Finding Sage (Young Adult)

Eight: Sleep Deprivation

Kellan

I am going to kill that fucking bird!

That giant, annoying, parrot has stolen all peace from my life and destroyed any chance of sleep. I cleaned out a closet and tried putting him in there, but it just made his squawk echo more, causing the neighbors to complain.  Apparently, Trace, that asshole, can sleep through anything and does not seem to either understand or care that I have not gotten any rest in the last several weeks.

The only good thing about this situation is that it has made me realize I need to find a new place to live. I have appointments to look at two places today and possibly a third. Jazz and Jasper offered for me stay with them in their temporary place, but that only lasted one night because we ended up going to clubs all night and it did not fulfill my need for sleep. They are letting Mayhem fame take over their lives and have resorted to partying nearly every night.

In the last two weeks, I think I have only gotten about eight hours of sleep. It's starting to affect everything in my life. The other night I was walking in a daze and when I came out of it I found myself far passed my apartment, in Little Italy.

I stopped by Franky's and ordered some slices from the same girl, Donovan's sister. She recognized me and made a comment about me being a good tipper before she started flirting with me. While I was sitting there, waiting for my pizza. He came in to the place.

From a distance, I examined him, trying to keep my anger to myself. I pictured the bruises on Sage's arm, and it made me want to give him the beating he deserved. In my younger days I went through a period of hanging out with a rough crowd. I've been successful in my share of fights and know how to throw and take a punch. I would love for my hand to connect to his smug face and break his Italian nose.

This restaurant is so small and dingy. The wood paneling on the walls is so old you could see where old pictures used to hang, and the red-checkered floor pattern is popping up in places. Those ugly pictures hang on the walls and it occurs to me that someone, I think Mark, told me that Donovan was an artist. With a full mouth of pizza I stepped closer to one of the paintings and examined the signature in the right corner. Sure enough, it says, Donovan...something, I can't make out the last name.

"You like 'dat one there?" Donovan's New York accent strikes my nerves and flared my anger in a flash. I held it in and look back at him.

"It's...interesting," I said, looking at him for a brief moment.

"Yeah, well, that one is Momma's. It's a portrait of her and me. But I bet she'd sell you one of these other ones if you wanted." I looked back at the painting and wondered how the fuck he could call that mess of muddy lines a portrait.

"So, you're an artist?" a young woman asked from another table. I glanced over at the voice and saw a group of young ladies, teenagers, eating and looking like Donovan as if he were a god.

"That's right," he said, pulling up a chair backwards, straddling it and joining them at their table.

I couldn't hear what they said to him, but I saw him lean over and talk low. It made my stomach hurt the way they all responded to him, giggling and laughing, like he was the greatest man alive. He walked away with the older ones phone number and it made me sick.

This must be how Sage got into this mess with him. Obviously, he has a way with women.

*****

The earplugs I bought to drown out Surprise's evening screams were uncomfortable and they did not work; therefore, my ear canals are sore and I am more tired than ever.

Guinevere's Grill asked Mayhem to play a show tomorrow night. They are having a customer appreciation private party and have only invited a handful of faithful customers and friends. The owner played a big part to help get us signed, so we feel obligated to do this free show. I have been looking forward to it, hoping Sage will be there. However, I am so exhausted.