My Bloody Idiot

I was searching the never ending piles of paperwork in my mum’s office, trying to find the contract with Jennifer to find a point how to legally terminate the charade. I saw her at the label the other day, so, apparently, mum hadn’t slipped the contract to her lawyer before she went to New York. Like I hadn’t enough on my plate already.

It’s been a couple days since I walked out of the hospital and even tho I felt like a complete and utter piece of human waste, I came back to the studio. Working was the only way of me keeping my thoughts off my shitty mood and my panic attacks, which hit me with no apparent reason.

I walked over to the desk by the window to raid those piles in hopes of finding what I was looking for. Mum’s office had the wonderful view to the parking lot and right as I searched through the chaos, I noticed Brian’s slick car roll in the parking space right next to my Camaro, which I was thinking of selling. That car had too many problems and I feared that one day it will simply guide me in the nearest tree. It had to go. Pronto.

I saw Brian getting out of the car, holding his leather jacket in his hand. What surprised me and pissed me off at the same time, was the fact that another someone rolled out of the car. Maybe I needed glasses, but shit… that tight dress wearing brunette reminded me of the same chick I wanted gone from this label. He rested his hand on the small of her back as he guided her towards the building. Maybe I was in fact overthinking stuff, and I wasn’t seeing things clearly, but how else would you see the fact a chick in a tight short dress getting out of a guy’s car and they both laughing over something? Some would say – he simply gave her a ride. Ha! Brian? Giving a ride to a person who lives at the other side of the town? A person who screamed in his face the last time they met?

I sat down in the leather chair in front of the computer, giving up on my little scavenger hunt. You had to be a wizard and a ninja all in one to find anything in this chaos. I sighed opening all the unread e-mails. This was really not something I wanted to do. I had to be there… one floor lower… making music and not here. I dreaded these desk jobs. 9-5 had never been my cup of tea.

The opaque glass door opened and Ashley poked her blonde head in. “Jennifer wants to see you.” She informed me.

I nearly spit the coffee I wasn’t even drinking. “Me?” I stared at her, trying to figure maybe she was speaking a language I didn’t understand and the sentence simply stood for – you’re looking dashing today. “I’m not in the mood for tantrums.”

She shrugged, “I told her you’re having a bad decade, but she doesn’t care.” Yeah, sounded like her.

I rubbed my hands over my face, taking a deep breath. “Fine,” I sighed, “let’s hear her bullshit.”

Not even a minute passed as the Queen of Bullshit and awful taste in perfume walked through the office door and sat in the chair in front of me. She crossed her tanned legs, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t understand.

“You have my undivided attention,” I leaned back in my seat, resting my hands on my stomach.

“I have a proposition for you,” She spoke with a smirk on her face. God, why didn’t I take my meds today…

“Do you…” I mused, narrowing my eyes on the brunette.

“Uh-ha,” She nodded, obnoxiously chewing on her gum, “You take me back and you produce me.”

I hadn’t even noticed the wide smile stretching across my face until I let out a laugh. I couldn’t believe the bullshit coming from her mouth. “Okay? And what makes you think I’ve gone that kinda shade of crazy?”

“Because you know I have potential.” She said it like it was oh-so obvious. Well, excuse me, that’s a fact that had slipped me by. I just blinked. “Look, I know we got off to a bad start—“

“Gee, you think?” I cut her off, bracing my elbow on the armrest and boosting the side of my head with my index and thumb fingers. It was really hard concentrating on her heavy evening make-up this early in the morning. Since the incident a couple days ago, it was extremely hard for me to interact with people. Period. I just wanted them gone.

“I know I was wrong to come at you like that, I know…” She actually seemed to be taking this seriously. I bet Gino fucked her over and now she had this crazy idea that I’d take her back. “And I’m sorry for that.”

“Listen,” I took a deep breath, pushing myself up a bit, “here’s the thing- I’m not going to produce you.”

I could see the anger spark up in her eyes. Her jaw clenched and her nails dug in her dress. Yeah, I notice things. Body language is what matters the most. She could tell me whatever the hell she wanted – actions spoke louder than words. “You fucki—“

I held my hand up, stopping her verbal diarrhea, “Before you say something you’re going to regret—“ yet again, “I’m not producing anyone at the moment. I can try and put a word in with Justin, but, love, you have to change your attitude.”

Why the hell was I even doing this? I knew we had enough shit piled up to terminate the contract with her, I mean… we had to, right? So why was I willing to fix her up with my co-producer/sound engineer? All she ever did was vex me and now I was about to pull a Mother Theresa act and attempt to save her sinking behind. WHY?

Suddenly she lit up, a radiant smile appeared on her face, her fingers relaxed and she basically was walking on sunshine. “There’s this one more thing… Actually two more things…”

Girl, you’re really pushing it. Nevertheless, I motioned for her to continue.

“Okay, so Syn told me about the tour you’ll be doing,” I believe my eye just twitched. I beg your pardon? “I want to help.”

“Help how?” I asked, returning to the screen and all the e-mails, knowing if I don’t think about something else, I’ll probably break something… or rather someone’s neck. I knew why she came crawling back. The fundraiser meant major publicity – the publicity which she so desperately needed, but come on, I can’t put a pop act as a warm up for Avenged Sevenfold.

“I want to be a part of it.” I didn’t reply, which she took for a sign to continue with her second desire, “and I want Syn to lay down some guitar tracks for me. We already talked about it and he’s cool as long as you are… so I fit in with the show.”

So she had it all figured out. Mister Gates could do whatever the fuck he pleased as long as he started paying for the dear studio time. “I have to sleep on it.”

“It would be really, really nice of you to—“ She started her little rant, giving me a major headache.

“Jen?” I interrupted her monologue.

“Yeah?”

“I told you I’ll think about it,” I closed my eyes as I started circling my temple, “now get the fuck out of my office.”

I heard the chair creek and the door close just seconds later. She let out an excited shriek once she was behind the door. There was someone with her in the hallway. A low timbre chimed, but I couldn’t pick up on the subject. Maybe it was better that way.

With a heavy sigh I returned to the computer screen.

He. Told. Her.

A vein started pulsating in my temple and I reached in the drawer to pick out a bottle of Ibuprofen.

Not even five minutes had passed as Jennifer was out of my sight when there was another knock on the door right before it creaked open. What is this… asshole day? My heart jumped a bit, it was hard keeping my cool these days. The smallest sound, the smallest movement was like a massive kick to my heart to get it speeding off.

“I brought you coffee,” Brian announced as he walked inside, closing the door behind him. I tried my best to ignore him, but I guess he was not up for it. He simply walked his way, moving around the large desk as he pressed a kiss to my cheek, deciding to take a seat on the same desk I tried working on. “What’s the matter?”

“I just had a lovely chat with your girly.” I pressed a fake smile on my lips.

“What are you talking about?” he looked genuinely confused. Oh don’t play stupid with me, I have a very, and I mean VERY low tolerance for bullshit these days.

“Jen.” I glared at him until I finally sighed, moving my eyes back to the screen. “I can’t believe you told her about the fundraiser.”

“It’s not like it was a secret,” He shrugged carelessly. “The more artists, the better, Clarke.”

“Exactly. Artists.” I deadpanned. I could not stretch this enough. We needed people who would bring in the money, not the ones who eagerly wanted to grab all the cash.

“She is an artist,” he argued with a confused frown on his physiognomy, “As hard as it is for you to believe it – she’s grown.”

“Over a month?” I laughed in fake amusement. “You can’t go from complete horseshit with the attitude of Madonna to being fucking Cher in a month.” What was he getting out of this? Standing up for the chick, who would’ve killed him if mum hadn’t stepped in? Really?

“Okay,” He sighed heavily as he pushed himself off the desk, “I see you’re in a bad mood.”

“I applaud your deductive skills,” I said with absolutely no emotion to my face. I looked up at him, my eyes dropping on something on his neck. A hickey? You have to be kidding me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fought off the stinging in my eyes, “Close the door on your way out.”

His jaw clenched. He stayed still for a moment, measuring me with his glance, before he gave in and with a simple, “As you wish,” and went to the door.

“Oh and there’s one more thing,” I spoke up, stopping him with his hand on the handle, “If you decide to record with Jennifer, you have to pay the hourly rate of using the studio.”

His eyes squinted on me. “Fine.” He hissed, before he stormed out, slamming the door shut.

“Fuck…” I whispered under my breath as I fell back in the chair, drawing my hands over my face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yelled, slamming my fist against the desk. My heart was racing in my chest, I felt very lightheaded and I’ll be damned if I let him fuck me over once again. I wasn’t the type of girl who liked to share. It would be in everyone’s best interest that he didn’t attempt to bring the bitch out. She didn’t play nice.

I decided that this was about enough of work for today, knowing I hadn’t done absolutely nothing and I just got up, taking my bag and throwing the strap over my shoulder, before I picked up the coffee cup and headed through the door, locking it after myself.

The door to Ashley’s office was open. I knocked against the door frame, bringing her eyes from the computer screen to me.

“I’m taking off,” I said, walking further, placing the coffee in front of her, “This is for you.”

“A coffee? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” She chuckled, bringing the cup to her mouth. “Shouldn’t I be bringing you this overly sweetened substance?”

“I’m not the president of the company, Ash,” I smirked. “Oh and I’d really appreciate if you’d ready a studio contract for Synyster Gates.”

“The Avenged have a deal with Jude,” She frowned.

“They do,” I agreed, “As a band.” I hooked my thumb behind the strap of my bag as I shifted my weight to one leg, “Mister Gates is willing to work with Jennifer individually, so…”

She sent me an uncertain look as she bit down on her lip, taking her sticky notes and her pen, before writing something down, “What was his name?”

“Brian Haner. Details you’ll work out with him.”

“And the hourly rate? The usual?” She looked up from the sticky notes.

“Let’s take it lower. How about three-eighty? Sounds reasonable, right?” I smirked.

“The usual is four hundred dollars,” She measured me with her stare.

I chuckled. “Hey, I think it’s a fair deal – he got a twenty dollar discount, which, mind you, not everyone gets.”

“Yeah, usually we give twenty five percent off,” She mumbled, “How about we take it down to three hundred?”

“Fine,” I agreed, very unwillingly if I may add. Some of them finally had to pay for dicking around the studio and just taking the precious studio time from someone, who actually equaled zero’s in the bank. Liberty Records wasn’t the cheapest studio if you just wished to record here, not going under the label itself. How else do you think our sound engineers could afford to drive cars with those V-8 engines?

“Oh and Matt asked if you could go by studio C, he has trouble with something.” She spoke just as I was to step my foot in the hallway.

I rolled my eyes. Why did everyone want shit from me today? Just leave me the fuck alone. I wasn’t up for conversations of any sort.

Without another word I left her office, jogging down the stairs and taking a sharp right towards the studio C, pushing the door open.

“You have exactly ten minutes.” I barged in, making both Matt and Zacky jerk their heads towards me.

“Hi, hello,” Zacky spoke with a frown.

“Good to see you too, Riley,” Matt chimed sarcastically, looking just as bored as I felt. Look at that, wasn’t that sweet, we complimented each other.

“Yeah, hi…” I said simply, “So what’s the emergency? Why am I needed here?”

“Zack couldn’t decide which guitar strap to use while recording,” Matt pointed back to Zacky. Which guitar strap… what?

“Are you… serious?” I just felt a brain cell die inside my head.

“Of course not, the feedback on amp is way out of proportion,” He pointed to the Hellwin amp by the mixing board. And what did they want from me? Hellwin was Brian’s line, I knew very little about it if not nothing at all. What I knew is that Hellwin amps were famous for the feedback basically not being present at all, thanks to some miracle gate built in the amplifier.

“Where’s your engineer?” I questioned.

“Has a cold?” Zack chimed in, playing a variation of arpeggios on his guitar.

“Neat.” I replied, letting my bag land on one of the chairs as I walked closer to the amp, before shifting my attention to Zacky, “You’re plugged in?”

“Yeah,” He nodded as he stopped strumming and I turned on the amp, instantly being hit in the face with the annoying noises. The gate was at the position where it was supposed to be so there shouldn’t be any noise.

I took a deep breath as I stripped off my blazer and threw it over the back of the chair where my bag had just landed. “Both cleans have the feedback?”

“Yeah, tho USA is a tad better,” well yeah, because the USA was meant for a heavier rock sound which came out through the feedback. Why was I even here struggling with the feedback? Zacky had to know how to handle that shit – guitar 101, hello?

“Can’t we just take it out of the mix?” Matt asked as he stopped next to me, his hands pressed in his sides.

“Yeah, if you’re not on the clock…” I breathed out as I turned the amp around, checking all the bolts in the back. “It will take a couple hours to figure out how to get that one done and a couple more to get it done,” I explained, “And sadly, you guys equal expenses so nobody’s gonna do something that you can probably take care of by pressing a button.”

“So… what’s the diagnosis, doc?” Zack asked as soon as I straightened up, frowning like I had never before. Frankly? I didn’t know shit about amps, I wasn’t a fucking guitarist, for fuck sake.

“Judging by her face – we’re fucked,” Matt mused.

“You’re not fucked, I just… where’s Brian?” I shifted my attention between the two of them.

“Went to get lunch,” Matt replied, while Zack tried playing a scale and at the end the amp simply cut off. The sound just disappeared.

“Well, shit…” I whispered, knowing exactly what was wrong here. Yeah, it surprised even me.

“Riley?”

“There are two possibilities – either a cracked solder joint or a loose wiring inside the amp. I’d suggest you get a different amp and get this fixed.” If they thought I was gonna fix an amp, they seriously had another thing coming. My eyes landed on Zack’s missing guitar knob. “What happened to your guitar?”

“Oh you’re talking about this thing?” He chuckled, pointing to the spot where you would typically see a golden piece used for tuning the strings. “It had a misunderstanding with Gates’ neck.”

What the hell did that mean? However my attention was generally fixed on the sound of door creaking open right behind me.

“So we brought us—“ I spoon around and my eyes fixed on the deranged duo who just waltzed in the studio carrying bags of takeaways– Brian and Jennifer, a round of applause everyone! Yea, I know I’m acting like a bitch, trust me… I’m very well aware of it. “What’s going on here?”

“The amp’s fucked,” Zacky replied as I picked my blazer from the back of the couch and quickly threw it on.

“So no recording today?” Jennifer questioned in a sad voice. Those are some great acting skills.

I couldn’t believe I was about to say what I was about to say, “Technically you don’t need an amp.”

“What?” Zack’s voice hit my ears as I pulled the cord from the amp and plugged it straight into the mixing board.

“You can get basically the same effect by messing around with pro-tools and some other cool gadgets.” I moved to stand by the computer, hovering over the keyboard as I opened up pro-tools, the virtual amp and other kind of applications to help along the way. “Play something, Zack.”

He nodded and suddenly all the room was filled with one badass guitar riff coming from the speakers. “Wow…” He mused, letting his fingers roam the guitar neck.

“The pros of not using an amp while mixing? No feedback at all. The con? You can’t quite get the same out of it as you would using the amp. I figure you can take from here.” I winked at Matt as I picked up my bag.

“Why didn’t we think of it earlier? I mean Walter had done this with Gates back in the day,” Matt spoke thoughtfully going back to the amp as I measured my way to the door.

Brian’s hand grabbing my upper-arm was the main reason, why I stopped. “Are you still mad at me?” He whispered, leaning closer.

I jerked my hand out of his reach, shifting my eyes from him to have a look over Jen, who seemed to feel just at home, chit-chatting her day away with the guys. I walked out of the studio without a word.

The sad truth? I loved him. I just didn’t want to admit it. Not even to myself. And I knew I will love him until the day I die.

When I was back in England, I thought I had gotten over him. Sure, occasionally I checked up on his newest interviews and those live shows, but which crazy ex didn’t? Over time I started to do it less and less often until I stopped entirely. I thought I was over him. I really believed if I ever met him I could look at him without any feelings.

Without the flashbacks…

Without remembering how his lips felt against mine… How soothing his voice was…

I don’t remember my ride home or how I got to this lovely daydrinking… What I knew was the fact that I was sitting in the backyard with a bottle of wine in my hand, tormenting myself with all the memories of him while I took a drag after a drag, wrapping myself in a cloud of smoke.

Most of the memories had faded, but those associations will always remain. Each time a girl passed me wearing Aguilera’s perfume Red Sin, I felt my stomach flunk a little. Memories hit me like a tsunami. I remembered dressing myself in the fragrance and him always kissing my neck afterwards, or the smell of gasoline and the sound of Harley Davidsons’. Sleeping in the bed in the morning and getting awakened by the cool breeze coming from the open window, bringing in the scent of gasoline and the roars of his motorcycle… Or the taste of Laphroaig in someone’s breath...

I loved him.

With every inch of my soul.

I loved him and it hurt. This was what happened when a tornado met a volcano. I thought… maybe if I concentrated on those bad memories, maybe I would feel angry, I would feel betrayed, but that was not how it worked. I couldn’t, for the life of me, hate the guy. Some of my friends back in the UK? They couldn’t stand the sight of him – even if they only saw him on tv, because of what I told them and, for your information, I didn’t talk about Brian when I was happy, no I spoke about him when I was furious.

I had a friend back in UK – Julia. Her words still ring in my ears ‘I swear to God, Riley Clarke, if you’ll as much as think about getting back with him when you’re in USA, you can lose my phone number. Forget about me, ‘cause I’m not going through the same hell with you when he breaks you again.’ Yeah, now I’m laughing. Why? It’s simple. Her guy dumped her, because he trusted his friends more than he did her, he humiliated her, but she took him back in a heartbeat and now she’s pregnant. Hypocrisy? You bet your sweet ass she’s a hypocrite.

In a way she was right, tho. I went through counseling, I popped pills and every night for a year I cried myself to sleep.

I remember begging him to stop drinking, just to come home and spend some time with me. I knew he was cheating, but I couldn’t prove it. I had that little naïve hope that I’m just crazy and he’s out with the boys… that maybe Michelle herself would come and tell me how ridiculous I’m acting. Did I know who he was seeing? Yea, sadly. I just wanted to someone come and tell me that everything’s okay, that he is faithful and he isn’t fucking screwing other women.

“As if…” I snorted, bringing the wine bottle to my lips.

And now he’s with Jen again. How stupid of me to really believe he could change.

I picked up my phone and decided to open up instagram. What I saw didn’t surprise me. Jen had posted a pic of her and the guys in the studio. It felt like I had a bottomless pit inside my chest. I just wasn’t enough… I had never been enough.

Suddenly the phone started vibrating in my hand and Brian’s name appeared on the screen.

“What the fuck do you want…” I mused, before I answered the call and pushed the phone to my ear with a heavy sigh, “Not in the mood, Haner.”

“What’s with you today?” I heard him say as I raised the bottle to my lips with a snort. What’s with me? “Did I do something or…”

“No, you didn’t do anything,” I lied, closing my eyes and letting the sun kiss my face. I did. I fucking fell for you.

“Then what’s going on?” Was that concern in his voice? Cute. But this was how I was. I went sleeping around with him, pretending everything was okay and then the guilt took over. It felt like I was cheating on myself. I was doing this to myself again! “If it’s about Jen, then I can assure you I—“

“Don’t. Just… don’t.” I sighed, opening my eyes to take a cigarette.

“Don’t what?” He questioned confusedly. “I have nothing with her!”

“You have nothing with me, remember?” I chuckled darkly as I closed the flame of the lighter to the end of the cigarette. “You don’t have to make up any excuses, ‘cause we’re not together.”

“I see.” He mused. I remained silent as I inhaled the nicotine. I didn’t have anything else to say to him. “Then I guess I’m gonna pick my stuff up later in the evening.”

Not gonna lie, when he said that, I felt like somebody had hit every drop of air out of my lunges. I should write a book. Emotionless by Riley Clarke. My basic bitch game had gotten too strong, I couldn’t pretend to give a fuck even if deep down I truly did. Did I want for him to move out? With everything that’s going on? Of course not, but my reply came out a bit twisted.

“You do that.”

Notes

I'm afraid this will turn out as a partly auto-biography, since yesterday each and every of my exes wrote me. (WHY the fuck...) But I guess I have to say thanks to them - I was having a bit of a writers block and I figured why can't I just put my feelings on the paper. This is what became of it.
No matter how I may love a person, if he betrayed my trust, I will never take him back no matter how much it hurt me. Sometimes I really think life sucks and the old man up above fucking hates me and enjoys twirling up some drama for me. :D