Angie's POV
Saturday. I had assumed the day was going to drag itself along into the night and I was right. The streets in the front of my apartment seemed unusually quiet. No cars, barely any people. I didn't have Jane knocking on my door. It was odd with her not being around all the time. We hadn't talked in a few days, which worries me, but what can I do?
It was my day off and, while my time would have been occupied by Jane, I couldn't think of anything productive to do. I hadn't seen or spoken to Chris since our phone call and it's the only consistent thought that's been running miles around my mind, as well as the event for tonight. I missed his voice.
I put on a record to fill the place of the quietness within the apartment, opened my window and lit myself a cigarette to calm my nerves. I promised myself I'd quit four months ago, I guess I kept my last pack just in case that pact I'd made with myself went down the drain. My lungs resisted the smoke as I inhaled. Mindlessly watching the rain-soaked sidewalk down below, breathing in the cold air and listening to the common sounds of the Seattle morning was all I did for the last 45 mins. I figured that this would be how my day would go; lounging and not doing a damn thing. I was comfortable with that. For the time being, of course.
I was nervous, butterflies in my stomach and all. I had to go in with at least a smidge of confidence otherwise tonight will become a disaster. Again...Jane polluted my mind. She'd usually be here to help. Kind of like a mentor. "Do this, wear that, say it, act like this!" I was completely and utterly helpless without instruction from her, which I suppose poses as a problem. I'm my own person. Capable of my own decisions. Choosing how I live. Etcetera, etcetera. Why do I feel otherwise?
After talking myself into this for what seems like forever in front of my mirror, I pieced together a simple outfit (practically raided my wardrobe) and got on with it.
With a deep breath and a few Hail Mary's, I strutted out of the door of my apartment.
I only need myself. I only need myself. I only need...
Chris's POV
"She would do a dance
A painful masquerade
Spinning you into her web
Along her vain-"
Fuck me, I need to get a new journal.
I couldn't stop thinking about her and I can't figure out why. Did she hurt my pride? Was it the time I wasted? The love, the fucking hurting that could have been used on something worthwhile? When I'd seen her that night, in the parking lot. I just couldn't escape her no matter how hard I tried, she was just there. In every word I wrote, every one I spoke. And it hurt. I no longer loved her, but the pain still resonated. I guess it's because I hated the idea of loving her. I felt like I couldn't get clean. It felt dirty to have even known her. To know her. I couldn't get that time I had given to Jamie back, I'd die for it. The remembrance of how she felt, the taste of her mouth. It made me hate myself. Fuck.
I looked down at the ring on my finger. She had it made for me, a subtle J embellished into it. You won't heal by going back to what broke you.
The show starts in four hours and I should be excited by that. I should be with the guys, at least trying to surround myself with something other than this. Practicing, warming up. Trying not to fuck it up tonight. A few drinks wouldn't hurt either, I guess.
