Be My Saving Grace

Nineteen

Nineteen

{so what if I forget regret?}

"Shut the fuck up, would ya?" I grunted at the voices yelling in the front lounge.

My head was throbbing and I couldn't open my eyes because of the light streaming through the curtain. I pulled my pillow over my face and groaned in pain. Just as I thought I was going to be able to sleep some more, the memories from the night before flashed through my mind.

I remembered the drinking. I remembered the dancing. I remembered the car ride back to the hotel with a bottle blonde attached to one arm and a lanky ginger on the other. I remembered the sexcapades. I remembered every detail of what happened and it killed me. I was such an asshole.

I don't know why I did it. That's a lie. I knew exactly why I did it. I was afraid of commitment. I still am. But I wasn't even dating Grace, so I really had no reason to do what I did. I wasn't committed to anything but my guitar and Pierce The Veil. Not even the members, but the band, the music, and the fans.

My phone decided it'd be a glorious time to ring, at full volume might I add, the Imperial March from Star Wars. My heart rate picked up and my tummy did summersaults as I picked it up without looking at the caller id. "Hello?" I mumbled, still half asleep and one hundred percent hungover as fuck.

"Tony, we might have a problem," Rachel answered, making my heart sink a little bit. I had hoped it was Grace calling me to let me know she was ok.

I shook my head before replying, "why? What's wrong?"

"Grace has been gone since I got home from work yesterday...." She replied.

"So? She went out while you were gone... What's the big deal?" I groaned, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes.

"She's been gone for over twenty-four hours, Tony!" Rachel snapped.

I felt myself sober up as my mind wandered to Grace and her well being. "Did she leave a note or anything? Have you tried calling her?" I rambled, jumping out of my bunk and pacing the little hallway between the rows of beds.

"Tony, I called you from her phone," Rachel stated, "I'm honestly really worried about her, Tone."

"Hey, she came back all those other times, right?" I asked.

"Mhmm, but-"

"No buts," I interrupted her, "let her be for a while longer... If she's not back by the time you get back from work today, then you can start to worry," I said calmly.

Rachel sighed, "ok... You're lucky this is you talking, or I'd have hung up and called the police if it were anybody else..."

"Just stay hopeful, she's bound to come back," I smiled to myself, thinking about just how strong Grace really was.

"Alright, thanks Tone... I gotta get to work, but I'll let you know if anything changes," Rachel stated.

"Bye Rach," I replied, clicked the 'end call' button and rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes.

God damn it. I thought going back on tour would help me escape the problems I was having at home, but it's just seemed to make them worse. The voices in my head were telling me to do things I knew damn well I shouldn't do. The depression I fought so hard to contain only intensified. The burning on my arms begged me to paint them red again. The itching in my fingertips to hold a razor blade was almost too much.

I promised myself I wouldn't do it again. I promised my fans I wouldn't do it again. But what's a promise if not to be broken?

The third week into tour, I was at the lowest I'd been in a while, and I caved to the voices in my head. I was sitting on the bathroom floor, a razor blade in my hand, and a million thoughts racing through my head. I couldn't mar my arms because I wore tank tops on stage. I couldn't mar my legs because I'd never done it before, and I was scared to.

I remembered seeing the scars that lined Grace's rib cage and took a deep breath before tracing each of my ribs with the blade. Biting my tongue, I repeated the process on my other side. Looking down at the little rivers of blood rolling over my heavily tattooed torso, I frowned, the feeling of failure and disappointment settling in the pit of my stomach.