- Mar 25, 2014
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It had been a week.
Everything since then had shifted. His perky, relentlessly optimistic attitude has been choked out of him, leaving nothing left but an asphyxiated husk of his former self. A state such as this arose only from a horrible drunken mistake. And like a VCR tape, his mind kept rewinding the dials to replay each and every moment.
The party, the unsure love interest, the flirting, the booze, and ultimately, the betrayal. After stumbling home, holding back the welling of emotions, he used the last bit of his strength to pass out in his dorm bed. And like a metamorphosis, he had woken up a completely different man.
His head-splitting hangover wasn't enough to keep away all of the memories from piecing themselves back together. One by one they came back, and by the time they had assembled, there wasn't much of a draw to get up from where he had blacked out from. If he just laid there, nothing else could happen. No one else could hurt him. And that's what they did. Who needed to face responsibility when you could curl up all day and drown your sorrows in delivery Chinese food, flat soda, and binge watching whatever mindless distraction that arose in your Netflix queue?
Needless to say, it wasn't his own strong will that got him to actually take care of himself again. A worried room mate is what forced him to shower and brush his teeth, and join society instead of being a 'melodramatic schmuck', as he was dubbed. Was he though? Maybe. Thinking about it, what else could he expect?
So he followed his roommates orders. He did have an arrangement to perform at a bar downtown, before all this mess anyway. So yeah, he was going to put on a show. He was going to put on a damn good show.
He didn't shave, too much effort. But at least he was clean and not clothed in pajamas. He was in the corner of the bar. A well-off establishment, cozy, quiet, but popular. Tonight was of moderate busyness. Which was good, for him. He sat on a stool, underneath a dim spotlight. Next to him an open guitar case for tips. On his lap, his guitar. His finger tapped the microphone before him, hushing a good portion of the crowd. Without so much of an introduction, he began in a low tone, his signature warm voice somewhat iced over
"No I can't take one more step towards you..."
And so the melodrama truly began. The patrons looked slightly uncomfortable, so they ignored him as he kept playing.
"And who do you think you are?
Runnin' 'round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart.
You're gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don't come back for me
Who do you think you are?"
A handful of moments later, he had completed his tune. Drawing to a close with only a handful of sets of clapping hands. Whatever. He held his deal. With that, he got up, leaning his instrument against the wall to move to bar. Not to drink, but to sit until he was called again. He needed a moment. But more than anything, he needed closure.