5. Eli

Eli

Forget Me

A nother night in another city.

What the fuck am I still doing here?

The water in this hotel bathtub is cold, but I’m not shivering. No—I’m too numb.

Last night, I got cold sweats. I tossed and turned, begging anyone to make it stop. Leon found me Xanax. I don’t know how he got the stuff, and I didn’t bother to ask. It’s not the same as my prescription, nowhere close, but my head is quiet, and my body is limp. If I left and went back home, I wouldn’t have this problem. I have a stockpile of my medicine there.

But I can't go home.

It’s hard lately. I only want to quiet my thoughts and block out the constant roar. I’m not addicted to the stuff. I’m not. Besides, you can’t be addicted to something that’s prescribed to help you. Leon still asked about it, though. His gentle questioning did nothing but piss me off. He treated me like some junkie going through withdrawals. That’s not what was happening.

Sometimes, my body decides to go haywire. Regardless, he said it didn’t change anything for him—that he wants me. He only wants me to be healthy and happy.

Little does he know, I’ve only ever been either of those things for short bursts at a time. And that hasn’t happened during whatever sort of relationship we have. I explained to him this morning that a person's mind affects everything. Every second of every day, my head tells me I’m nothing. Every day, I feel this toxin inside my psyche that doesn’t have an antidote. All I can do is silence it and bury the bad under a static cloud. And for the most part, it does work.

Now, though, I don’t have my medicine.

Sinking further into the cold water, I blow my lips and make a pitiful bubble. My knees pop out from the motion while I stare at the random picture of a mosaic octopus. I think I did it all on purpose, honestly. Leon, coming on this tour, feeding the beast of loneliness. I knew Phoenix was going to be within reach. I knew he’d be just as miserable as I am. My aunt always said I was a shitty person, so I might as well prove her right.

It isn’t that I want Phoenix to be miserable or hurt, but I know he’s single. I know that he hides way more than he used to. And at this rate, he’s going to end up fucking his cat.

He needs to get over me. He needs to move the hell on. If anyone ever asked me why, I’d tell them the truth. Being together is like driving with a nuclear bomb in your backseat and praying another driver doesn’t hit you.

It’s reckless . It’s dangerous .

And most of all? Deadly.

With how possessive he would get and how I’d feed that monster just because it made me feel special was honestly twisted as fuck. But I can’t stop how I am or manipulate people to get what I want. I wanted so badly for Phoenix to be the exception. Unfortunately, he wasn’t—isn’t.

I still want to see him. I still want to see his band play my song. I want to see his eyes flicker with fury when he sees me. God, I’m fucked up because just thinking about it has me hard. I’ve held off for a week since the tour started. I think it’s time to rip the bandaid off.

T he spicy liquor burn coats my throat as I toss back the rest of my drink.

Thick, sweaty air coats my skin while I linger at the bar in the back of the venue. I fiddle with the paper band around my wrist, signifying I’m of age to be drinking. My left hand has a black X drawn over it, signifying I paid to get in here. I didn’t, but that’s a perk of fucking someone in the band. Music plays at a medium volume, blending in with the voices of all the attendees for the night. I don’t think the bar is visible from the stage, at least not with all the lights.

My legs wobble as I slip off the stool, the alcohol sloshing in a foreboding way in my stomach. There’s been a pain in my back all day, so I took some medicine. I probably shouldn’t be drinking while on the stuff, though. There’s a ball of anticipation lodged in my throat. I don’t know what is going to happen, if anything, but for the first time in a while, I’m fucking excited.

Some big dude bumps into me, damn near knocking me to the ground.

“Sorry,” he chirps and keeps going.

I don’t know that this crowd was ever really my scene before Phoenix. I guess I look the part, but more times than not, there’s a sense of not belonging here. Glancing down at my single band t-shirt, I try to recall any Metallica songs that aren’t Enter Sandman. I don’t even like Metallica. The first time I met Phoenix, I was wearing this shirt. Maybe that’s why I packed it. Another kick to his broken heart.

I don’t need you anymore. That’s what this shirt represents. Did I ever really need him? Maybe. Maybe I needed him more than I needed anything or anyone.

Flicking my eyes up to the stage as the lights dim and the crowd goes nuts, I bite the inside of my cheek. He was so shy when we met—totally out of his element. I remember catching him staring at me with his unusual eyes. I have never met anyone else with eyes like his. Butterflies form in my stomach when shadows cast over the stage from the side door. His band is through it, waiting to come out. I’ve seen them play a few times, but I don’t remember those shows. The noise in my head had been too loud, so I had to snuff it out.

It feels like I’m seeing them for the very first time.

I take in his drumset, the silver sparkles accentuating his bass drums. It’s not the biggest kit out there, so I’ll be able to see his face when he sits behind it. Then, I glance up at the backdrop with their band logo. I rise on my toes, peering over the heads of people way taller than me, and focus on the side door. A track plays through the stage speakers, ambient and ominous music setting the mood. I’ve heard the song it’ll eventually transform into. Chills burst out over my arms.

I feel…present. Drunk, a little nauseous, but present. I inhale deeply, eyes fluttering closed for a few seconds. Cheers explode around me as they snap open again.

Fuck. There he is.

The air stills in my lungs while Phoenix quickly waves at the crowd before taking his seat behind the drums. I wet my lips, dizzy. His hair is down, not quite dirty blonde, but not quite brown either. Constantly shifting in the right lighting. It’s longer than it was last year, brushing his elbows. The giant plugs in his ears jiggle as he gets his sticks from the floor tom. I can’t see his feet. I move through people, not caring if I elbow sides or step on toes. I need to get closer.

More hoots ‘n hollers sound off when the rest of the band comes out and I’m half way to the stage. People pack in like sardines, closing all gaps to get as close as possible. Jorge, Phoenix’s best friend, grabs the microphone and greets the fans. I spot Michael, Devon, and Kelly sliding behind her keyboard. There’s a shift in the recorded track, building in intensity.

It feels like I’m clawing through quicksand, desperate to reach the surface. Several annoyed grunts come from the people I’m shoving through, but no one stops me. I get about three rows away from the stage and stop.

Phoenix raises his arms, taps his drumsticks three times, and the song begins.

God damn, he’s still as beautiful as ever.