A Hotter Touch, A Better F... Than Any Girl You'll Ever Meet

Chapter 6

I wish I could say that things started looking up soon after, but I'd also made that new resolve to stop lying, so I can't. Things were downright shitty. And I felt incredibly bad for Brent. He was the one caught in the middle of everything. Which was really odd, since we'd always more or less been two pairs. I mean, we were all friends and all, but Spencer and I had been best friends since we were born which made it natural for Brent and Brendon, who'd also known each other for longer than they'd known either of us, to become best friends as well. But in this issue, while Spencer still stood by me and used every opportunity he had to make sure both Brendon and I knew this, Brent had taken on the role of Switzerland, being torn and doubtful while he tried to hold the band together. In a way that I'd never have admitted this made me feel bad for Brendon as well, because while I had Spencer as my loyal supporter, he must be feeling more or less alone.

I myself had become a cliché to the extent of even smoking after sex. And in the mornings I'd sneak out before the girl woke up, not wanting to be bothered by any responsibility for my actions.

Our band practices were tense, but we managed. Both Brendon and I behaved the best way we could, by simply pretending the other didn't exist, but I must admit that my anger was starting to disintegrate. I'd never been one for hate or continued anger and I was finding the negative feelings I had towards Brendon more and more difficult to hang on to for every day that passed.

******

This day marked the ninth one of waking up in a bed that wasn't mine, the eight one of waking up with a hangover so violent I felt like my head was being banged at with an axe. My predicament hadn't changed one bit, and whatever it was I'd lost was even further out of my reach now, but that wasn't stopping me from trying.

Quietly, I went through my usual morning routine: popped a couple of painkillers for my beginning headache, got in my clothes before quietly exiting the random girl's apartment. Once out of there I located the address and the called a cab, smoking my morning cig while waiting. Then I'd go home and collapse on the bed, sleeping it off and then attend band practice before starting all over again.

Who'd have known that this lifestyle would end up growing on me? If anyone had told me a month before that I'd end up getting drunk and fucking a different girl every night, I'd have called them crazy. It wasn't me at all, but yet I didn't stop. I'd become the epitome of Las Vegas, except I didn't gamble. But I had gotten myself a fake ID. The whole thing with bribing my way into bars had become more than slightly annoying with time.

But this day there wasn't any band practice. I was going to have to go back to the dreaded hospital and get the stitches removed.

******

I emerged from my room at around three pm with shower-wet hair, casual clothes and a softening headache.

"Morning," Spencer greeted.

I managed a small smile. "If you say so, Mr. I've-Been-Up-For-Hours," I retorted.

He gave a hearty laugh, then suddenly looked serious. "It's nice to still sometimes see glimpses of the Ryan I used to know in the one you're trying to become."

I frowned slightly, then opted on ignoring that last comment. "Do we have anything to eat?" I asked.

He nodded. "I went grocery shopping yesterday. There are some of those strawberry Poptarts you like so much in the kitchen. Right on the counter."

I felt a pang of conscience for being so useless. Normally we'd go grocery shopping together, but lately I'd pushed all the chores onto Spencer so I could go fuck whatever I could find that had breasts and a vagina. "Thanks," I muttered, walking slowly towards the kitchen to put the Poptarts in the toaster.