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Almost Easy

Chapter Sixteen: I'm Fine

The next three days were a whirlwind of cigarettes, booze, and police officers. When I wasn’t being asked a million questions or making coffee for the force, I was in my bed—which was admittedly a strange place to build my nest. Not like I was sleeping anyway.
The world hadn’t been made aware of what had happened yet. The band had been in and out, exchanging condolences and shoulders.
I was numb to the whole thing.
Brian had called. Jimmy had called. They didn’t know.
Needless to say, I couldn’t return their phone calls. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to have to explain what was going on—I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready.
I’d unplugged my phone before the end of the first day without Tyler.
“Okay,” I said to myself, pushing the blankets away from my chest, “Get out of fucking bed.”
It seemed like a disrespectful way to mourn Tyler’s memory—to coop myself up indoors and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. But I wasn’t as strong as I’d always thought—I was a pathetic and weak slug. I was struggling to get through the fucking day.
To hell with Tyler’s memory.
I forced myself out of bed but didn’t make it far. The couch was looking particularly inviting. I lit a cigarette and slouched down onto the fabric.
“TV will help,” I grumbled to myself.
With the hit of a button, my television roared to life. I’d obviously been deaf the last time that I watched it because the volume was cranked.
“Another rock star gone young,” the television cried as I dug around for the remote.
My body froze.
“Tyler Brody, guitarist for up-and-coming metal band, Haven, has reportedly committed suicide only days ago. Stay tuned as we cover this ongoing tragedy.”
It was like reliving the whole thing. My brain shut down—my hands began to tremble. I’d spent days trying to convince myself that the whole thing was a bad dream. It had never occurred to me that the media might cover it.
We were fucking nobodies.
Why should I have to share his death with the rest of the world? Why should they care?
I pushed the anger down. Deep breaths.
At least now, I figured, I wouldn’t have to explain it to anybody. Within the week, everyone in the world would know.
I shuttered at the thought, silently cursing my friend for leaving me this way. Leaving me any way.
I’d always known that it was a possibility that I might lose Tyler to his depression but, for whatever, reason, it still hit me like a bus.
Despite my better judgement, I watched a solid thirty minutes of the news. I listened to little snippets about Tyler in between political broadcasts and a couple stories of fortune. It seemed a weird contrast but hey, I didn’t work in media.
Not like that anyway.
They talked about how he’d struggled with mental illness for years. They talked about the importance of seeking help. They even got into how he fucking died. I struggled to work out how that was anybody’s business.
“Haven have yet to release a statement.”
Like we should have to. Angered and annoyed, I switched the TV to a music station, essentially freeing myself from the temptress.
Austin had swung by, once alone and once with John. Each time he pressured us to collectively issue some sort of comment about the whole ordeal. John wasn’t ready, I wasn’t ready—nobody was ready.
“Take the weekend,” he said after a few days of pushing. “But we do need to release something. Anything.”
“It should come from you,” John had said sadly. “You were his best friend, after all. He’d have wanted it to come from you.”
I was still too angry to be issuing anything public.
My apartment had become a beast of a mess. Considering I had hardly eaten, there sure was a lot of takeout rubbish laying around. Cups, dishes, Styrofoam containers, the works. I typically kept a fairly tidy household—my mind had fallen into disarray and my apartment had followed suit.
I forced myself to sleep. The weight of the world had proven too much—I could feel myself snapping all over again. The only way to avoid it was to make myself numb to it. That started with a serious stress nap.
It felt as though I’d just closed my eyes when an obnoxious rhythm of knocks began on my door.
I kicked myself for hoping it was Tyler. That’s the thing about grief; it sneaks up on you. You almost forget for a second and then it comes flooding back with a vengeance, angry that you’d tried to lose it.
I shuffled my tired feet to the front door and pulled it open.
“You look like shit,” Jimmy said seriously upon surveying my face.
I pursed my lips and held the door open to him. He ushered himself inside and into the mess.
“Holy shit,” he said once he got a good look at it. “I was going to ask how you’re doing but I think I can figure it out.”
“What’s up, Jimmy?” I sighed as I sunk back into my couch.
His face was glum, “I heard about Tyler.”
“Of course you did,” I groaned.
Jimmy sat himself next to me, pulling me into his chest. I think it was meant to comfort me—but I felt nothing.
“How are you, Kid?” he asked sweetly. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I’m fine,” I lied through grit teeth.
He ran his bony fingers through my knotted hair, “I came as soon as we heard.”
“We?” I bit.
“Yeah, the guys,” he said lamely. “I called Brian right away—he’s a couple hours away for some guitar magazine thing—fucking guy, always stealing my spotlight.”
“Yes, because you’re such a guitar god,” I groaned sarcastically.
Jimmy took a deep breath, “I could be. Nobody gave me the chance. Drums were forced on me.”
“Forced on you?” I asked dryly. “Give me a break.”
“They were,” he maintained. “Avenged keep me chained in a basement. I broke free to come and see you.”
I rolled my eyes, “How sweet.”
“You’re pleasant,” Jimmy teased.
I was in no mood.
He leaned away and held my face in his long hands. His eyes reflected my sadness. I think he genuinely felt sorry for me.
That only made me angrier.
“Is it awful?” he asked oddly. “I can’t imagine the kind of pool you’re swimming around in right now.”
“I’m fine,” I lied again.
He looked at me with utmost concern. I knew better than anyone that it was the people who were ‘fine’ that you needed to be on the watch for. Any time that Tyler told me he was fine, I was on high alert. There was usually some form a serious meltdown lurking around behind the fineness.
“Anything I can do?” he asked seriously. “Anything in the world, it’s yours.”
“I’m fine.”
I was like a broken record. But there was nothing else to say. I was here and my best friend was gone. There was nothing I could do. He was just gone.
“Did he leave a note?” Jimmy quizzed.
My face grimaced, “What kind of question is that?”
Jimmy was taken aback, “Sorry—It just popped into my head. I think I might have a serious case of foot in mouth syndrome. People tell me all the time that I should get checked. It’s a disease, you know.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” I growled.
“My disease or Tyler?” Jimmy asked, genuinely confused. “I’m fine to talk about, or not talk about, anything you want…or don’t want…I’m confused.”
It was hard not to smile when Jimmy was around. He was endlessly entertaining and uplifting. I was sure he had come to try and lift my spirits…but I was broken. Even if I wanted to feel, I’d lost the ability.
All that was left in me was nothingness.
Jimmy stayed for a while longer, trying desperately to cheer me up and becoming frustrated with himself when he couldn’t. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. I wanted to tell him how sad I was, how devastated my soul was. I wanted to talk about Tyler. I wanted to tell him stories about our lives together and all of the fun times we’d had.
I needed, and I mean needed, to talk about the night he died.
But I couldn’t feel a thing. There was no ball of energy burning up in the pit of my stomach compelling me to spill my guts.
Eventually, Jimmy had been depressed enough by my apathy that he made his leave.
“I’ll come see you tomorrow,” he’d said as he lingered in the doorway. “I’ll bring you chocolate. You girls like chocolate, don’t you?”
With the promise of future chocolate, he waved goodbye. I lingered in the doorway for a second, watching my friend disappear down the hall.
His reaction to my apartment was enough to elicit my attention. The mess was much worse than I’d thought—it was like looking at it through somebody else’s eyes. I started to hurriedly collect the debris and chuck it into a big black bag. I’d filled it within minutes.
Maybe a clean apartment will help.
I’d figured out that grief is all about finding things to ‘help’. Sometimes music helped, for a while anyway, sometimes it was mindless television—though that medium had backfired. I was constantly on the hunt for the next thing to ‘help’.
Once my apartment was clean enough to allow my coma to resume, I figured I should get rid of the evidence. I pushed myself through the front door and began to walk to the trash shoot when I saw him.
Brian, in all of his brilliance, was standing at the other end of the hallway—my presence had stunned him.
“I drove as fast I could,” he said so loudly that I could hear him. “I didn’t know if I should come but—”
Like something out of a movie, I broke my numbness for an instant. I dropped the bag to the floor and took off toward Brian, running toward what I knew would help. I knew would pull me out of my darkness.
Brian met me in the middle, taking me into his inked arms and hugging me so tightly that I thought I might suffocate. I didn’t mind.
“I’m so sorry, Blair,” he sighed into my hair, running his fingers through the ends, “I’m so sorry.”
With the mixture of Brian’s scent, the looming loss of my friend, and all of the feelings that I’d been burying for years, I was overcome. More importantly, I was safe; in the arms of Brian I was safe.
It was too much.
I cried.

Notes

xx

Comments

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RamonaFoREVer RamonaFoREVer
6/18/19

@LostinDreams77
Oh!!! I'm so glad!!! <33

fyction fyction
5/13/19

Only on chapter 6 but I bloody love it already lol

LostinDreams77 LostinDreams77
5/13/19

@kiss my sas
Omg!!! Lol

fyction fyction
3/27/19

Ok, time for a re read on this one now :D
Baby Blair, come at me!!!

kiss my sas kiss my sas
3/27/19