"Hey, Gene-o! Get up! The soundcheck started half an hour ago, what the hell is taking you so long?! I wanna get this over with so I can fuck around for the rest of the night before the show!"
I slowly lifted my head from the pillows at the sound of Ace's voice, coupled with loud hammering on the door. Blinking, I sat up, rubbing my eyes before sliding out of bed and stumbling to the door. I had forgotten about the soundcheck. I hadn't been thinking about anything except for how my life was in shambles now. I hadn't even gotten out of bed until just now.
Taking a deep breath and doing my best to collect myself, which didn't work very well, I cracked open the door just wide enough to make eye contact with Ace.
"Sorry. I wasn't...feeling well. I guess I overslept. Give me a few minutes, I'll be over there," I said, trying to shut the door, but he wedged the toe of his boot in the crack before I could manage to close it.
"Damn curly you look like shit. What's wrong?" he asked, half-closed eyes suddenly wide open as he gave me a concerned look.
"Told you. 'M not feeling well," I muttered, just desperate to shut the door, to shut him out, to shut everything out and forget about the hurt.
"What's wrong?" he asked again, curling his fingers around the edge of the door, pushing against me as I kept trying to shut it. "You need to talk?"
"No. Give me a few minutes, I'll be there," I repeated, shoving my bodyweight against the door, but he was pushing right back against me with just as much force.
"I'm not gonna just up and leave when you're very clearly not in a good place. You're my friend, Gene. I care about you. I'll wait while you get ready, we can walk over to the stadium together."
"Ace you don't--"
"If you keep pushing on the door you're gonna smush my fingers and be out a lead guitarist," he said abruptly, cutting me off, and I let out a sigh, straightening up.
Having relented my position, Ace was easily able to push the door all the way open, looking me up and down before shaking his head. "Just go get ready. We can talk while we walk over to the stadium."
"We don't--"
"Go get ready, you're already running late," he chided, ushering me toward the bathroom, and I sighed again, shoulders slumping as I slunk into the bathroom.
I didn't have to do much, since I was still dressed in my clothes from yesterday. A splash of water on my face did marginal work to snap me out of things, but other than that I only ran a brush through my hair and across my teeth, walking out of the bathroom and giving Ace a flat look.
"We can go now," I mumbled.
He reached over, patting me awkwardly on the back before we walked out of my room. It was silent as we rode the elevator down to the lobby, and it was only as we finally got into the backseat of a cab that he cleared his throat and turned to look at me.
"Did...did you need to talk about what's going on?" he asked. "You-you don't have to of course but I dunno, sometimes it's nice to talk about things y'know? Like just so it's not all bottled up inside! The only thing worth bottling up is alcohol, after all."
I didn't react to his joke and his smile slipped away, eyes softening as he nudged me in the ribs. "C'mon Gene, you're never like this. Paul or Peter, sure, but not you. What's going on?"
"My girlfriend died," I blurted out, and he sat back, eyes going wide and mouth falling open into an almost perfect 'o' shape. It was almost comical, and if I hadn't been so upset by yesterday I'd probably have laughed at his expression.
"Oh...I'm...I'm really sorry," he murmured, reaching over and hesitating for a moment before delicately touching my arm, trying to comfort me but acting as if he was afraid I'd break apart if he touched without care. "I hope you'll--if-if there's anything I can do to help, just--just let me know, alright?"
"There isn't," I said bitterly, staring out the window. "But thanks anyway."
The rest of the short drive to the stadium passed in a very awkward silence, and I was regretting saying anything to him at all before we finally arrived and I was able to step out of the cab and away from the situation. Before I could walk away, Ace grabbed my wrist, pulling me to a halt.
"You'll be alright, won't you? Eventually I-I mean, obviously right now you're not doing so hot 'cause it-it just happened and--"
"Yeah. 'Course," I said, cutting off his nervous babbling. "Don't worry about me."
"Well I'm gonna worry about you, you're my friend," he said with a crooked smile, and I did my best to force a smile in return, finally walking into the stadium with him.
Ace made a beeline for Peter, no doubt to tell him to keep his mouth shut and not tease me about showing up late, since he'd have certainly ribbed me about it, asking if I had gotten hungover or too caught up on some backstage whore. I chose not to look at Paul, just muttering a halfhearted apology to no one in particular about being late before accepting the bass handed to me.
I was just running through the motions with the soundcheck, mind and heart completely elsewhere, just wishing it would end so I could go back to hiding beneath the covers and pretending the world didn't exist, like a child caught in a thunderstorm.
By the time the soundcheck was over, I was mentally and physically exhausted, still in a state of broken up shock from yesterday. I had loved her so dearly, but she had never even been real.
"Do you want me to get you early for the show tonight?" Ace asked, cutting through my thoughts.
"Huh? Oh, sure. Yeah. That'd be nice," I mumbled, and he nodded, giving me a thin smile and hesitating, as if to hug me, before just patting me on the shoulder and walking off.
Peter took his place, giving me a worried look. "You alright? Ace just said you were upset."
I glanced at Paul out of the corner of my eye, for a moment wondering if he was in earshot, before deciding I didn't care. "No. My girlfriend died," I said, and I could see his face plummet, shoulders sagging.
