ODAAT: Volume 1, Chapter 10

 

Chapter 10

Run & Never Look Back

I haven't pulled myself from this bed in days. I feel like time is just slipping between my fingers. It's a concept that's eluding me. No matter how hard I try to get a hold of it, it's just slipping away. Time has decided to run and never look back. I guess I'm expected to do the same. I ignore the way my stomach is rumbling. I haven't eaten in days, either. I haven't slept. Hunter has been gone, so it's been nothing but the silent lulls, echoing throughout the house. A window left open downstairs has occasionally startled me. But I can't bring myself to go close it. Even if the breeze has managed to get upstairs, chilling me to the bone. I wouldn't feel it. My bones are already cold and my skin is kept warm from the glow of the whiskey bottle I keep beside the bed. I've been relying on it heavily. I think, a little too heavily. I've been seeing double for at least an hour. Everything has been scrolling, instead of standing still. I guess the room is spinning too. I didn't think I drank too much, but it adds up I guess. The pills, the alcohol, lack of sleep and not eating anything. It adds up. I don't usually mix pills and alcohol. I try to be smarter than that. But, I found myself in a moment of weakness. A fleeting moment, of course. I just wanted to stop thinking.

The thing about a problem is that it doesn't go away when it's ignored. The thing about conflict is that the problem doesn't go away, either. So I know where Hunter has been the past few days. I know who he has been with. I wouldn't call him on it, because that breaks the rules in our game of avoidance. He wouldn't ask me where I've been for the same reasons. We both know where we stand. It's not in a very flattering light. Yet, neither of us can bring ourselves to say the words. Admit defeat. We're fucking stubborn like that. But he's staying gone, and that's a message. A clear sign that he doesn't approve of my sudden disappearances. That is new. He's expressing a feeling, though indirectly. He doesn't usually entertain feelings. Hasn't in a long time. I guess that the game is changing, though. I changed it, without meaning to. I thought we coexisted, but that was only as long as we danced around each other. I took a step away and he read that as a whole new game. Although he has no idea where I've been. He can only come up with his own stories. His own ideas. He will too. It's the same thing he did last time and the time before. We never talk about what's going on. Whitney is right. We should fucking talk about this.

I think back to that bachelor apartment. A small thing he's only renting because of Crystal. She shared it with her boyfriend, but he took off. It left her short on rent, so he stepped up to take over. He wanted to help out his friend. It's more homey to him than his own house. Not because it's small, but because no one knows about it. For him, being there is an escape. The same way being with him is an escape for me. I could have asked Crystal her opinion on the situation at hand. Whitney is biased. She's been around for a long time and she knows the patterns. She knows that me and Hunter dance around our issues, but always end up back together. She thinks she can save us the in between of falling apart. It's such a nice idea, in theory. But there's no practicality to it, so I wouldn't bother trying at this point. If I did ask Crystal, she would be biased too. Her bias would lean in the other direction. She might suggest that if I was happy, I wouldn't be finding my way to their apartment. I wouldn't be finding myself in his arms. I would be here, in my home. I would be in Hunter's arms, even if I wasn't welcome. I don't have to ask anyone for their opinion though. I know if I'm considering it, I've already made up my mind. I'm bored and I'm restless, stuck in this house and this life. My heart has the instinct to flee, the same way it always does. I have this innate problem of fleeing every time things get difficult. I just disappear to a new city and reappear with a new identity surrounding myself with new faces. I go somewhere else as someone else. A whole new life to fuck up at some point or another. I always fuck them up, of course. I have this innate problem of fucking up my life.

If I could see straight, or move without feeling a sudden bout of dizziness, I might go for a walk. The fresh air might clear my head, even through the mid-October rain. Of course, I can't move. The last time I tried to stand up, I was heading to the bathroom. I had to hug every wall and one of them pushed me off. The rest of them have become good friends of mine. They are keeping me balanced, on my feet. That other one can go fuck itself for letting me fall.

He keeps asking, but he's stopped using his words. Now, it's written all over his face instead. It's on display in his eyes, this hopeful glimmer. Right now, I fucking hate that. I have a concrete wall around me too, but he always seems to break it down. At first, subtle. Then, not subtle at all. More like a bulldozer, smashing through. Loudly. Then, I'm left exposed. I'm an open book that he can read as he sees fit. He can see all those things I try to hide from the rest of the world. But I take solace in knowing he's the only one who can do that. At least no one else can see how fucking broken I am. Only him. He's the only one who knows how weak I truly am. The thought terrifies me. I know that I tend to be a control freak, so the idea of having no control is scary. Lately, that's what my whole life feels like. I've lost it. I've lost control. I've lost my mind. I've lost Hunter. I'm on the brink of losing everything. The things I know, the things I don't. The life I wanted more than anything, but never truly had. Well, I guess it wasn't the life I wanted. I never wanted this deafening silence in a life of cooking dinner as a trophy wife. I wanted Hunter. I just didn't realize that his own dreams involved this type of settling down. I saw us on the road together, maybe writing music together. I'm not a great lyricist, but, I pen some stuff now and then. I saw us rubbing elbows with some of the greatest names in the music industry. I saw us taking pictures at all the tourist monuments in Europe. I saw a lot of things in my head that I never saw in reality. I never would have seen them, either. Because that wasn't Hunter's dream. The music was a job, not a passion. He moved on. When he did, I think, he left me behind. It's sad to think we've been over for that long. But as I lay here, staring at two scrolling ceilings, I realize that's how far back I can trace this. This disconnection.

I think about that life. In an alternate universe, where Hunter and I were touring and seeing the globe. I think of all the people we'd be meeting and the stories we'd be telling. I think of the stories we'd be living. It would certainly be more exciting than garlic butter shrimp with a hint of lemon. He once said we were refined now. Growing up and settling down. It was a nice thought, one I obviously bought into. But, we weren't refined. We're the same dirty hoodlums that we once were. We just put on masks and started to dance around like life was a stage. But it isn't. There's no script. No predestined plan. We make it up as we go. I think I'm sick of this stage. I think I miss my life the way it was. I think, putting on the mask was like running away from myself. I've done it so many times before that I don't even notice I'm running anymore. I don't notice until I slow down, when it starts catching up with me. That's where I am. Slowing down enough that it's starting to catch up. So I either let reality sink in, or keep running. One of the things I miss most about the life we used to share was touring. It was like being on the run, but not running away from anything. But, tour life ages you. I swear every year on tour ages you by a decade. It's insane. The pressure. The drugs. The groupies. The schedules. The jet lag. Fuck the jet lag. That was always the worst. Or maybe it was sharing a tour bus with 10 people and the collection of smells. Between body odors and bodily fluids, the bus always smelled similar to a high school locker room. Or, maybe it was being crammed in a small van, having to pull over to the side of the road every time someone needed a bathroom break. At some point, our mornings started with a cup of black coffee and two lines of white powder. We're not talking about sugar, either. It seemed to me that was how everyone kept going. Of course, these weren't always Hunter's tours. He never got mixed up in the heavy drugs, not until after he quit music. I toured with many other bands. I did get to Europe, he just wasn't with me when I did. In fact, he wasn't with me for most of the golden moments of my life, now that I think about it.

I'm startled out of my thoughts when the front door slams. I attempt to sit up, pulling myself to the edge of the bed. But the sudden movement kicks in and a dizziness rushes over me. I fall back down on the bed. I don't know what has brought on these sudden dizzy spells. I'd play a game of process of elimination. But, there are too many factors to take into consideration. So I don't bother. I just accept my inability to move. For all I know, it's caused by the way my thoughts are racing, nothing more. I take in a deep breath as I hear footsteps on the stairs. They are hardwood, so they naturally creak whenever they are stepped on. I look to the top of the stairs, expecting a confrontation as Hunter gets to the hallway. Maybe he'll be shocked that I'm home. Maybe he'll be ridden with guilt, knowing where he's been. Maybe he'll be both and she'll be coming home with him. I brace myself, but it's not Hunter who comes around the corner. It's him. He's here, in Hunter's house. He's walking into Hunter's bedroom. My mind is whirling about how awkward and uncomfortable everything suddenly feels. He's never been in this house. Not this one. We lived in Illinois when... I shake the thoughts from my head. It doesn't matter when. What matters is that he's here, right now. He's looking around the room, making comparisons in his own head. I can see the way his eyes are darting in all directions. Or, maybe I'm just imagining it. When my eyes can finally focus on him, he's just staring at me. There's a blank expression on his face and all four of his arms are crossing over his chest.

“It's time.” He insists, motioning forward. I notice the suitcase sitting on the floor in front of me. I nod, letting myself drop on the floor. I'm listening. I'm obeying. But he's going to have to do a lot more to get enthusiasm out of me. I'm not even sure I'm making the right decision. But, then again, I didn't make the decision. It was made for me, I suppose.