Nobody talked in the van on the way back to the Alamo. Freddie drove, though he wished he hadn’t volunteered to be designated driver. He was seething. By the time they’d gotten there Boyd was asleep and drunk, Benny was baked out of his gourd, and Susie looked like she needed to go home and puke.
Freddie just wanted to punch them all in the face. He wished he had to work so he would have to stay home and deal with Benny’s crap. Whenever Benny got really high he’d have this habit of being there without you knowing it, which apparently would scare the crap out of Freddie. It would be a night of either locking himself in his room, or walking down to the PT’s in the strip mall down the street, whereupon he would get raging drunk and go home. Yes, he would do that.
As soon as they walked in the door, Benny laid down on the couch. Even though he’d already taken a shower today, Freddie decided to take another one. Not that it would really do much.
He changed and proceeded to go out the front door when Benny said from the kitchen, “Hey where you going?” He sounded almost sober. Probably trying to eat whatever was left in the fridge.
“I’m going to drink by myself, because that’s what a properly angry person does, Benny. I need to think.”
“About what? We’re not breaking up, are we?” When he was high, Benny always talked about the band breaking up. It was worse than having a boyfriend.
“No, we’re not.” Freddie opened the door, and it was full-on raining outside. It reminded him of England, just with more lightning. “Bye.”
“Wait, wait. I wanna come.”
“Listen, mate. The answer’s no. You’re coming down from being high and I need to get pissed. This will not end well.” He didn’t wait for the argument and just went out the door.
He didn’t care that it was a full-on storm. He need to walk and think.
Dear Mary,
I’m home, and I hate it here. Why was it that Hell seemed such a better option?
The deal I made with the Devil was… well, a deal. I should have expected no less from him. Perhaps I didn’t know what I really wanted. Perhaps I should’ve been resurrected as my old self to take on the world again, see what could’ve been possible.
We are back together in the world, and I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m on the other side of the world, as it should be. I am in a life that is worn in already, as familiar as my old life. The flat isn’t as dirty, doesn’t have the stream of wankers in and out, sleeping on the floors and leaving their garbage. I’ve had to keep up with modern life, and it makes me miss those simpler days. Or were they simpler just because we were young? I’m young again and it makes no sense: emotions feel more heightened than they used to be.
I will have to imagine us in the pub, talking. I don’t know if I’ll make it.
All My Love,
Freddie
