SHATTERED

fifty-one

alex

it's been nearly a week since tour has ended and since we've all been back in new york. since i've been home, i don't think i've gone a day without being cross faded, or at the very least either drunk or high.

drinking and getting high is a lot easier than facing my feelings. i'd pick getting wasted over facing my feelings any day of the week.

i've barely even left my apartment since i've been back home. i've been out to get more alcohol and weed, and i've bought some food to hold me over for a while, plus some other essentials. besides that, i haven't left my apartment.

i'm currently sitting on the couch in the living room. my bottle of jack daniel's is nearly empty, and i'm finishing a joint that i had rolled.

during the past week, i've managed to keep my mind off of saylor... granted, that's at the cost of my sobriety, but oh well.

being sober is hard. i actually have to face shit. being sober doesn't do me any good if i have to face shit and feel shit.

i placed the roach of my joint in my ashtray. i then drank the last bit of jack daniel's. i went to place the empty bottle next to the ashtray, on the coffee table, but i horribly misjudged where i actually needed to set it. it slipped out of my hand, and it crashed against the floor.

"fuck," i groaned. i slumped over; my head was hanging between my knees from my slumped position. "fuck, man."

i slowly crumpled onto the floor. i stared at the broken glass, just hoping it would, somehow, fix itself. when that didn't work, i let out a deep sigh. i reached over to start picking up the glass shards. once i had them, i placed on the coffee table for now.

"shit," i cussed as a piece of the glass sliced my finger. "shit, dude."

i looked down at my finger, and my face paled a bit at the blood oozing out of it. i looked away as i slowly got up. i stumbled into the bathroom. i turned the water on, and i held my finger under it. i leaned my head against the mirror with a heavy exhale.

i'm too fucked up to be dealing with this shit.

once the bleeding stopped, i rummaged through the bathroom cabinet for a bandaid. when i found one, i struggled to get it on, but i was eventually able to.

i started to make my way back to the living room. i was going to try and finish picking up the broken glass, but i froze for a second as i heard a knock on the door.

go away. i don't even know who's knocking, but please, go away.

i stayed silent and hoped that they would leave. much to my disappointment, they started to knock again. they progressively knocked harder and louder.

i groaned. "shit, i'm getting it; damn," i called out to whoever it was.

i slowly stumbled my way over to the front door. i unlocked it, then opened it. my mouth quickly formed into an "o" shape as i looked down and saw that it was saylor.

"look, i'm not here to talk about... you know. it's okay if you don't want to talk about it, or forget it, or even if you just don't want to see me, but it's not okay for you to just skip rehearsal. we've texted you and waited for you, and nothing," she started to rant, cutting right to the chase.

we had a rehearsal today?

they've texted me?

i stared blankly at her as she continued. i swear i was trying really hard to actually listen to what she was saying, but i was so crossed, that i was finding even that pretty difficult.