The Rhythm of Our Broken Hearts (Andy/Matt)

Chapter Eight: Waltz Moore

Andy ended up crying himself to sleep, his bottle of whiskey almost empty. The tears falling silently onto his pillow, not wanting anyone to hear him. He kept checking his phone, waiting for a text from Matt, something to fill the hole that had opened up in his heart from the man’s absence. He didn’t blame him for walking away, Andy knew that he made it almost impossible for anyone to be around him.

Matt was too good for him; he would just bring him down. Andy knew he was heading towards rock bottom; he just didn’t know when he’d hit the ground. When would his fall from grace come, when the whole world would see that he was nothing but a shell of a person? Too concerned with what others thought of him to actually live.

The drinking made him forget the reality of what he didn’t want to face. That he didn’t like women, that he never had, and he’d known that since Catholic school. That he was destroying his body every day by eating like shit, binge drinking, getting high, and hardly sleeping. So many people who claimed to love him didn’t even know him and the one person who probably did love him, he’d pushed away. None of that he could handle sober, that was the worst thing in the world to be.

That’s why when he woke up at ten A.M. the next morning, he went straight to the liquor cabinet to grab a bottle of wine. Jake had attempted to say something about it being too early, but he shut up when Andy shot him a warning glare. The singer’s bloodshot eyes clearly showing that he was going through something.

The buses had all stopped at some cheap diner for lunch, by which time Andy was already pretty wasted. John had taken the wine bottle from him, insisting that he couldn’t bring it in. Killjoy.

Andy had to make do with a diet soda, pretending to give a shit as he flipped through the dessert menu. The rest of his band seemed upbeat and energetic, all joking around and laughing with each other. Well, everyone but Ashley, he was still asleep on the bus. That was the only reason Andy had even decided to come in with everyone else; he was still fuming about what the bassist said the night before.

“Hey Six, you alright?” CC asked before taking another bite of his burger.

“I’m fine, I’m just exhausted.” It wasn’t really a lie; he’d barely slept and any sleep he did manage was plagued with nightmares.

“That’s life on the road, baby” The drummer laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Andy just shrugged, looking down at the plate of greasy food he’d ordered. He could hear Matt talking a few tables away, he didn’t sound like his normal goofy self. He was talking with the rest of his band, discussing some guitar riff for a new song they were writing. His voice sounded worn out and tired like he hadn’t slept much either. That only made Andy feel worse, no doubt he was the reason why.

The singer took a bite of his french-fries, the mediocre food tasting delightful due to his intoxication. He tried to focus on the story Jake was telling, his focus fading in and out. Before he knew it, he’d eaten almost everything, only the crust of his grilled cheese left. His stomach felt uncomfortably full, the wine not sitting well with everything else. ‘Great’ he thought, now he’d be bloated during the show.

He used to eat shit like that all the time when he was younger, he had very picky diet. If it wasn’t greasy or junk food, he didn’t want it. That would probably explain why he got teased for his weight. Life on the road meant essentially the same diet, only now he had to worry about fitting into his impossibly tight leather leggings every night. ‘Should have just stayed outside and smoked’ he thought to himself.

“You know what Matt here needs, strippers. What do you say, man, after the show tonight? Strip club?” Andy picked up the voice of Adam, Matt’s bass player.

Andy glanced over his shoulder; Matt laughed, it sounded forced, but he said something that sounded like ‘why not’ in reply. Andy knew he had no right to be upset, if anything it was Matt that had a right to be upset with him. Regardless, the singer still felt his heart in his throat.

“I’ll be right back,” Andy mumbled, getting up from his seat and keeping his eyes on his boots as he made his way towards the bathrooms in the back of the restaurant.

He was thankful to find the only stall in the small bathroom empty, shutting the door and locking it behind him. He leaned against the tiled wall, looking up at the dusty ceiling. Tears threatened to fall as he tried to blink them away, why did he even bother coming in? It killed him to know that his friendship with Matt was probably over, and anything else they might have been was dead on arrival. All because he was a coward.

Fuck love, fuck feelings and fuck caring, Andy thought. He’d tried to keep himself from falling for anyone, never let anyone in close. Never let anyone get to know the real you, keep them at a distance so your heart doesn’t get broken. He’d broken his own rules, and now he was trying to hold back tears in some shithole restaurant off some highway in god knows where USA.

It was all so overwhelming, this tour was supposed to be fun, he was supposed to spend it with his best friend. Now it just felt like torture, having to see Matt every day and wondering what could have been. He had to get the feelings out, he couldn’t take it anymore.

The singer glanced over at the toilet, the nauseous feeling in his stomach hadn’t gone away if anything it had only gotten worse. ‘Fuck it’ he thought, he shouldn’t have eaten so much anyways. Shouldn’t have gotten wine drunk before noon or drank an entire bottle of whiskey the night before… so why did it even matter?

Anyone could tell by looking at the way he was living that he didn’t give a shit about his health or longevity. All he had were his toxic coping mechanisms; whatever he had to do to stop the pain.

Andy knelt down in front of the toilet, listening to hear if anyone else had come in before taking a deep breath and pushing two fingers past his lips. He coughed as he hit the back of his throat, kicking in his gag reflex. It took a few times, but he finally succeeded in making himself get sick. The rush of adrenaline he got, and the momentary suspension of pain kept him from stopping as he repeated the process.

It wasn’t that he liked making himself throw up, he never had. But desperate men do desperate things, and it gave him a sick sense of control over his otherwise chaotic life. It wasn’t an everyday thing, it wasn’t a problem, he had control. He wondered if he’d ever get tired of feeding himself lies.

Matt pushed the men’s door open, walking over to one of the urinals before stopping, noticing a pair of black cowboy boots in the stall beside him. He heard Andy cough before throwing up. Matt crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, he didn’t know what he was waiting for. Andy was probably just hungover… again. But something told the older man he was fooling himself, the singer seemed just fine earlier.

He heard the toilet flush and watched as Andy emerged a few minutes later. He jumped when he saw Matt, his eyes going wide like a kid that had been caught with their hand in the candy jar. Matt’s heart sank in his chest at what the guilty look in his eyes meant.

Andy’s blood ran cold as he stared at Matt, his heart racing. He hadn’t even heard anyone come in. The younger man turned to the sink, washing his hands off, the knuckles of his right hand slightly red from scraping against his teeth.

“What?” Andy asked, feeling Matt’s glare on him, his voice ragged.
“I don’t know Andy; you tell me what.”

Andy dried his hands off before taking a pack of gum out of his back pocket and popping a piece in his mouth. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Really, because you seemed to be feeling just fine a few minutes ago when you were actually eating for once.” Matt snapped, admittedly still feeling hurt from the night before.

He hadn’t slept hardly at all, tossing and turning all night and even shedding a few tears over the man that stood in front of him. Watching Andy self-destruct killed him.

“Shut up, Matt.”
“You know I watched Sonny do the same shit, ended up almost ruining his fucking voice.” Matt shook his head, although there was a hint of concern to his tone.

Sonny Moore. The singer of Matt’s last band. Andy knew about him; Matt had mentioned it before. That Sonny has some issues, bulimia being one of them. Andy didn’t consider himself that, but then again, he didn’t consider himself an alcoholic either.

“Well, I’m not Sonny. What was he, just another guy you wanted, but couldn’t save?” Andy replied, just wanting to get back to the bottle of wine on his bus.

“Right… you prefer to just chain-smoke and binge drink instead of eating. You know you make it so obvious Andy. Everyone knows.”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me. And neither does everyone else,” Andy growled, Matt’s comment getting under his skin.

“Well, maybe I would know more if you ever quit the fucking act.” Matt was over the situation, if Andy wanted to be miserable and push anyone who tried to help him away then so be it.

The guitarist turned and walked away, leaving the singer by himself.
---

The show was absolute shit, and this time the crowd seemed to notice. Andy barely remembered the words, fucking up more than a couple of songs. His voice sounded like shit and he lacked any emotion and energy on stage. He was too drunk to care when John tried to talk with him afterward, saying something about him needing to get himself under control.

He didn’t care if he crashed and burned, nothing fucking mattered. He was just some delusional kid from Ohio who thought he could run away from his problems. That’s what everyone told him, and he was starting to believe it.

Andy walked into the dressing room, not even looking in Matt’s direction as he headed straight for the whiskey on the counter. He wanted to be blacked out already, forget everything at least for the night.

Matt watched as Andy grabbed a bottle of Jack and turned on his heels, leaving as quickly as he entered. He hadn’t bothered to watch Black Veil’s set, but from what he heard from John it was pretty bad. It bothered the older man to hear what everyone was saying about Andy. They all blamed him for making their jobs harder or for fucking up, but it didn’t seem like they gave a shit when the kid was basically crying out for help. As long as he could perform, who cared if he drank himself to sleep every night?

The guitarist had been feeling guilty all day, he shouldn’t have acted the way he did back at the diner. He chose to be petty instead of making sure Andy was alright. Matt was hurt, but that wasn’t an excuse. There was a part of him that regretted walking out on Andy the previous night instead of hearing what he had to say. It was just that he knew the conversation was probably a dead end. Until the singer decided to actually let him in, it was useless. Andy would always be a pawn in his own game.

“You ready for this strip club?” Adam asked, looking up from his phone.
“Oh shit… yeah, um where did you say it was?”

“It’s no more than a couple of minutes down the road. We can walk there no problem.” The bassist replied.

Matt thought it over for a moment, getting drunk and blowing hundreds of dollars on strippers he’d never see again was tempting. He knew if he went, he’d just be thinking of him the whole time though.
“You guys go ahead; I’ll meet you there. I got to take care of something first.”

“Is this something six-two and moodier than my girlfriend on her period?” Craig laughed, slapping Matt on the back.
“I just said something kind of fucked up earlier, I just need to make it right first.” Matt said, standing up and giving the guys a wave before going to search for his ‘friend’.
Matt found Andy down one of the back allies near the venue. It was conveniently blocked off by the buses and out of sight of the fans leaving the show. He was sat on the curb, having already put a dent in the bottle of liquor. A lit cigarette in one hand, whiskey in the other.

“Hey…” the older man said, clearing his throat as he came to a stop in front of the singer.

Andy looked up; his eyes cold. “Here to criticize me some more?”

“No… fuck, Andy, I’m sorry about earlier today… I really am.”
“Thanks.” Andy tipped the bottle of whiskey back, taking another drink.

Matt just looked down at the boy, unsure of what to say. Just days earlier they were joking around and having fun, two best friends living the life of rock stars. Now it felt like they were worlds apart.

“Don’t you have strippers to fuck?” Andy sneered, pressing the cigarette to his lips and inhaling the poison.

“Is this how we’re going to be? Andy… just talk to me, please.” Matt sighed, sitting down on the curb beside the singer.

“What is there to talk about Matt? You hate me now, so nothing I say matters.”
“I don’t hate you… I just don’t understand you.” Matt admitted, pushing his hair back.

“You’re self-destructing, Andy… don’t you see that?” The older man whispered, trying to keep from getting overly emotional as he watched Andy put his cigarette out.

Andy stood up, leaving the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the curb, he just wanted to go to bed. If Matt wanted to have a heart to heart with him, he was going to be disappointed. If this was some type of intervention he could fuck off. Leave the hopeless behind, Matt.

“That’s it? You’re just going to walk away? What the fuck, Andy, I came here to talk shit out with you like an adult. Can you at least be fucking man enough to look at me?” Matt raised his voice as Andy started to walk back towards the buses.

Matt was over the stone-cold act that Andy was doing. He refused to believe that the singer felt nothing, that all of his problems could be solved if he just had enough whiskey. The guitarist stood up, waiting for Andy’s response as the boy stood still, back facing him.

“Drop the act, I’m begging you. I know you have a heart, Andy… even if you don’t feel the same way, you were still my best friend… that has to mean something.” Andy could hear the pain in Matt’s voice.

Were. You were my best friend. That single word shattered every wall the singer had built up around him. The numbing effects of the liquor seemed to vanish as his chest tightened, his heart feeling like it was physically breaking in two.
“Mean something? Matt, it’s fucking killing me! The thought of you not being in my life anymore? It’s all I can think about!” Andy broke, turning around as tears fell freely down his painted cheeks.

Matt’s eyes went wide at the sudden show of emotions, the look in the singer’s eyes was one of pure agony. The way his bottom lip quivered as he seemed to struggle to breathe, it was torture.

“I’m right here… I haven’t left.” Matt spoke softly, not sure if he should try and console the man in front of him or just let him speak.

“You haven’t left yet! Everyone always leaves me, uses me, fucking abandons me… fuck… I can’t trust anyone” Andy gasped, clutching at the rosary beads around his neck as he looked away.

“Andy, you don’t let anyone in…”
“It’s safer that way…” the younger man choked out.

Matt stayed silent, helpless to do anything but watch the man he loved break down in front of him. “Isn’t that lonely? Andy, that’s no way to live…”

“I’m scared, Matt…”
“Scared of what?”
“Of this feeling…” Andy admitted, his voice barely audible.

The older man stepped forward, unable to take the distance between them any longer. He grabbed Andy’s shoulders, his hands wrapped almost completely around them. Baby blue eyes looked up at him. “What feeling?”

“I-I think I’m falling in love with you… and that scares me to death.” Andy couldn’t believe the words actually left his lips, the truth finally coming out.

Matt pulled Andy in close, wrapping his arms around the shaking singer. “Then let’s be scared together…”

Andy looked up, his heart skipping a beat as Matt pressed their lips together. His brain was screaming at him that he was setting himself up to be hurt, allowing someone access. But his heart was crying out for this, the happiness and spark it brought, and it was winning out. If he was going to go down in flames, falling in love with his best friend was the way he wanted to go.