of my friends' hands. I sat in silence as they read the material, connecting with Taylor on my laptop.

She cheerfully greeted me. "Hi, sweetheart!" she said. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine, honey. How are things on the road?"

She sighed, her perfect smile disappearing. "They're alright, but they'd be even better with you here. We rarely laugh anymore. We never have parties or go out to clubs. It's all work and no play without you."

I nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't bare to force you to part from Zach again."

Chewing on her lower lip, she said, "I don't think I could bare to part from him, either. We're inseparable now." There was silence for a moment, but Taylor immediately spoke again. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

I explained to her about the group being here as they all finished reading the lyrics. I took a deep, cleansing breath as I began, "This past year has been the longest year of my entire life. It's been very hectic, and I wouldn't have survived without all of you. We're all getting older, and our lives are changing, including mine. We're thinking more about our future than we are the present, and with the respect of my future husband and the family will intend to have, I have made the painful decision of resigning my position as the lead vocalist of Chapter Four." Everyone stared at me with confused expressions as they still clutched the endless stacks of paper.

"Why? Why would you leave us after writing all of this fantastic material? Why, Abby?" Brett questioned.

I sighed as I continued, "I was eighteen when I made the decision to start my own band. I'm twenty-four now, and I'm engaged to be married to the man of my dreams, who also happens to be in a band. I can't handle being on the road without him, just as he can't handle being without me. We may be at ends today, but tomorrow is questionable. Life changes just as we do. I've already contacted Ben, and I've arranged auditions for next weekend to find a new vocalist."

"How could you desert everyone like this?" Taylor asked.

Shaking my head, I replied, "I'm not deserting anyone. I've found my true calling in these papers, writing songs for the most talented musicians to perform. I want to be a songwriter, not a performer, and I'd be honored for all of you and your new vocalist to perform my songs."

Jordan seemed a bit offended. "It's in your blood to perform, Abby. You've inherited so much of your talent from your brother. How will he react to this?"

"It's not his life; therefore, he doesn't make the decisions. Besides, he would support me. He loves his career, but he knows as well as I do that the cons outweigh the pros in this situation," I said. "I've made my final decision, and I won't change my mind. I want this. I want this for myself, for Brian, for all of you. I want this for everyone's sake. You may not understand my reasoning now, but you'll see things the way I do someday."

Garrett smiled, "I think it's wonderful." Everyone, including Taylor, seemed to be astonished by his words. "She isn't moving away, and she doesn't have a terminal illness," he continued, speaking to his sister and all of our friends. "She'll always be here for us, because she'll always play an enormous role in our song writing process. She'll always be credited for her hard work and devotion to this band, because she isn't giving up, she isn't deserting us. She's living her life, and every single one of us should be happier than we have ever been for her."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I enveloped Garrett in a tight hug. "Thank you so much for understanding, Garrett. You're the best friend I have ever had. Thank you again."

He laughed. "You're welcome, Abbs."

Taylor cleared her throat, everyone's attention shifting to her. "Speaking as your best friend of the opposite gender, I support you one hundred and ten percent. If I were in your position, I would do the very same for Zach. I'd do anything for Zach, as a matter-of-fact, just as Logan would do for Ciara and Brett would do for Natalie. Love is a sick, twisted emotion, but it's heavenly at the same time. If anything has ever been a deciding factor in life, it's love, and because that is so, I'm resigning my position as the manager of Chapter Four."

"We understand now, Tay," Natalie said. "It's just going to be really difficult to find two people as amazing as the both of you are to fill your positions."

I smiled at Natalie as I added, "We'll be there every step of the way to help all of you. You can always rely on us."

"I'll save the date, but right now, I have to go. We're at the hotel. I love you all!" Taylor said, instantly signing off.

---

I lay as still as a corpse in my bunk, staring at the ceiling. I could hear the commotion brewing outside the privacy curtain, listening to Abby's voice emanating from Taylor's laptop in the bottom bunk across the aisle. Her voice was like music to my ears. I closed my eyes, imagining her beauty. She must look fantastic now, assuming that all of her wounds have healed, though she was beautiful regardless. All I had to remember her by was her engagement ring with the handwritten note attached, which I constantly kept in my pocket, and the scar she'd left on my cheek. I was desperate to see her, and even though her image was only feet away, I couldn't bring myself to look at her. I feared her reaction, her hatred for me. Though she had always been a very forgiving person, it was nearly impossible for her to not still be harboring a certain degree of anger, for which I couldn't blame her.

She has every right to hate me for as long as she lives, but I have hope. The words she'd left me with only gave me strength in reconciling with her, because our souls are connected. We're destined to be together, though fate keeps trying to tear us apart. She's my soul mate, the woman of my dreams, and I need her to survive. I've made yet another mistake, which makes this the second of three strikes, and I'm not certain that I trust myself enough to ask for her forgiveness. I want her to be my fiancee again, to be my wife so badly that my heart physically aches, but I can't let myself do this to her any longer. I'm torn between logic and desire, right and wrong, good and bad. I want to be the one for her, but I'm a poison in her veins, a toxic gas filling her lungs. I can only harm, not heal.

My thoughts were interrupted as Taylor pushed the privacy curtain aside. "You're a lucky man, Brian Haner. You are a very lucky man, and you absolutely disgust me."

"Haven't we already had this discussion, Taylor?" I asked, rubbing my temples.

She scoffed, ignoring my question as she continued, "She still loves you. She quit our band just for you. I'll never understand her outlook on life, but it must be pretty damn good to still love the useless bastard that you've become." She slammed the curtain closed, climbing into the bunk she shared with Zach again. I didn't want to be pompous and egotistical, but I couldn't hide my smile. She still loves me, and that's all that matters.