Rock Bottom (Sequel to How it Happened is Irrelevant)

3

Craig's POV:

While TJ is dripping with angst and feeling sorry for himself, I was trying everything I could to pretend that he wasn't doing that. Our exchanges were nothing but icy, though. I remembered the promise we'd made in that hotel room a few years back to not break up the band if we'd broken up with each other. 

Thrasher grabbed my shoulders and hid behind me, peaking around. "Hide me!"

"What did you do?" He was the only one stupid enough to poke the beast. The alcohol-abusing, moody, heartaching beast.

"I may have told him about us being dry."

"Christ." He pulled my shoulders harder as he sank lower to the ground. As he did so, TJ finally emerged for something other than soundcheck. I tried to keep my expression general. "What's the matter?"

"You told them to keep us dry?" He jabbed his finger at me, poking me in the chest. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm worried about you." Oh, Lord. That's not the right thing to say.

"It figures." He ran his fingers through his hair, biting his lip. I think he forgot that he used to do that all the time because he thought it attractive. It was back then, but not anymore. "But you're not worried about me the way I want you to be." He started to walk past me. "That means that I get to buy whatever the hell I want to drink. I don't give a fuck about your input on my life choices."

"Your desperate attempts to gain my pity are cute," I told him, giving up on playing the nice guy. "Do you have any other tricks up your sleeve? Gonna start using needles? Writing suicide notes and planting them? How about you cut yourself and just happen to let me see it? You're pathetic."

"That's real nice of your to joke about that. I'm sorry you think I'm trying to get your attention." He stomped off of the bus, shaking it as he went down the stairs. 

"When are you two going to learn to just leave him the hell alone?" Robert asked, rubbing his temples. 

"He's so self-destructive. How can you want us to just leave him alone?" Kevin asked, finally moving away from my protection. 

"He'll get over it."

"He hasn't eaten for a week. Robert, I couldn't lift him a week ago. I've seen him. He's getting thinner and lighter by the day."

"You think I don't know that?" Robert snapped. It was weird to seem him so upset. "I know what he's doing to himself. I've seen it! I'm just as pissed off as you are, but there's nothing we can do about it. We can only take so many bullets before we stop looking for the shooter."

"Whatever happened to TJ?" I whispered. The man here now, though he looked like my dark-haired, punk rock friend, was not TJ. 

Kevin put his hand on my shoulder. "He'll come back someday. He can't stay like this forever."

I wasn't so sure. Maybe he would come back, but I seriously doubted it. 

TJ didn't show up to soundcheck. In fact, he didn't even show up to the show itself. We had a substitute guitarist because we ran out of time to look for him. We skipped a signing because of our efforts. I felt guilty for doing that to the fans, but I was really getting worried. I was walking through a dark street, phone flashlight on, calling his name. "TJ!" I called, over and over again, my voice hoarse from performing and screaming his name. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"

I saw a figure, a very thin figure, in the alleyway. It was lying against the wall of a brick building. I rushed over to the person, finding that it was, in fact, a passed out TJ. There were bottles of tequila, vodka, whiskey, and absinth around him. I shook him, and he blinked. Then he threw up next to him. After that brilliant display, he reached up and touched my face. His grip was weak and very shaky. His arm really was getting thinner. It was probably a combination of not eating and throwing up so much. For a split moment, I really didn't see the angry guy who'd been yelling at us for the last week. He looked helpless, and, for a moment, I really did feel bad for him. "I'm sorry," He whispered-slurred. "Poissssn."

"What?" Poison? He's got alcohol poisoning. "Oh, I see. What do you want me to do?" He took his hand away from me and rubbed his eyes, which were wet from tears. I didn't know for sure if it was just from him throwing up, which he did again in that moment, or if he actually was crying. I grabbed one of his arms and pulled him up, which was easier than I was expecting. He was compliant, letting me practically carry him while he drug his feet along the whole way back to the bus. We made it just in time for bus call, and once we were inside, people were yelling at us. 

First it was the behind the scenes people, our tour manager, our driver, even the merch girl. Then it was Robert and Thrasher yelling at TJ. He just stared at them while the shouted, half in a daze from how intoxicated he was. Once their turn was over, he looked at me, expecting a lecture. I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was like all of the anger I'd felt earlier had simply dissolved. Instead, I brought him a full bag of Doritos and told him to eat it. "I'll just puke it back up," He said. At least, I think this is what he said. I couldn't be sure because what he really said was "Ill jus pu ee bac uss." I'd heard enough of his drunk speech to understand though.

He was half right, after another hour of throwing up though, he passed right out. He woke up about an hour later, me still being up because of my insomnia, and actually did eat a few of the chips. He then returned to his bunk. There was nothing to say between the two of us.

For a split second, I actually missed my usual goodnight kisses. The feeling passed immediately. I could never love him again, not after seeing how bad he can be.