Scar Tissue [2Doc]

//22//

The door to my studio apartment is annoyingly squeaky as it swings open. Im immediately met with garbage littered all over the floor. Food wrappers, clothes, and random junk lie everywhere.

A couple colorful party streamers decorate the walls and ceiling, a singular piece of tape holding the remaining up. But the majority are on the floor.

I slowly push the door closed behind me as my eyes explore the space I haven't inhabited in a while. I kick a soda can as I make my way in.

I've spent more time sleeping in my car than I have in this place. My shitty apartment with no rooms, not even a kitchen. A studio- something I somehow didn't understand when signing up for a lease with the place. It just holds a singular bathroom. With an annoyingly leaky faucet.

I decide to make my way into the small bathroom, hoping by some means the faucet would have magically fixed itself by now.

It's still dripping.

Ever.

So.

Slowly.

I watch a water droplet gather at the bottom of the spout, retaining itself until gravity takes hold of the tiny drop to pulls it down. I try to push the handles of the faucet back to make sure its off all the way, but there's no give. This things broken.

...I guess it would be an easy fix though. But there's no point in that now.

I exit the bathroom. Considering the state of this place you'd think the shitter would be fuckin' disgusting, but comparing it to the large open space that is the apartment, the contrast is stark.

I deemed this place my party room. The only time it was ever clean was when I first moved in. I tried to make it habitable, but the tall ceiling and open space made me feel small. The bare brick walls make the studio cold. I hate this 'New York style' aesthetic. I guess if I wasn't desperate for a place I wouldn't have settled for this.

It almost seemed like the end of the world when Noodz kicked me out of her place. Loneliness drove me crazy. So I hosted parties weekly. Sometimes they'd take a life of their own and run for days. Once you fill a room with people it's hard to imagine it empty. I partied until my body couldn't catch up with all the shit I kept putting in it.

All that came to a screeching hault when some drunk bitch decided it be a good idea to mess with my instruments that were displayed on the wall. The second I caught a glimpse of my precious Diablo, the strap flung around her shoulder, her hands half hazardly pulling on those damn strings, trying to seem funny? I practically ripped the bass off her. The strap snapped as i did. Drunken profanities slipped from my lips continuously. My grip was firm on her arm as i pulled her through the studio, shoving her out the door. Her friends were kicking and screaming at me to let her go. I eventually shoved that little trio out together.

No one fessed up to inviting that chick and her harpey friends. I must've been in some sorta drug induced psychosis, cause that was my last straw. I immediately called off the party and kicked everyone else out. I was ballistic. That night, i took down the rest of my instruments off their mounts and decided to clean, polish, and restring each one of them.

I felt the need to reasses my life the next morning. It felt impossible trying to open my eyes with the gunk caked around my lashes,, my lungs felt heavy, my head was grimey as shit. But as I lay there, blinking at the moldy ceiling with eyelids that had the weight of a ton of bricks,, the only thing on my mind was the refreshing feeling of a cold shot of Jack Daniels.

That was the end of my home party binges, but. The beginning of my daily pub outings. I had exhausted all my contacts at that point, pestering them to drink with me,, until i was reminded of 2D's existence. Feel Good Inc was playing at a bar during one of my excursions. That stupidly amazing bass line that i created went in one ear and straight out the other. I didn't bother to recognize the tune, until i heard his voice. The guy i spent years with, and yet i had somehow forgotten all about him.