House Of Memories (B.U.)

Ch. 33

Brendon's Point of View

It's been a week since Elizabeth broke up with me.

A week of drawing my curtains, stuffing old t-shirts through the crack under my door, and attempting to isolate myself from society with total darkness.

Mostly my days were spent getting high and binge eating my problems away. Sometimes, if I was feeling particularly disgusting, I would ease open my door, peek my head around the corner to check that no one was around, and tip-toe into the bathroom. Then I would strip down, turn the shower onto the hottest temperature my body could handle, and lay in the tub for hours.

The guys won't talk to me. No matter how many times I apologize.

Whoever told me when I was younger that saying 'I'm sorry' would fix everything is a real asshole. They owe me an explanation. They owe me a real life lesson on how the world works, because I obviously have no fucking clue.

I think Ryan was the most pissed off at me when I abandoned the band on stage that night. He wasn't prepared to sing the setlist and choked. They had to cancel our 'audition' and the guys from the record label were furious with Pete.

Not to mention the owner of the House of Memories called me just to tell me how much of a piece of shit I was and that I had been exclusively placed on the strict 'do not allow this bastard into this building under any circumstance' list.

My parents were still upset with me for the other night when I missed my church meeting with the bishop because of band practice.

Once I told them I wasn't going to go on a mission anymore because I wanted to be a lead singer, they were hysterical.

My dad still won't speak to me. My mom is a little bit softer; she won't speak to me either, but will hide plates of food for me in the fridge, labeling them with sticky notes that have drawings of hearts.

Generally speaking, everyone, besides my mom who is too nice to stay angry, was mad at me.

They're completely justified though, even I'm mad at me.

I can't believe I would desert my best friends on stage, giving up an opportunity to actually be signed to a record label, all for a girl I had known for three months.

Three months! That's not enough time to develop feelings for a person. Or at least such strong feelings.

That didn't stop me from calling her every night this week, though. She never picked up and only called me back one time when I threatened to go to her house so I could get some answers, and she just told me that if I did, she wouldn't ever forgive me.

I knew she was probably just saying that, but the possibility of Beth staying mad at me forever was enough to make me hurriedly hang up and crawl back into bed.

I glanced at the digital clock that sat on my bedside table. 3:42 a.m. It's not that late. Definitely early enough to justify sneaking upstairs to make a quesadilla.

Just as I was about to creep into the kitchen and make my food, I heard a loud 'thump' of shoes landing outside my bedroom window.

I timidly walked over to the curtains and peeled them back to see who could be there. Not only was it the middle of the night, but I didn't really have any friends at the moment, so my thoughts ran wild as to who could possibly be outside.

Maybe a burglar. Maybe I could join them. We could run away together and live a life of crime. Just me and the burglar and our stolen riches. We could even get a dog. That sounds nice.