My Fucking Nightmare

After three days of a horrible bed, gross food, and hundreds of needles it was safe to say I’d be giving up alcohol for a while. I saw what I did to Brian, what I could have done to Melissa. Or Harriet. No, fuck Harriet. I wasn’t about to hit a woman, but that bitch had what was coming to her. And then Melissa. I convinced myself everything that had happened was a dream.
I kissed her first. She left, freaking out. Then she came back and kissed me. She fucking kissed me. Christ, I hoped Brian wouldn’t find out. Then again he did owe me a solid shiner. Maybe a kick in the nuts. For the sake of his relationship with her though, I hoped he never would find out. As succulent as her lips were, since surely I’d miss them, I also hoped I’d never have to taste them again.
It was probably the grief that made me do it. My whole body ached in pain, and not only from the bender. All the thoughts about everything Harriet could have done while I was away, they wouldn’t go away. I had nightmares about it for weeks. I had to get over this girl somehow. My lawyer told me that filing for divorce would constitute as closure for the end of my relationship, my marriage. All the pain would be over, he promised. And it might have been worth it, but how would I be able to do it all over again?
And oh, god. It was awkward being around Brian and Melissa. It was to be expected; I acted out of selfishness. It bit me in the ass. I could have fucked up another good thing, and Brian didn’t deserve to feel the way I felt. The good thing about it happening once before is that I knew what emotions to expect to go through. There was the five stages of grief, and I was just getting over the depression part of it. Then there was the primal fear of running into her, unsure of how I’d react. Harriet and I conversed through Melissa usually, as much as I hated putting her in the middle of it all.
What had to be done was done the only way it could be. Harriet gave no consideration for allowing me any time of her day, so I continued to suffer. Los Angeles was huge, but it was a small world. And the chances that I’d run into that bitch were still pretty high. I tried to make excuses rather than to go out and experience the world with the boys. Then the thing with Melissa made it that much worse, so I could barely look Brian in the eyes.
Funny thing was that Melissa acted like it didn’t even happen when Brian was around. She was a talented liar. Made me wonder if there was anything else that she had been keeping from him. He was too naïve and in love to know any better. Plus, I could tell through side glances, when I’d often catch her looking my way, that there were probably times she thought about it. In all honesty I’d hoped that were the case. It would be a sense of flattery I hadn’t felt in forever, and forever was just too long to feel alone.
Over the course of a couple months, tensions resolved and scores settled. For a while I was still in denial and trying to avoid filing for divorce, but I knew my lawyer was right. The sooner I ended it, the sooner I could move on. Whether I’d have to pay her alimony or not, I didn’t care. As long as my name was separated from hers, I’d finally be able to sleep in peace.
The divorce thing was fantastic, though it didn’t get rid of the mixed feelings of guilt and total arousal when it came to Melissa. And honestly, it wasn’t really just her I was attracted to, but the dynamic of her relationship with Brian. My best friend through thick and thin. I’ll be honest, their relationship was the one thing that gave me hope for my own future.
My dreams proved otherwise, unfortunately. At least three times a week I’d dream that I was in Brian’s place, and he was the one in torment, envy, and heartbreak. I’d wake up confused, unsure of how I ought to have felt. Feelings I was never sure I could ever feel before. No matter how much I over-thought each and every sensation, the one that still remained was the arousal. Sometimes I woke up with my hand in my boxers, sticky from cum, the last thing on my mind being caught in bed with…ugh, never mind.
So yes, I was guilty from day one. I let it slide most of the time. That’s why I kept to myself. As long as I kept to myself, the feelings wouldn’t come back. The arousal stayed suppressed between the sheets of my bed, and my conscience remained clear. I remember the one thing that used to keep the guilt away, along with all the errant thoughts I should have never thought about: alcohol.
If all that guilt wouldn’t kill me, the alcohol withdrawal was definitely going to. Every event I attended, whether it was a party at one of the guys’ houses, or a night at our bar, something where I’d be exposed to the bottled holy water of Sierra Nevada, I almost caved. Every time. Every single time. And Brian would always be the one to catch me. “You sure bro?” he’d ask. I’d falter. I had to falter. I had to keep at least one promise to myself, since there was no abstinence from jerking off or burning one more of Harriet’s belongings.
For the time being, my life was empty. In a way I was grateful for the emptiness. It was promising, allowing me to find a sense of security within myself again. Get back on my feet, rehearse for the shows. There were always upcoming shows. Phil mentioned there were a couple small bands looking for big deals like us to open up for. And we were always happy to give them the exposure they needed. A venue here, a venue there. It was time spent not wallowing in my own filth, and money in my pocket to keep working on the bikes and the cars.
When Phil broke out the big guns and announced another tour, six months to be spent in Europe, Asia, and Australia, I was beyond ecstatic. For half a year I could leave it all behind, focus on the music. On my career. Get out of dodge for a while.
The only remaining issue was to keep off the sauce. We all know what euphemism I liked to use for it, however. They didn’t call it liquid courage for nothing. And sometimes I still got stage fright.
Oh, boy.

Notes