Songs As Stories

Meet Me In The Hallway

This is fiction. I take creative liberties in my writing and I don't claim any of these stories to be the actual truth behind the songs. My writing is based on my own experience with the songs, and the images/stories I picture when listening. Music is subjective and that's the beauty of it.

TW: Addiction

"Let me in," I whined, pounding my burning fists on the old wooden door. It mocked me, shuddering in its hinges like that. Laughing at me.

The door was weak, but I was weaker - knelt pathetically in front of it, long hair stuck to my perspired skin, voice hoarse with exhaustion.

"Let me in," I whispered through fuzzy vision. I brought my forehead to the door and shut my eyes, willing the world to stop spinning.

"It's been hours," I rasped, "What are you doing in there?" My voice broke in quiet frustration when I tried to speak any louder.

Knowing I couldn't use my voice to get an answer, I lifted my fists off the door again and pounded three times, as hard as I could. It winded me immediately. Sharp, uneven breaths pushed their way out of my mouth. I dropped my hands to the floor, clumsily flipping my body over so I could sit down.

I tipped my head back against the chipped wood and peeled my eyes open.

"Please," I begged, "I'll get better. This was the last time, and I'll get better."

I turned my head so my ear was against the door, shutting my eyes and listening intently for any noise coming from the other side of it.

I imagined her lying on her bed with headphones on, staring out the window and wondering when I'd come back, only to find me here in the hallway waiting for her like all the times before. She'd open the door and I'd tell her I was sorry, and she'd let me hold her. I'd smell her hair and clutch onto her tightly, and I'd promise her we'd work it out. I'd get better. She'd rub my head until we both fell asleep, and then we'd wake up and everything would be perfect again.

"Harry." A muffled voice spoke, deeper than the one I wanted to hear.

Everything stopped and I pushed my ear further against the door. I willed my heart to stop beating so erratically and I waited to hear it again, unsure of whether my brain was playing a trick on me.

"Harry." This time the word was more clear, but it wasn't coming from the door. I slowly turned my head to the other side and gazed down the hallway to see a broad figure coming toward me.

"No," I shook my head, closing my eyes and turning my head away from the familiar person. "I'm waiting for her." I spoke as firmly as my vocal chords would let me.

"Harry," he was closer now. "She's not here."

I shook my head. "She is here." I swallowed dryly. "She's here, she's just sleeping. She wouldn't leave me out here."

There was movement near me and then suddenly my chin was being gripped firmly in his hand.

"Harry, look at me."

My eyes rolled back once before I blinked a couple times, opening them to see him crouched beside me with a concerned look on his face.

"She's gone." His eyes stared seriously into mine.

I shook my head in his hand, trying to move it away, but his fingers kept their grip.

"She's not gone, she can't be," I said, my breath picking up again in emotion. "I told her I'd get better," I blubbered, "I told her I'd be here."

He shook his head as sorrow overtook his features, and I suddenly felt an uncomfortable hint of sobriety reach my nerves.

Ignoring his hand on my chin, I reached into my pockets for more pills, but found only an empty plastic bag.

"No, no, no..." I started to hyperventilate.

Suddenly he was holding my face in both his hands, shaking me slightly. "Harry, we need to go." His voice remained calm, but his features were agitated.

I started to cry in panic. "No, I j-just need one more pill, but then I'll keep waiting," I nodded at my friend to convince him that I was making perfect sense. I reached my hands up to his forearms in reassurance. "We got in a fight a f-few hours ago, and she k-kicked me out, but she'll let me back in," I nodded quickly in his hold. "C-can you go get me one more pill? Just one more?" I opened my eyes as wide as I could, feigning sanity.

It wasn't working. He knew better. "Harry, she's not here."

"Yes she is-"

"No, Harry!" He yelled now, startling me as he released my face and stood up. "You got fucked up and you walked here." His voice boomed down at me. "Nobody is on the other side of this door. Nobody has been on the other side of this door for weeks."

I brought my legs into my chest, my forehead falling to the tops of my knees as I cried, knowing in my heart that he was right but not wanting to admit it. He continued yelling truths at me that I didn't want to hear, so I just shook my head and sobbed loudly to drown him out.

I don't know how much time passed when I felt his hands on my shoulders.

I opened my eyes to see him stood over me, bent at the waist. "Harry, please, get up." He looked defeated now. I knew he was tired of this. Tired of me.

I peered up at him, becoming aware of my body beginning to shake, in need of more drugs. I gave him a pleading look, though I wasn't even sure what I was pleading for.

His hands rubbed my shoulders and he sighed heavily before he spoke again. And when he did, he spoke quietly. "I can get you some more pills." He sounded ashamed to even say it. "If you get up, and come with me, I will get you more pills."

His willingness to enable me made my heart sink, but my body automatically reacted to the raised hope of getting the fix it needed.

I looked back down and rubbed my eyes, urging the tears away but they continued to fall.

I stared at the wall across from me and mumbled, "She's really not here," I brought my eyes back up to my friend, "is she."

He shook his head sadly. "No, she's not here."