16: Heartbreak's Your Favourite Pain...
The minute the show ended I’d left the venue, hurrying to the nearest alley way and throwing up violently. Fuck, the withdrawals were getting worse. I could barely focus during the show and I’m pretty sure the guys noticed me slipping, Andy had been throwing me looks constantly while I tried my best to ignore him.
Vomit dripped from my lips as I spat, some sticking in my tangled hair. I dragged my hand across my mouth then held a hand on my head, trying to steady my breathing. The bright lights of the venue made my head spin and I couldn’t fucking /think/.
All I wanted in that moment was to call /home/, my mom, but that was something I would never do. I would never tell them they were right, that I was wrong, that my dreams never worked out. I couldn’t live with going back, tail between my legs. I’d rather die.
I slowly sat down, back against brick wall, and lit a cigarette. I rarely smoked unless I’d had a drink but right then I felt it was necessary, and hey, what’s one more drug when you’re a “dirty junkie”, right?
The one good thing about the addiction was that something finally managed to consume my thoughts more than Andy, I could barely think about anything anymore- let alone him. Getting dressed every day was hell enough when all I wanted was to be passed out on my bed with /no-one/ bitching me out for it. Bliss.
I took a couple of hours to myself. Wandering the city to try and get my bearings after my latest hit.
First on the agenda had been acquiring another, to keep me going. I’d spaced out in the backyard of an abandoned old house and stared at the sky for some time. Though I barely ate anymore I did have some peanuts with my beer as I sat in some shady little corner bar that was basically empty except from me. My stomach was so small at this point that I felt dull after that.
When I was in the bathroom, I made sure I was alone before examining my face. I was pale, almost white, and my cheekbones were more defined than usual. Hair slightly greasy, hanging in my face with puke on the tips wasn’t a good look. My lips were white and chapped. My eyes seemed dead, muted, and I didn’t look at all like my alter ego, Ashley Purdy, the sex icon. I looked human.
Damn. I looked around before pulling my shirt up. All I saw was bone. My tattoo seemed almost ridiculous, a clear indentation in my skin now where muscle had been built from years of hard work.
What definition I’d had was fucking gone, and now I thought about it my pants -leather, skin tight- were /baggy/ now. I guess that’s what I get for forgetting to eat…
If there’s one thing I’ve always had, it’s my body. My body was like my mask, it made me confident and happy. The ability to seduce and get my way has gotten me out of laying for a /lot/ of shit, and basically one of the only reasons Andy’s put up with my shit.
Maybe that’s why Andy’s done with me.
I’m done with me.
I looked like that scared, helpless teenager I’d once seen every time I’d looked in the mirror, and I’d promised myself a long time ago that I’d never see him again.
After God knows how long I returned to the motel to find it devoid of Andy, who I wanted to make amends with. I didn’t mean to hurt him, at all. I know I’ve been so agressive over the past couple of days I just can’t handle this constant nagging, and goddamn it if someone’s gonna start on me I’ve learned to take nothing from anybody.
Poor Andy is all bark and I’ve learned to bite.
I returned to the venue and my first view was a familiar pale body underneath someone else -not /me- before I lost it.
“ANDY?!” I bellowed and got a sense of satisfaction when they broke apart. Max fucking Green. Of course. I wanted to tear him limb from limb, and then the jealousy left and I just felt hurt. Like, really hurt.
I slammed the door shut and returned to the motel, locking Andy and I’s shared room and breaking the skin of the large scab on the wrist I seemed to love to scratch. It burned and it hurt but the betrayal hurt worse.