| FATES ONE |
| The nearly empty bottle of Vodka swung precariously from his hands as he leaned over the balcony of the hotel he was staying at. Quite frankly, he couldn't even remember what city he was in, only that it was on the east coast somewhere. He lifted the bottle to his lips once more and swallowed the liquid, feeling the burn as it trickled down his throat and settled in his stomach. The city was alive with lights, and whatever city it was, it sure looked beautiful. The cool night air bathed his sweaty body, and he wished it would bring him some comfort. Actually, he wished anything would bring him comfort or peace. Tears stung his eyes, and he pressed them tightly shut in the hopes all the memories would float away. The phone let out a shrill ring. He took another deep gulp of the liquor and willed it to stop. The last thing he wanted was to be bothered. He was enjoying wallowing in self pity, and didn't wish to be disturbed. It wouldn't stop though. He glared at it, and finally, stepped inside to grab it. "What?" he demanded angrily. "Dude, we gotta go! Where you been? We're down in the lobby." The voice of his best friend floated across the line, and he sank down onto the bed, sighing heavily. "Man, what time is it?" he asked, softening his tone. "It's almost 7:00, the limo is waiting, come on!" Silently, he hung up the phone and rubbed his tired eyes. Pulling on his sneakers, he took one last swig of the Vodka, emptying the bottle, and tossed it into the garbage pail. The stubble on his face itched him, and he sighed again, angry at himself for forgetting to shave. One glance in the mirror at his pathetic appearance, and he left the hotel room. The walk to the elevators was brief, and he tried to focus on the evening's events, rather than his reasons for being so depressed. As luck would have it, the elevator was not empty. Three women joined him, and he moved to the back, reaching for his sunglasses and placing them over his eyes in an attempt to hide himself. The last thing he needed right now was to be recognized. Although the alcohol had hit him hard, not being a drinker per say, he had some idea of how bad it would look in the press if he was seen in public intoxicated. Unfortunately, before the elevator could land him safely in the lobby, one of the girls noticed him. A short gasp escaped her lips, and she stared at him with a grin. "Could I bother you for an autograph?" she asked sweetly. Reluctantly, he removed his shades, pushing them back onto his head. The fan fished in her purse and produced a pen and a piece of paper. "Make it to Lindsay please." He forced a smile on his face, and scribbled his name, or at least he hoped that's what he wrote. His fingers were having a hard time connecting with his mind, and he silently prayed the lobby level was near. The girl took the paper back and squeezed his arm. "I'm a big fan," she admitted. "We all are. Good luck with the video shoot tonight." He smiled and felt his head swim. He knew if he tried to talk, his voice would sound drunk, so he just kept grinning. Soon, the doors opened, and he came face to face with four concerned looking friends, who grabbed his elbow and yanked him from the small car. They quickly whisked him into the limo and glared at him. "You smell like a brewery," one said, waving a hand in front of his nose. "How the hell much did you drink tonight?" another one asked. The third one shook his head. "Do you know how important this video shoot is? Do you?" He was less kind, and more stern. "Do you know how much of our money is on the line here?" The fourth one rubbed his eyes. "I don't think he can perform tonight, there's no way. He can't even walk straight." "Don't talk about me like I'm not here," he commanded. "I can fucking hear you. I'm not deaf!" His four friends stared hard at him, unused to him cursing at all, in any situation. A quiet fell upon the limo and no one spoke for a while. The limo slowed down, and the driver announced they were on scene for the shoot. Nervously, the four friends stared at the drunken figure slumping down in the leather seat and tried to decide what they should do. They couldn't cancel the shoot, it would cost too much money. "Well, we could shoot around him," one suggested. "No, it's performance up first, we need him," another said. "I can still fucking here you!" he yelled. "I'm fine, let's get out. I'm fine." He stumbled over his friends to the door and waited for the driver to let him out. Pulling his sunglasses over his eyes once more, he tumbled from the limo, and caught himself right before falling to the ground. Several video crews and a few fans were standing there, awaiting the group's arrival. He waved and tried desperately to steady himself. One by one, the rest of the group piled out, shielding him from the flash of cameras, and hurried him inside the make up trailer. "Is there any coffee around?" one asked the make up lady. She nodded and pointed to another trailer. He scurried off to fetch of cup for his drunken friend. "We need the guys on set in 20 minutes," a loud voice boomed from outside the trailer. He was pushed into the make up chair by his friend and tried to keep his composure. His temples ached, his mind wouldn't focus, and his heart hurt. She had been gone just over a month, and he honestly didn't think his life could ever get back to normal. He felt the tears threaten to fall once again. Quickly, he brought his hands up to his eyes, and dug them into his sockets, praying for some reprieve. He didn't know how much longer he could exist like this. Now with his band mates money and careers on the line, his common sense was trying to get through to him. The coffee arrived and he sipped it with great guilt as his friends looked on helplessly. Images of her kept dancing through his soul, and he took several deep breaths, reminding himself there was nothing he could have done. He stared at his image in the mirror, Mr. Pop Star, Mr. Teen Idol, Mr. Lonley. He could have anything he wanted with the money he made, but the only thing he truly needed was gone, and no amount of money would bring it back. Sadly, he motioned for more coffee and let the make up woman tend to his haggard appearance. He hoped he could at least salvage this video shoot, then he would request some time off to think. His eyes closed and he leaned back in the chair, going over the lyrics for the new song, praying he could get through this all, forcing out the persistant images of her. His mind wouldn't let go though, and flashes of her passed through his memory. Walking on the beach, running through the mall away from fans, visiting Paris, sitting on the dock in NY, chasing her through the yard of his house while playing touch football with his group mates and family. Then the horror, her packing her suitcase, yelling, screaming, doors slamming, tears, the smell of the hospital. Involuntarily, he shook in his seat, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. "You okay?" the make up lady asked, seeing his face turn sheet white. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he muttered, flying from the chair, and barely making it to the bathroom. He felt his stomach turn and vomited until there was nothing left. Silently he slumped to the hard, cold tile and sobbed. There was no controlling it, no stopping it. The tears couldn't be stopped, nor did he try to stop them. The knocks on the door were faint, as were the concerned voices coming through them from the other side. He clutched his stomach and cried, more than he'd ever cried in his life. Finally, the door flung open and two of his friends stood there, worried looks plastered on their faces. "Cancel the shoot for tonight," he heard one say. "But..." "No buts!" the voice spoke with authority. "Cancel it, he can't perform like this." An arm was about his shoulders, and he felt his friend lift him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you back to the hotel." Exhausted, he went with his friend, feeling the sobs calm just a bit. He tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt. His eyes burned, and his body ached. He allowed himself to be laid down in the limo. His eyes rolled back and he closed them, feeling his band mates enter after him. The movement of the limo was comforting, and he drifted off. From the distance, he could hear voices as he slept. "You think he'll be alright?" "I don't know. I've never seen him like this." "He's just hurting, he'll pull it together, he has to." "Did anyone call his family? Maybe they can help." "I didn't want them to worry. I thought we could handle this." "Well, it's obvious we can't. Neither can he. We have contracts and commitments. We need him to be okay." "We should have been more understanding maybe." "Maybe he needs some time off." "Our album was just released. We can't take time off now." "Maybe...." "No! No maybes! He has to pull himself together, for the group and that's it." Silence fell upon the limo once again. |