The Rhythm Of Our Lonely Hearts

Chapter Eleven: Note to Self

Chapter Eleven: Note to Self

Andy pushed the remnants of his lunch around with his fork, ignoring the lively conversation going on around him. He had hoped the greasy fare would alleviate his hangover, but if anything, he only felt worse. Another week of pushing his body to the limits was catching up with him. Dehydrated, sleep-deprived, and subsisting on mostly candy and alcohol had left him running on empty.

The singer had been on a bender for the last seven days, not wanting to come to terms with what he'd done. Since their fight at the party, Matt hadn't even looked in his direction. Danny hadn't spoken of their fling since the morning after; having to combine their limited memories together to figure out what happened. Andy could only recall bits and pieces of Danny fucking him over the sink and the lead up to it.

What he wished he didn't remember was the ensuring fighting between him and Matt. The man's words echoing loud and clear in his head; Matt hated him. He had finally pushed the man to his breaking point and there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to mask that pain.

"Yo, Andy you're zoning out mate. I ask you if you were down to go to party tonight?" Ben asked, waving his hands in front of the distracted singer.

Andy snapped out of his daydreaming, taking a sip of his water. "I don't know... I think I'm gonna fucking die if I don't sleep tonight..." he groaned.

"Aw, come on... we've got a hotel tonight. Can't miss that opportunity to go fucking wild." Cameron pressured him, adding that the rest of his band was going to be there.

"Uh... yeah, maybe then... we'll see."

Andy faded back out of the conversation, not having the energy to contribute anything of substance. The set had taken the last of it out of him, with the heat index it had been over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Resulting in him sweating out most of the previous night's liquor and being lightheaded by the end of the show. Beating the shit out of his body on stage each day hadn't been good for his ribs either. He woke up most mornings in pain, making Advil his normal breakfast. Which seemed to do less and less to control the aching in his side.

"What are you trying to hint at, Craig?" Matt asked, his knee bouncing nervously under the table as he watched the blonde man's reaction.

"Nothing... nothing... I didn't mean anything by it. Just mentioning that they called me the other day." He answered, giving the guitarist a reassuring smile.

Matt didn't buy it for a second. The singer had been acting strange; more detached and secretive the past few days. At first, Matt thought it was just him being in one of his 'moods' or a fight with his girlfriend had set him off. But then he mentioned his old band had called him; asking him to consider coming back. The casual comment set alarm bells off in the guitarist's head.

Craig had made D.R.U.G.S out of a bunch of refugees from other bands. All of whom were searching for a new place to belong and create music in. After the nasty fall out he had with his former band, they were the last people Matt expected him to be talking with. Despite Craig's assurance that his future was in this band, Matt didn't believe him. That would essentially leave him without a job, it was only natural to be worried. He'd put his everything into helping the other man make D.R.U.G.S a reality, surely, they would survive more than a year.