Sipping the clear, burning liquid while lying in the middle of my bed, my thoughts drift to Renee. I’m pretty sure she’s in the ground now, too. Thanks to me. Although her death was also ruled to be an unfortunate accident, it’s still my fault that she was with me in the car that night. She died trying to be more than she was. She was nothing but a sex toy to me, and an unfortunate victim of my inability to form meaningful relationships with people. I didn’t know her well enough to miss her, but I do feel bad that she lost her life. She wanted more than I could give her, even though I’m always honest with the women I fuck. They know there will be no love, no commitment, and no care. There will be fun and there will be fucking. Nothing more. Yet women always seem to think they will get more, and that they might be the one to change me.
I pop a pill and wash it down with more vodka.
A snake is always a snake. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.
Vandal
I’m ripped out of my deep, numbing sleep by someone banging on the front door and ringing the doorbell. Non-fucking-stop. It’s obvious after ten minutes of banging that they aren’t going away, so I stumble down the hall, holding my sore ribs. I’m wearing nothing but sweatpants, and step over garbage, empty bottles, and strewn mail on my way.
I swing open the door and Evie is standing there, holding a bunch of grocery bags.
“What the fuck do you want?” I spew at her.
She pushes past me and plops the bags on my cluttered counter, sending a few empty vodka bottles to the floor.
“You’ve missed the last five practices,” she says, looking around in disgust. “No one has seen you in two weeks.”
I go to the fridge, take out a beer, crack it open, and take a big gulp. “What are you? The fucking band manager now?”
She starts to throw the dirty dishes on the counter into the sink, and then goes after the refrigerator, dragging the garbage can over so she can dump old, rotting food into it.
“This place is disgusting, Vandal.”
“No shit. Ask me if I care. Why the fuck are you here?”
“I came to check on you, and bring you some food. And clean, since you apparently need all of the above.” She looks me up and down and pokes my stomach. “You look thin.”
She completely takes over my kitchen like a tornado, putting groceries in the fridge, rifling through my cabinets, and throwing garbage away.
After listening to the scraping and crashing of her rearranging my kitchen as I once knew it, I take another gulp of beer. “I don’t need your fucking help. Does Storm know you’re over here, playing maid to his fuck-up of a cousin?”
“Yes, he knows I’m here. You’re not a fuck-up, Vandal. Everyone is worried about you. And they need you at practice; the band can’t perform without a bass player. You should take a shower too, you’ll feel better.”
Chugging the rest of my beer, I toss the empty can onto the counter she just cleaned, and sneer at her. “You can all fuck off.”
Evelyn takes a deep breath and looks at me warily. I know she’s afraid of me, yet here she is, putting herself right in the line of my fire. I’m not sure if she’s determined or just really stupid.
“Thanks for the food. Now get the fuck out of my house.” I turn to head back to bed but she grabs my arm. When I glare at her and rip my arm out of her grasp, she stands there like a lost puppy, bottom lip quivering. Lukas’s words come back to haunt me: “If you keep kicking a dog, eventually he’s not going to come back.”
I don’t know why, but the shimmering tears in her eyes make me lose it. I try to fight crying in front of her, but I can’t control the tears that start and the ache that builds in my chest again. I sink to the cold tile floor and she goes down with me, wrapping her small arms around me as best she can, holding me close to her.
“It’s okay.” She whispers those two words over and over. Nothing is okay, but having her close to me makes me feel a little less alone.
I’m not sure how long I cry on the floor with her, but after a while she takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom, throwing a blanket over me after I fall onto the bed.
When I wake up hours later, she’s gone, but my entire house is clean, and my laundry is done and folded. Katie’s door is still closed, and I hope Evelyn didn’t go in there and touch anything because I want it all exactly how Katie left it. I head to the kitchen to pick at some of the food she left and I find a note taped to the refrigerator.
“I’ll be back next week. I’ll keep coming back until I don’t have to. ~ Evelyn”
I crumple the note and toss it in the trash.
***
I get out my bass and sit on the couch to play but I just can’t get into it. Everything sounds like shit to me. A different fetish is calling my name, and I know it won’t shut up until I give in. I lay my bass on the coffee table and go to the master bathroom. In the back of the closet is a small painted-black onyx box that I’ve had since I was twelve years old. I made it myself, not knowing what I would put in it at the time, but it soon housed my most precious items.
I sit the box on the edge of the bathtub and open the lid. Inside are several glistening razor blades, and one very old one, rusty, encrusted with dry blood. My very first blade, which I’ve kept all these years—a souvenir of sorts.
I take out one of the blades and my heart beats faster knowing the euphoria that is coming. I push my cut-off sweat pants out of the way and slide the blade down my outer thigh, the trail of red chasing it like a lost lover. Pain has always been my best friend and greatest release. I slide the blade again, a little deeper this time, and close my eyes as the hurt and agony eases from my soul and into my leg, escaping in the drops that slowly drip down my flesh.
***
The next day I decide to go to the studio and put in some jam time with the rest of the band since I’ve missed a crazy amount of sessions already and I’m sure the guys are getting pissed off.
“Where the hell have you been?” Asher demands the minute I walk into the studio. I drop my bass case and try to focus on him. Hangovers are not my strong point.
“Relax, man, I’m here.” My words slur.
My cousin Talon puts his guitar down and approaches me, pushing me into the nearest chair. “You’re drunk off your ass again. Did you actually drive like this?”
I nod and laugh a little. “I think ‘still’ is probably more accurate than ‘again’, Tal.”
He shakes his head at me and looks back at his brothers. “He’s a fucking mess, guys. He shouldn’t be here.”
Storm’s huge dog, Niko, trots over and lays his head on my leg. I sink my hands into his long fur. Katie loved this dog and would use him as a pillow, laying her head on him and napping with him on the floor while we practiced for hours. I planned to get her a puppy for her next birthday. I lean over and rest my head against the dog’s big furry head. I want to feel what Katie felt.
“Vandal, for fuck’s sake. We know you’re hurting, but this shit has to stop. You can’t just keep drinking like this; you’re ruining your life. Katie wouldn’t want you like this. We don’t want you like this.” Storm’s voice gets the dog’s attention, so he leaves me and goes back to his master’s side.
“We have a tour coming up, Van. Soon,” Asher reminds me. “There is no way in hell you can play like this. I refuse to let you fuck up my band with your shit. I don’t care how fucking good you play. We’ve all been working our asses off, and we’re all trying to help you, but you can’t be drunk or high twenty-four seven.”
Storm steps in front of Asher and puts his hand on his shoulder, always the peacemaker. “Vandal, we’ve all been talking. You know we’ve been trying like hell to help you, but you won’t even try to help yourself.” He takes a deep breath and pets Niko’s head before looking up at me again. “We think it’s best if you step out of the band for a while, and we have someone else fill in for you for the tour. Hopefully next year you’ll feel better and can come back. That’s what we all want. We just think you need some more time; maybe you should go back into rehab for a while or talk to the doctor. Whatever you need.”
I can’t believe this shit; they’re kicking me out. Katie and the band were my life. Being in Ashes & Embers is like a dream for me. All the years of practicing and playing gigs finally got me somewhere. Ash didn’t bring me into the band because he liked me, or because I was family. That fucker hates me. But he loves the way I play bass and my style fits in with them perfectly.
I stand up and look at Storm, swaying a little as the room blurs. “Feel better? Is that what I need to do? I didn’t realize I was sick.”
Storm takes a drag on his stupid e-cig and blows vapor up into the air. “That’s not what I meant. I’m trying to be nice.”
I flash him an evil grin. “Ya know who’s nice, Storm? Your girlfriend. Do you ever wonder why she’s at my house every week? Maybe she’s bored at home. I think she wants to be tied to my bed.”
Storm lunges at me. “You motherfucker!”
Talon grabs him and pulls back Storm’s clenched fist that’s aimed at my face. “Don’t waste your time, Storm,” Talon says. “He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He’s fuckin’ wasted.”
“As usual,” Asher adds. “Just leave and let us know when you can be serious about the band again. We don’t have time for all this bullshit. I’ve got my own issues to deal with.”
I grab my bass and turn to him, glaring at him eye to eye and then lowering my gaze to his chest. I flick the old skeleton key necklace hanging around his neck that he never takes off.
“You need to deal with reality, Cuz,” I mumble. “She ain’t never coming back.”
He seethes at me. “Get the fuck out of here,” he growls through clenched teeth.
I slam the door on my way out and head for my car. Fuck them. They’ll never find a decent bass player to replace me, and the fans will go ballistic. I’m one of the most popular members of the band. They’ll be begging me to come back, drunk or not.