Sequel: Making the Album ›
Changes
Hide and Seek.
Two coffees and numerous phone calls later, Mike found him.
Jay was passed out on the floor of some sleazy bar, a goofy smile on his face. The glass he'd been holding had shattered, and cut his hand to bits. And the sight of it prompted Mike to release some of the anger he'd been bottling up since Adrienne and the boys had died.
After soundly thrashing the bartender, he turned his attention to Jay, who was starting to come round, looking dazed.
"Hey Jay, buddy, let's have a look at that hand, right mate?"
Jay pulled away from him so fast he fell over backwards again.
"Don't touch me! Don't touch me, you'll catch it!" He bellowed, almost hysterically. Mike cursed under his breath.
"It's alright, Jay. I won't touch it, I promise." He crooned quietly.
Jay relaxed slightly and stopped clutching his hand. He'd smeared the crimson liquid all over the shirt he'd borrowed from the hospital. That would have to be gotten rid of, no washing those stains out.
"I'm just gonna wrap up your hand, alright? I won't touch it, I promise." Mike continued, grabbing a handful of clean rags from the end of the bar.
Jay glared at him suspiciously.
"You've promised you won't touch. If you break, I'll punch you."
"I know." Mike whispered, drawing steadily closer.
When Jay didn't draw away, Mike began wrapping the rags around the wounds, binding them tightly. Jay looked at him, eyes sad. Maybe the pain had shocked him sober, or perhaps whatever he'd been drinking had worn off. But nevertheless, he was absolutely serious.
"Am I going to die, Mike?"
"Of course not."
"People die...I'm just a few years away from snuffing it..."
"Not, you're most certainly not. Just keep on your pills and stay away from this shirt..."
Jay cursed and hoisted himself unsteadily to his feet.
"Mike...If I've really got this, and apparently, I do...I'm a dead man."
"Don't be an idiot."
"JUST LOOK AT ME!" Jay bellowed. "LOOK! I'm a fucking loser who can't drag his ass out of the fucking past. I can't get off drugs, or alcohol for that matter. I'm a fucking goner..." His voice softened as he scuffed his boots on the floor.
"Men like me used to die all the time...why should now be any different?"
Mike stood up, and wrapped his arms around him.
"Because you've got me, and you've got the band, and we aren't going to let anything happen to you."
And for the moment, Jay was content to let Mike hold him. Because he felt so lost, and Mike made it better.
Jay was passed out on the floor of some sleazy bar, a goofy smile on his face. The glass he'd been holding had shattered, and cut his hand to bits. And the sight of it prompted Mike to release some of the anger he'd been bottling up since Adrienne and the boys had died.
After soundly thrashing the bartender, he turned his attention to Jay, who was starting to come round, looking dazed.
"Hey Jay, buddy, let's have a look at that hand, right mate?"
Jay pulled away from him so fast he fell over backwards again.
"Don't touch me! Don't touch me, you'll catch it!" He bellowed, almost hysterically. Mike cursed under his breath.
"It's alright, Jay. I won't touch it, I promise." He crooned quietly.
Jay relaxed slightly and stopped clutching his hand. He'd smeared the crimson liquid all over the shirt he'd borrowed from the hospital. That would have to be gotten rid of, no washing those stains out.
"I'm just gonna wrap up your hand, alright? I won't touch it, I promise." Mike continued, grabbing a handful of clean rags from the end of the bar.
Jay glared at him suspiciously.
"You've promised you won't touch. If you break, I'll punch you."
"I know." Mike whispered, drawing steadily closer.
When Jay didn't draw away, Mike began wrapping the rags around the wounds, binding them tightly. Jay looked at him, eyes sad. Maybe the pain had shocked him sober, or perhaps whatever he'd been drinking had worn off. But nevertheless, he was absolutely serious.
"Am I going to die, Mike?"
"Of course not."
"People die...I'm just a few years away from snuffing it..."
"Not, you're most certainly not. Just keep on your pills and stay away from this shirt..."
Jay cursed and hoisted himself unsteadily to his feet.
"Mike...If I've really got this, and apparently, I do...I'm a dead man."
"Don't be an idiot."
"JUST LOOK AT ME!" Jay bellowed. "LOOK! I'm a fucking loser who can't drag his ass out of the fucking past. I can't get off drugs, or alcohol for that matter. I'm a fucking goner..." His voice softened as he scuffed his boots on the floor.
"Men like me used to die all the time...why should now be any different?"
Mike stood up, and wrapped his arms around him.
"Because you've got me, and you've got the band, and we aren't going to let anything happen to you."
And for the moment, Jay was content to let Mike hold him. Because he felt so lost, and Mike made it better.