20. Marley

CHAPTER 20

Marley

" W hy don't you go get some sleep?" Cain says as he hands me my fifth cup of coffee.

All of my bandmates and Kaye have constantly been staring at me like I'm a wounded animal, and I suppose I am. The constant fear and regret akin to a cleaver hacking at my limbs. "Would you be going home to get sleep if this were Lars or Billie?"

Cain nods his head and stares at the blue waiting room wall with me. It's the same color as Iggy's eyes. Fuck, why didn't I just tell him I loved him that night at his mom's?

I drop my head in my hands and pull at the black, disheveled strands. The last time I was waiting to hear if my life was going to change, Iggy was with me. The last time I was waiting, I met the love of my life.

If someone had told me I'd be auditioning for a rock band three years ago, I would've asked them how strong the hallucinogens they ingested were. Three years ago, my dreams differed vastly from today. Back then, I didn't hate myself. I sure as hell didn't want to break every bone in my hands at the mere idea of playing Bach or Beethoven. In the past, I'd suffered from manipulation. I'd become convinced true artistry only belonged to those formally educated in classical music. Three years ago, I clung to the idiotic notion my parents loved me because I was their son, and not because I was the prodigy who graced the cover of national newspapers and magazines.

"Nice penguin suit," a deep voice said beside me. I glanced over and stared at the guy sitting next to me. Guitar player. He had his foot on top of a black guitar case as he puffed away on a joint. He smirked at me and offered me a hit .

"No thanks. I don't smoke weed." I glanced at the space I was in. A dive bar in Queens, New York. This was the type of place where women go missing, never to be heard from again. From the graffiti on the walls, the floors caked with God knows what, and the tables stained with all matters of substances, this place was a certified hole-in-the-wall.

The guy beside me chuckled. "Let me guess, an Upper West Side kid?"

I shook my head. "No, I studied in New York. I dropped out after a year. Born and bred in Idaho. You from New York?"

"Portland." The guy smiled, making his bright blue eyes twinkle. He placed the joint in his mouth and reached his hand to me. "I'm Iggy. Nice to meet you."

I shook his hand. "Marley."

He nodded his head toward the closed door behind me. "You waiting to hear about the gig?"

"Yes."

"Did you hear they want us to wear gas masks? Talk about a gimmick. What's your instrument? "

"The piano."

"I think it's kind of cool they want some keys for the music. You do synthesizer shit?"

I nodded my head. "Some. I compose classical elements with fusion. It was something I was experimenting with. One kid at Juilliard told me it would sound cool in contemporary music, so I just played some gigs at local bars. I saw the flyer and thought, why the fuck not?"

Iggy's eyes widened and his mouth formed a perfect O. "Holy shit, you went to Juilliard?"

"For a year. I dropped out a month ago."

Iggy nodded his head. "Hey, man, if something isn't making you happy, why bother, right? Life is too fuckin' short."

A hollow laugh echoed within me, carrying the weight of my shattered mind and tearstained melancholic memories. Hearing someone be so nonchalant about quitting a goal I'd literally bled for was a refreshing change from the nightmare of my upbringing.

My entire existence was a masquerade contrived with determination and commitment. They forced me to exhaust my body and mind to fulfill goal after goal. My entire personality was based on the next level of perfection I could achieve as a classical pianist.

When I told my father I'd dropped out, he'd told me I was a loser and always would be one. Good old Dad, the ever supportive and loving parent. The man wasn't a talented enough pianist to make it, so he placed his fucked-up aspirations on his four-year-old son. Dad rode me until I broke. Who knew loving the pretty black and white keys would create thirteeen years of misery?

"Mrs. Donnavan." A middle-aged man wearing a white coat steps into the waiting room.

"Yes," Connie says, rushing to him. She turns around and extends her arm out to me. "Come here, Marley."

I stand beside Connie as we death grip each other's hands, waiting for the doctor to speak. Prayer has always been an unsettling practice for me, but I send out silent promises to God the doctor's stern face is just how he looks and has nothing to do with the gravity of the situation .

"Ignatius is awake. He's very lucky to have arrived at the hospital when he did. He suffered from hyperthermia, but his heart and organs are normal. You can see him now, if you'd like."

"Marley," Kaye yells as she rushes to me. I stare up at her, confused why her face looks so alarmed. Didn't she hear Iggy is okay?

Two firm hands pull at me from under my arms. "Bro, you okay?"

Cain.

Why are they fawning over me? I'm fine. I stare down and notice I'd fallen, crashed right down to the linoleum below my feet.

Their voices seem distant. All I can focus on is Iggy. "I want to see him."