Six and a Half Months Later
Brigid Von Deitrich had worked a miracle of sorts. Phil’s mood had considerably lightened up after he shagged her ass. She let him stay with her at her place, which gave the rest of us some breathing room, too.
Jason and Sheri would disappear after studio time, and Flipper, Tim, and I would go home to the townhouse.
I wasn’t the best bass player. I didn’t so much as read music as feel it. I loved it though, and I begged Flip in the evenings to help me get the shit down as best I could before I had to bust it out in the studio.
Flipper was one amazing musician. What he did on the drums was pure fuckin’ magic, but he had the ability to help me more than the other guys. He didn’t accept any fuckin’ excuses, whipping me with drumsticks when I fucked up. Together, we were the rhythm of what we created, and I needed to be on point. I couldn’t let him down.
After an hour or so of jamming out in the living room, Flipper stood up. “Fuck this shit, man.”
I was close to crying. I didn’t think I had been doing too bad. “What?”
“Jason was fuckin’ right. We ain’t got no lives! You and me are the only ones who seem to take this shit seriously. Where are they?”
Tim, who was in the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and slunk off to his bedroom.
“Well, we know Phil is with Brigid.”
“Fuck it. Let’s go over there. If they’re fuckin’, the least they can do is let us watch.”
I cleared my throat. “I thought I overheard Jason tell Sheri they were joining them.”
“Fuckin’ assholes. Just like the fuckin’ singer and guitarist of a band, ditchin’ the rhythm to go and party. We’re the fuckin’ heart and blood of this band. They can’t just dump us like that!”
I rather thought they were giving us space because they knew that they drove Flip and me up the fuckin’ walls with their drama shit.
I felt Flipper’s anger though. It was true. We were the two assholes they’d bailed on, so they could go out and get their fuckin’ freaks on.
“You’re right,” I said, getting to my feet.
“No fuckin’ shit I’m right!”
We grabbed our coats and put on our boots. Flip shouted up the stairs at Tim, letting him know we were leaving.
It was fuckin’ Friday. We should be out, fuckin’ partying, living the dream a little. My own clock was fuckin’ ticking, and while I wasn’t wasting my time, I certainly wasn’t enjoying it like I should be.
We stomped down the street, self-righteous and pissy.
“Let’s go have a few beers before we crash their fiesta,” said Flipper.
“Fuck yeah.”
Stepping into a small pub, we copped a squat at the bar and sucked down a couple of beers. We both knew we needed the liquid courage for what we were about to do. Our brothers—and Sheri—were gonna get a verbal fuckin’ smackdown.
We’re all in this together, damn it!
They couldn’t just leave us like this anymore. Flipper and I were fuckin’ done.
“Right. Ready?” he asked.
“Lead the way, brother.”
Flipper had the stride of a man on a mission as we made our way to Brigid’s apartment. Up a few flights of stairs, we stood before door 403, listening to the music pounding through the door.
“Fuckin’ A, man, they’re blastin’ Zeppelin without us,” said Flipper, incredulous.
Physical Graffiti to be exact.
“Oh, hell no,” I snapped. Raising my fist, I pounded on the door.
No answer.
“That fuckin’ puta ain’t takin’ our brothers. I will mess a bitch up,” Flipper swore. Lifting his booted foot, he kicked the almighty shit out of the door. Once, twice, three times. One more go, and he’d succeed in busting the lock.
But he was stopped when Jace opened the door.
“What the fuck?” Jason demanded.
“Fuck you, idiota!” snapped Flipper. He shoved his way past Jason, into the apartment.
I took a close look at Jason’s eyes, which dropped in an admission of some sort of guilt. My gaze dropped, too, to see a small, round bruise on the inside of his elbow.
Fury blasted through me. “Shut the fuck up!” I shouted.
Then, it hit me. Phil! Shoving Jace out of the way, I charged into the apartment, practically steamrolling over Flipper.
There on the floor, like he’d been fuckin’ poured there, lay Phil, a soft grin on his face. My heart broke, just fuckin’ shattered into a million pieces, seeing my love wasted like this.
Brigid and Sheri were making out on the couch.
Sheri turned to face us, and she giggled. “Hey, guys.”
“Mierda,” hissed Flipper.
Phil cracked open one eye. “X?”
“What the fuck are you doin’, man?” I could see the hole in his fuckin’ arm, too.
“Don’ be mad,” he slurred. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, letting his head drop back onto the couch. “I…fuckin’ feel nothin’ right now. It feels sooo fuckin’ good.”
He didn’t even care that his girlfriend was making out with our road manager.
“Where’s the shit?” Flipper asked, looking around.
“Gone,” replied Phil, waving his hand through the air.
“How much did you do?” I asked.
My life, I could sacrifice, but it would mean fuck all if any of my brothers fuckin’ OD’d.
“Just enough,” came Jason’s voice from behind us.
Flipper turned around. “You fuckin’ piece of shit! This is why you fuckers have been ditchin’ us? To fuckin’ do smack? Are we so fuckin’ worthless to you motherfuckers? We’re two weeks overdue in recordin’, X and I have been bustin’ our asses, and you…you fuckers are getting high?”
“It ain’t like that. We’ve only done it a couple of times,” said Jason.
“I’m done,” said Flipper, dramatically dusting off his hands. “Fuck this shit. Come on, X. We gotta start lookin’ for another band.”
“Wh-what?” gasped Phil.
Sheri pushed Brigid off of her. The woman dropped to the floor, her head landing in Phil’s lap. He carefully pushed her off him and got to his feet.
“You fuckers ain’t nothin’ but junkie pieces of trash!” howled Flipper.
Phil’s eyes widened. “We ain’t junkies, man.”
“You’re goin’ down that road, motherfucker,” I hissed. “Are you even comprehendin’ my ass right now, Phil?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You fuckers ever pull this shit on me and Flip again, we’re fuckin’ out. You two might be what the fuckin’ fans go apeshit over, but me and Flip are the fuckin’ life force of NOLA’s Junk. You wanna try to find a drummer as good as Flipper? ’Cause there ain’t one. You’ll find a better bass player—I’ll give you fuckers that—but NOLA’s Junk is my band. I ain’t lettin’ you assholes shoot your way into an early grave.”
“It ain’t like that,” Phil protested.
“You can’t trust that shit, man! One bad batch, and you’re fucked. It’s one thing, doing some coke here and there, but heroin? Are you that fuckin’ insane?” I glanced to Brigid, who was assed out on the floor, not giving a flying fuck about anything in the room.
This was it. I was gonna pull out the big fuckin’ guns here.
“You think Baby Girl wants you comin’ home to her, hooked on smack?”
Phil drew in a sharp breath. “What did you say?”
“You remember her, right? How fuckin’ pure and sweet she was? She’s still that girl. She’s waitin’ for you. And this is what you’re becomin’? You gonna be some diseased junkie for that girl when we make it back home?”
Phil shook his head. “No.”
“Get your shit together, asshole.”
He swallowed hard. “I won’t touch that shit again. I promise.”
I threw a real disgusted look at Brigid. “You ain’t gonna go nowhere with that trash, Phil. She’s brought you to an all-time fuckin’ low.”
“You two putas get the fuck cleaned up,” Flipper snapped. “We’re fuckin’ better than this. No wonder the music’s been fuckin’ shit. You two have been sloppy as fuck for weeks now. You touch that shit again, and we’re through.”
Jason had the good grace to look mortified with himself. He’d probably never thought the day would come when he’d be told that his playing was shit.
“Okay,” said Phil.
I hadn’t heard him so scared in a long-ass fuckin’ time.
“There ain’t no more of that shit here?” asked Flipper.
“No,” said Phil. “Are you guys heading home?”
“Yeah,” snapped Flipper.
“I wanna come home,” Phil whispered. “I just wanna go home.”
Flipper stabbed a finger in Brigid’s direction. “Is she okay to leave here alone?”
“We’ll stay,” said Sheri. “I didn’t do anything hard. I’m just drunk and stoned. Jace and I will stay. Take Phil with you.”
Phil swayed on his feet.
“Motherfucker, are you even able to walk?” asked Flip.
“Yeah, I’ll make it. I didn’t do that much.”
Flipper, tiny dude that he was, grabbed Phil’s arm and marched his ass toward the door. “Put your shoes on, asshole.”
With some difficulty, Phil shoved his feet into his boots. I grabbed his jacket, ready to help him with it, but he bent down to tie his boots and crashed to the floor.
“Fuckin’ little bitch!” Flipper shouted.
“All right, man,” I said. “I got it. Go wait for us in the hall, okay? Both of us will need to help his ass down the stairs.”
“If his ass don’t take us down with him and kill us!” he said. But he did as I’d asked, slamming the door behind him.
Phil was shaking—not bad, but…it scared the shit out of me.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as I stooped down to lace up and tie his boots. “I’m so sorry, X.”
“Why do you do this shit to us, man?” I asked. “Why are you so fuckin’ hell-bent on wreckin’ everythin’? What did I ever do to deserve you doin’ this?”
“I can’t stop this guilt, man.”
“What fuckin’ guilt?” I huffed, tightening the laces on one of his boots.
“About everythin’. Even when I look at you, you make me feel so ashamed. Because of you, I have everythin’ I’ve ever dreamed of, except…”
“Except Baby Girl,” I stated.
His head slumped in a nod of sorts. “I owe you so much, X. I wanna be able to give you everythin’. But the only thing you’ve ever really wanted from me is the one fuckin’ thing I ain’t able to give.”
“It’s cool, man. That shit don’t matter. It never has. Just don’t do this shit again. This life don’t mean shit if you’re dead.”
“You forgive me?”
I looked up into his eyes. He was crying, humiliated he’d brought himself to this.
“Always, brother. You ready?”
He nodded. I stood up and reached out my hands, and somehow, I found the strength to heft his ass off the floor.
I always would find the strength to carry him as long as I was on this earth.