No More No More

Mama choked, apparently sobbing but had no tears.  My mother's face went white again and she nearly collapsed.  My father caught her, holding her limp form against him, kissing the top of her head.  I never saw my parents show affection for each other.  Usually they kissed quickly when my dad got home after work, but they never held hands, rarely hugged.  Anne-Marie knelt beside her mother, burying her face in Mama's shoulder.  Joe was frozen, staring blankly at his father.  I felt as though I was watching the hole scene from above, as though it were some terrible movie that needed to end.

        Everything again seemed to be moving in slow motion when we left the hospital.  It was late, after midnight, when everything was finally all taken care of.  Mama and Anne-Marie remained at the hospital, but Joe came with us.  My father drove, eyes red around the rims.  My mother silently wept in the passenger seat.  Joe stared out the right window, he was like a broken shell.  Before I even got the chance to buckle my seat belt when we got in the car, Joe pulled me very close––any closer and I'd be sitting on him––and didn't let go until he was certain I wouldn't move.  Joe took my right hand in his left, resting in his lap.  His hand was freezing cold.  I leaned my head against his shoulder for the duration of the ride.

        I went home for all of thirty minutes.  My parents went straight to bed, I said I was going to Joe's.  My father just nodded.  I changed into a teeshirt and jeans, then headed down stairs to Joe's door.  I knocked.  No answer.  I knocked again.  Same thing.

       God, I hope he's not doing something stupid.  I wonder how much he has in his secret stash... Shit, "Joe!" I call.  I try the door handle.

        Oh.  Why didn't I try that sooner?

        Joe was slumped at the table, staring into a drink.  He looks up when I walk in.  I sit down across from him.  He pours me a glass.  "Drinking doesn't make it go away," I say quietly.  He stares at me, then drains his glass, pouring another.

        "Why're you here?" he asks me weakly.  I shrug.  "Well, if you're worried about me, you can go home.  I'm not gonna kill myself."  His eyes, like my father's, are red around the edges.  However my father's weren't bloodshot like Joe's were.

       Joe eventually stops pouring himself drinks and just slugs the bottle.  When the bottle was empty, he stared at the table.  I sat there silently watching him.  He suddenly stood, and walked towards me.  He held out his arms.  I stood up, gladly accepting the embrace.  He let me go and shuffled to his bedroom.  I followed him.  He laid down, repeating himself.  "I'm not gonna kill myself, Annie.  You can go home."  For some reason his words stung me.

        "Fine," I said flatly, "G'night."  I shut off the light, turning on my heel.

        Joe groaned.  "No, Annie wait," he said dully, weakly.  He flipped on his bedside lamp.  I leaned in the doorway.  Joe sat up.  "Com'ere," he said.  I sat down next to him, kind of reminded of the first night that I spent at the hotel with him, but vice versa.  He takes my hand, caressing it with his thumb.  "Would you... Will you stay here?"

        I'm instantly furious at the fiery blush that covers my face.  The sadness takes over, however and I sigh, laying down next to him.  Being on his side, I curl up close to him, burying my face in his shirt.  I take in the sweet scent as his arms wrap around me and run up and down my back.  I try to ignore the shiver that bolts down my spine and the obnoxious butterflies fluttering in my stomach.  Joe kisses the top of my head lightly and before I can even respond, we're asleep.

        I woke up to Steven softly twirling my hair in his fingers.  I don't open my eyes, though.  I just enjoy the serenity after my nightmare last night.  God, it was horrible.  Steven cheated on me and Joe's dad died... Steven sniffles and I peek open one eye.  A dull gray light filtered through the curtains, and Joe––not Steven––had his eyes shut, but he wasn't sleeping.  It wasn't a nightmare, it was real.  All of the horror was real.  I don't know how much more heartbreak I can take.

                                                                        🎶        🎶        🎶

Life went on, though.  Mama was awake and making breakfast, Joe eventually rose and showered, and I went home and changed.  My mother and father were still asleep, so I went back to Joe's.  Mama and Joe were sitting at the table, across from each other as they usually did.  Mr. Pereira and Anne-Marie's spots were empty.  I took Anne-Marie's seat.  Mama ate very little, Joe merely pushed his food around his plate.

        After breakfast, Mama disappeared to the bedroom and Joe and I meandered to the couch.  Joe again pulled me very close to him.  Though it wasn't as though he were hitting on me; it seemed like he needed someone.  The phone rang.  Joe, on the fifth ring, finally decided to answer.

        "Hello," he said dully.  I could hear the muffled voice on the other line and I could tell it belonged to a man, but I wasn't sure who it was.

        "Where are you?" the voice asked, almost as dull as Joe's.

        "Home," Joe replied shortly.

        "Nuh-uh, I'm home.  You're not here," he argued back.

        "Why would I want to be where you are?" Joe demanded.

        "Because we're a fucking band!"  So it's either Tom, Joey, Brad, or Steven.  I cringe at the thought of it being Steven, feeling the metaphorical hole throb.

        "Why do I fucking care?"

        "Because you're the fucking lead guitarist, dumbass!"  Okay, definitely Steven.

        "You've got Brad!" Joe said.  He still sounded dull though.

        Silence.  I hear air rush against the phone; Steven sighed.  "Look, man," he started calmly, "I'm sorry about what happened, but we gotta make an album!  We'll go broke if we don't get a record out soon."

        "We are broke," Joe muttered dryly, though Steven ignored it.

        "Can you come back?  I wrote most of the songs.  We only need to practice."  Joe doesn't respond.  "Joe.  Come home.  Make music."

        Joe explodes, "You think I can just drop everything––leave my family––at a time like this?!"  Steven stays quiet this time.  "You don't know what it's like, man.  You have no fucking clue!"

        "You think I don't fucking know what it fucking feels like to fucking loose something that was your fucking everything?!" Steven screams.  My stomach churns.  "Dammit, Joe, I do know!"  Joe seems to be frozen in place, like me, with his mouth hanging open.  "I bet you're with her, too!"

        "So that's what this bullshit is about?!" Joe demanded.  "I'll fuckin' quit!"

        "No you fuckin' won't," Steven said.  God, how many times are they gonna say that word?  "Just get your ass up here."  The line went dead, then Joe slammed the phone down.  He ran his hands through his damp hair, shaking out little droplets of water.

        Joe groaned loudly before he leaned his head against mine, which was resting on his shoulder.  "Will you come to Boston with me?" he asked quietly.  His voice was hoarse.

        Without thinking about it, without even think about the damage it could cause, without even thinking about Steven or the rest of the band or living in that apartment with them, I looked up at Joe and with absolute certainty, said the word, "Yes."