After The Ending (John Frusciante)

Chapter 37

"No, I don't like it," John shook his head after a moment of consideration, only causing Flea to observe his bandmate in silence for a second or two.

"Well, maybe we should just call it a day then?" he soon suggested, setting his bass aside, "Because you didn't like the other three as well and I'm at my wits end with this one."

"Yeah, maybe we should," John only answered, almost muttering to himself.

Same as Flea, he set his guitar aside and stood from the spot he was sitting in, then digged into his pockets to find a pack of cigarettes. Without another word, he began making his way out of the band's rehearsal space, Flea slowly in his tail.

"You're smoking again?" he asked the moment he noticed his friend light up a cigarette, John himself not even aware of Flea's presence.

"Huh?" he turned, "Oh, yeah. I guess."

Flea took another moment to observe him, then spoke once John had spent a few minutes puffing on the smoke.

"You don't have to talk about what's bothering you if you don't want to, but you've been a pain in the ass about writing this album for a while now and for some reason I don't think it is only about different musical visions anymore," he worded, somewhat hesitantly.

It took a second until John turned his eyes towards Flea and observed him the same way he had merely a moment ago, the guitarist then letting out a deep breath that indeed sounded heavier than initially intended.

"I'm sorry, man," he barely uttered, then averted his eyes towards the cigarette that was almost carelessly hanging between his fingers.

"It is about her, isn't it?" Flea asked, causing John to turn towards him once again.

"Yeah," he finally admitted, nodding almost shyly while exhaling the last of the smoke.

"Still nothing?"

"As nothing as can be," John confirmed, closing his eyes and then turning his face towards the evening sun in order to catch the last few sunrays before they disappeared entirely.

"Shit, man," Flea sympathetically worded, "It's eating you up, you gotta talk to her at some point."

"I know," John admitted, "But I just don't know how. I don't fucking know what to say to her."

"Just say what's on your mind," Flea suggested, only earning a small snort from John.

"What's on my mind?" he almost chuckled, "Hey, remember the time I told you I loved you and you kind of said that you loved me too, but then somehow you disappeared the next day and left me a voice mail saying that the whole thing was a mistake and that I shouldn't look for you anymore? Yeah, I've been kind of wondering about that for 10 fucking years."

"Yeah, well," Flea breathed, realizing that John might actually be a little more tormented than he initially thought, "Maybe turn down the sap a little bit."

"I just.." John then worded, sounding almost agitated before his voice softened again, "I just.. I just don't know.."

"About what?"

"About fucking anything," he shrugged, suddenly seeming almost defeated.

"Well, what is it exactly that you feel about her?" Flea then asked after a moment of thought, a question that had been on his mind almost every time John spoke about Amaya, but never had the courage to ask until now, regarding the topic both too sensitive and too puzzling for prying.

"I don't know," John shrugged again, then spoke after a moment, "When I ran into her in that supermarket I was genuinely happy to see her. I was just.. struck by her and considering the last few years of my life, I hadn't given much thought to that thing for a while. But the minute we started spending time together again.. It all just.."