To the Beat of My Heart

Ruinous

Do you ever feel ruinous? Like you want to do something you shouldn't? Something that's dirty, just like you don't give a fuck anymore?

Yeah, that's my mood. That kind of self-destructive, I want to fuck, I want to get smashed, I want to feel good and nothing else kind of ecstasy. I throw back my whiskey and open my email. God, when did this become such a fucking chore?

From: flemingo69@gmail.com

To: bulgogimaster@yahoo.com

Subject: Need a friend

Hey Leo. Yeah, my subject is depressing as fuck... Sorry. It's true though. Like I really need a friend R I G H T. N O W.

I know I have you, Clay. And Jaz. Kinda. She's more business than anything these days. I can't always be with Clay though. This is his tour. Our moments are so... fleeting. And Chels... God, I miss you, Chels. Shit. I really am desperate.

I'm so unspeakably lonely. I think I'm depressed. Should probably see like a shrink or something, right? Nah. Maybe it's not that bad. If Cl—

Damn. Too close though. I know, ironic. I give Leo shit for being so distant and not being a decent enough friend, but I can't even let him know who I really am. Like, I'm keeping little back, promise. Just the massive, popstar in your room, kind of deal.

Backspace backspace...

I don't want to stress my friends over nothing. I just want someone to talk to who's not in my circle. Someone who will give me decent advice. Someone new and awesome like you. I think I want to move past the email stage. We're fucking millennials ya know. Let's just Facetime or phone. I mean, unless we're not at the phone stage, Facetime works beautifully. Swear to god I'm not hideous. Not after my makeup. And by makeup, I mean a generous facemask of cold water. Fucking fabulous, bitch!

Let's just do this thing, hey, Leo?

It's five-forty-something in the bloody afternoon and I finish my second glass of whiskey. Or is it third? Sipping the good stuff, watching the people on the street below go about their day. I'm in bloody Canada; my boyfriend's a celebrity. Shit, but when did this become my life? I need to keep friggin' saying that. It's a whole lot more insane for Clay.

This venue has, like, a really nice bar with a large-ass window overlooking the skyrise apartments, parks clustered at the city's fringes. Clay is a door away, down one flight of stairs, a couple thousand seats, but he feels so much fucking farther.

I crave him. Now. I take a drink then remember it's empty. Sad face.

My head feels like it's being slammed by drumsticks, whilst also rotating inside a microwave. Not very nice. I swear and clutch at my temple. And breathe... I don't feel so good. And I want to feel good. Why aren't you helping me on that path, my fair whiskey?

I blink, the pain sizzling out until I'm numb. Then not numb. Just nothing. I can't feel my body. Yep, it's hit, and it's hit hard. The world spins a little, and in that tilt, I feel my phone vibrate in my hand. A sensation! Thank fuck!

From: bulgogimaster@yahoo.com

To: flemingo69@gmail.com

Re: Subject: Need a friend

I'm sorry, bro. I'm just not ready yet. I know that's selfish. I feel lousy. I wish I knew what to say to you that doesn't sound halfway BS. I'm just going through a lot of shit of my own and I need some me-time. That sounds potentially dirty...

I just don't know if I'm up for talking to you like that yet. It scares me. I feel like I'll mess shit up. Especially the way I am right now. Can we keep things the way they are? For a little longer?