Ugly on the Inside

On the outside John seemed calm and collected. He was the ultimate ladies man, spitting out poetic lines that could charm any girl back to his overpriced apartment. All he had to do was recite a few lines he remembered from a philosophy textbook he had been forced to study freshman year of college, and she was on his couch soaking up a Planet Earth DVD. It sounded odd that he played the television series his grandmother had given him one Christmas, more so because he'd never actually seen the movie all the way through. The opening scene of a mother polar bear caring for her cubs just did something to girls, something he credited his younger brother for teaching him, and they were back in his bedroom before the first episode had even finished.

John O'Callaghan was more than just a womanizer, however. For many of his friends he was the first person they would call when they were in need because he was always ready to listen, and on more than one occasion had dropped everything to hop into his old white truck and race over to lend a desperately needed helping hand.

Just like any young 20-something male, he enjoyed his one night stands, but he also understood how a woman deserved to be treated. He was the type of boy parents were overjoyed with when their daughter brought him home to meet them, the kind of son parents always bragged about raising.

During the day, John was completely dedicated to writing music and practising with his band. Writing lyrics seemed like the perfect escape to let out his inner demons into songs that he hoped other people could relate to as well. He liked the idea of touching someone else's life whom he had never really met, letting people around the world know, through his band's music, that you weren't the only one out there suffering. It wasn't so much about forgetting about the dark days, but rather using them to appreciate the good days as well.

But this was just sober John, the mask he had spent years building and perfecting so that no one would ever think twice about how he really felt.

But when John drank he became a whole other person. He slipped back into the dark and twisted past that haunted him, the exact memories he had spent so much time convincing others that he had long since moved on from. He had perfected hiding his pain so well, but as his blood alcohol concentration climbed, his confidence shattered.

No longer the life of the party, John became angry and disrespectful towards everyone around him. Everything set him off, sending him into an angry downward spiral. The people he considered to be his best friends became targets for his built up rage, and women became objects that just reminded him of her.

Try as he might to forget, when John closed his green eyes all he saw were her piercing ocean blue ones staring back at him. Those beautiful eyes that seemed to be burned into his eyelids, waiting for him as his eyes fluttered shut, mirrored just how John felt on the inside. Once the most breathtaking shade of the Caribbean Sea, those blue eyes were now always just full of sorrow and disappointment.

John's cynical party ways had become notorious, and almost expected, since the night a few months ago when he had completely dropped his guard and let himself slip. He had thrown all of Tim Kirch's brand new patio furniture into the pool as he screamed and hollered out to no one in particular about how this had all been her fault. Ever since this night, friends and strangers alike were quick to replace his beer bottles with cups of water, and eventually his name began to get skipped over altogether when compiling invite lists for parties.

On this particular July night, John was trying a new strategy. He was going to drink until those blue eyes that were carved into his memory began to blur away, or until his heart finally gave out. He wasn't too picky, he would settle for whichever option came first.

This party had been thrown together to celebrate his friends in This Century having completed their album, at least he assumed they were still friends. Joel Kanitz had seemed wary over the phone as he extended an invite to John, and rightfully so. It had been Joel's girlfriend who John had screamed at, drunkenly mistaking her for the girl who had torn him apart internally and started this whole thing.

His band mates just didn't know what to make of this whole situation since they had been under the foolish impression that John had been fine for so long. His erratic and sudden demise had caught them all off guard, that they just silently avoided him hoping if they ignored the issue at hand it would disappear on its own.

Nowadays, sober John was around less and less, and drunk John refused to socialize with anyone. His overemotional mother called him everyday to make sure he was still alive and breathing, begging him to come over for dinner, but he knew it was just a set up for an intervention. And as far as John was concerned he didn't have a problem, Calista Briar was a problem, but she was most certainly not his problem, at least not anymore.

Tonight's party was taking place at the small townhouse Joel was currently living in, only a few blocks over from John's posh Chandler, Arizona apartment. He had started with a few shots before he left his place, just to get himself warmed up and ready to party before he arrived. A few shots turned into a couple beers as a warm buzz took over his tall frame, shoving his feet into a worn out pair of cowboy boots and stumbling down the stairs. By the time John had arrived at the Kanitz residence, the party already well underway, his vision was beginning to blur at the corners, and he could feel his mind beginning to separate from his body.

Auto pilot took over John's body as he smiled and politely greeted those around him, masking his increasingly intoxicated state well. Exchanging a congratulations with each member of This Century, John felt it was now socially acceptable to begin drinking, not bothering to take into account the previous alcohol he had consumed. He was unsure of what time it actually was, just that the sun had long since set, and the occasional couple were stumbling out of the house preparing to return home for the night.

Mixing drinks with more alcohol than whatever else it was he was supposed to be adding, familiar faces shot him disapproving glances. This was all just a dull routine for John by now. He let the faces blur together as he focused all his attention on the way the alcohol burned as it coated his throat.

He wasn't sure who it had been that placed the call for help, but as John reached for another beer from one of the coolers that was set on the kitchen counter, the face of his younger brother, Ross, surfaced in the crowd of people. Without hesitation, Ross grabbed the beer from John's shaky hands, discarding it onto the counter. The tall blonde boy was practically a spitting image of his elder brother, save for the anger evident in his dull blue eyes. This wasn't the first time the middle O'Callaghan brother had been called upon to escort John home after he slipped into his angry drunken state, and he began to lose hope more and more each time that it was going to be the last time.

At this point, Ross saved himself the speech, knowing his words were just going to go unheard any ways, and grabbed the sleeve of his brother's shirt and began to drag him towards the front of the house where his old black BMW was waiting. It was useless to try and do anything other than let John collapse into the back seat as the boy slipped in and out of a drunken comatose state. It was so routine, that no one at the party even blinked as Ross slid into the front seat of the car, the engine roaring to life.

Once back at John's apartment, Ross helped him up the staircase again, a permanent frown evident on his face. John had at one point been everything Ross dreamed of being. They had been so close, and were each other's role models, life long best friends. At first it had broken Ross' heart that his brother was shutting him out at such a crucial time in his life, but his anger eventually just left him numb and completely indifferent to anything his brother did. Ross didn't even hope the old John would return anymore, all he could do was try his best to protect their youngest brother, Shane, doing his best to shelter him from discovering the self-destructive mess that John had become.

Ross followed the drunk boy into the kitchen, throwing a couple slices of bread into the toaster, knowing toast was his brother's favourite late night snack. It was a half-hearted attempt at showing compassion, but Ross couldn't abandon his own flesh and blood altogether that quickly.

As John slumped into a kitchen chair he let his limp arms dangle uselessly at his sides. Drinking wasn't even enjoyable for him anymore, it was just yet another thing she had ruined for him. His eyes began to droop closed, those piercing blue eyes meeting him once again.

"I still see her." John spoke up, his own voice seeming so foreign to him as it cut through the thick silence in the kitchen.

Ross remained silent as he buttered the freshly toasted bread, hoping if he didn't engage him John's ramblings would end.

"She's everywhere, Ross." John pleaded as his brother finally turned around to face him. He didn't understand why no one seemed to care anymore. They all were just moving on with their lives as if she had never existed, and it enraged him. "Every time I close my eyes all I see is Cali."

"You better be talking about the state." Ross warned, carelessly tossing the plate of toast onto the table.

"Calista!" John groaned out in frustration.

"Don't start, John." Ross fished his car keys out the pocket of his jeans, watching as his brother shoved the first piece of toast in his mouth. This was the usual part of the night where Ross would leave his brother to sober up, occasionally stopping by in the morning to make sure he had lasted through the night. However, tonight he lingered in the kitchen awhile longer, watching his brother's eyes soaking up his surroundings.

"I wish I could just talk to her one last time, y'know? Let her know I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I let her down."

Ross shook his head, silencing his drunk brother. "She's gone, bro." There was no other way to word it, even though it hurt him to watch John flinch as the words left his mouth. "And this-" Ross paused to wave his arm dramatically at their surroundings. "isn't going to stop until you realize that Calista isn't coming back."