Book 1: She's A Little Runaway (Izzy Stradlin)

Twenty-Six

● Reyna ●

He still hasn’t said a fucking word. No, “I’m sorry for not telling you I was talking to Alex again.” No random dinner and flowers. No extra attention to show he’s sorry. Nothing. In fact, he’s even more distant than before. What the hell is all that about? 

A month later and he avoids me like the plague. Like I’m the problem. Like I was the reason this all started. 

But as usual, I can’t find it in me to stay even a quarter angry. My anger fades to worry. 
Did I do something wrong? Am I being selfish for being mad? And so on and so forth. Just the usual things my mind tells me when I’m angry at someone.

Am I just overreacting? Guys stay in touch with certain exes all the time. . . right? 

The first week I was just angry. I avoided Izzy at all costs, for fear that I would make the situation worse. I was out all the time, and when I did come home I would sleep on the couch. 

The second week I tried to patch things up. I left little notes around the house when I would wake up and he would be gone. I’d sleep next to him with a feeble attempt to cuddle. He’d, of course, get as far away from me as possible. Not that I could blame him. 

The third week I attempted to make things normal. I’d try and kiss him good morning. I held a one-sided conversation the majority of the time. He’d only stare gloomily into his breakfast. Then he’d leave to the studio, not coming back until the wee hours of the morning. I stayed away from the studio that week. I thought giving him a little space would help the already tense and awkward situation we found ourselves in. 

This last week, however, after my attempts at normalcy failed, I started to spend time out of the apartment again. I spent most of my time hanging out with either my brother, Imperial, or Duff. It all depended on who walked into the Whiskey that day. 

No matter how much they made me laugh, nothing could change the heavy weight on my chest. It stays with me no matter what. I miss Izzy. I miss the way things were. We were so happy. I miss his kisses and his tender touch. I miss him laughing at my stupid jokes. I miss how he knew something was wrong before I even opened my mouth. He’d know just how to comfort me. 

Now, he won’t even sleep facing me. We sleep with me facing Izzy’s back and him nearly falling off the bed. 

One question plagues me: Did we blow this out of proportion?

My guilty mind says yes, but my friends say no.

Steven just laughed it off, saying that girls are always jealous. He received a slap on the arm from Imperial.

Imperial said that it was about time for our first big fight. That all great couples have them. I wasn’t sure what to make of that comment. I don’t think it’s “healthy” for couples to fight. Sure, disagreements are to be expected, but not like what Izzy and I are going through right now. I never have been in this situation before. Sure, dating Nikki was easy ‘cause we were both doped up the entire time, but still. No major fights that had us not talking for an entire month.

Duff didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t think that I was overreacting. He just did what he does best. He comforted me. He took me out for a drink after that, a huge, goofy grin on his face. Yes, the dude’s drunk most of the time, but he’s the best damn friend I could’ve asked for during these times.

Surprisingly, I haven’t been going to my old friend for comfort. Heroin no longer has control of my life. I decided that it was ridiculous for me to be going back down that road again. I stopped cold turkey, which isn’t the healthiest or easiest thing to do. I spent the last week puking into the Whiskey’s toilet. I expect it to take another month, maybe more, for me to get off the cycle I put myself on once again. 

I can tell that Izzy is using more. He looks horrible. Sunken eyes, an unnaturally thin body. He looks sick. He’s also been more snappy. Once, Steven just asked if he was feeling alright and Izzy damned near chucked his guitar at the poor boy. It took everything in me to ignore my sisterly instincts to beat the shit out of him.

We are now entering the fifth week of not speaking. For the first time in two weeks I enter the hot practice space to watch the boys fine tune everything. I cross my legs on the cold cement floor, reading through the agreement for Guns to go on tour with Motley. 

I may not have finished high school, but that doesn’t mean I'm not smart. I just needed to get out of where I was. 

So far, everything seems to be in order. I set the papers aside, looking up at the guys. They’re arguing over some technical issue that I can’t be bothered to listen to.

I pull a book out of my bag, opening it to the spot I left off. Somehow I manage to block out the boys bickering and focus in on the words in front of me. It’s comforting to leave my world for just a little bit. I can focus on something else for once. 

I nearly jump out of my skin when someone lays a hand on my shoulder. I look up, a little annoyed at whoever disturbed me, but all annoyance ebbs away as I look into the most comforting pair of brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He hasn’t been this close to me in so long. I almost forgot what his presence was like without the hostility. 

His face is one that I know as well as my own. I’ve seen him with tears rolling down his face, a smile so wide and genuine that it made his eyes crinkle. I’ve seen him with a scowl on his face and eyes that could shoot daggers. 

Right now his face is calm and serene. Not even a ghost of a smile on his face. This makes my stomach turn.

“Can I talk to you?”