Jerome

I can feel the room breathing. The darkness settles among the drunken mass. Gin-soaked rockers sit at the bar, reliving their heyday. They force sour liquor down their throats until the band on stage morphs into themselves. They appreciate the music as if it was their own, with grumbling cheers and bobbing heads. My eyes feel like they're glazing over; I don't want to cry. I circle my finger around the rim of the half-empty glass I'm nursing. Fuck. I'm supposed to be strong. I just need to go home; I never should have come.

"Jerome!" screams a shadow across the dive bar. I bury my head in my hands, pushing back my hair. All at once it feels too long, tangled and greasy. Before I can escape, Marcus has stomped his way across the room and next to me. "Buddy, you've gotta keep your head up. She ain't worth it," Marcus shouts over the crowd.

I dart my eyes up and adjust my jacket, croaking, "What do you know about worth it?" His eyes soften, ignoring my tone. He slides into the stool next to me, slapping me on the back.

"Fine. But the broad's missing out."

I want to smile, but I feel like a coward. I'm dripping in booze and thinking of her. The worn leather of my jacket feels heavy under my vest. It's suffocating me. I've got to rip it off. I have to scrub her scent off it and scrub my body until it's raw, free of the vanilla and lavender. Free of her. But my coordination is gone, and everything is wrong. Marcus just stares, ordering another round. Back home, my guitar lays mangled, smashed to pieces in misplaced rage. She knew she could break me and of course, she had to ruin the one thing she'd left me with.

"What if she was the only person capable of loving me?" I slur and I don't think he heard me, but he perks up.

Marcus sighs into his drink: "You know that ain't true," and he's right. I want to believe him, but what if he's wrong? What if she put up with all of my shit, and no one else will. I didn't care about her baggage, yet she couldn't handle mine. I was in it for the long haul. When I close my eyes, all I can see is the moments before the end. They play over and over like a movie.

***

"Jerome. Jerome. Will you fucking listen to me?" barks a voice I know. It's familiar and soft, but in my ears, it feels foreign. "Jerome, get up. Get your ass up," and she's pulling me to my feet. A woman half my size, but in my current state, I'm no match. Her voice is turning hoarse from the screaming.

"Sarah."

"Are you high?"

"No. Sarah. I-" I'm babbling; my chest is heaving. She might as well be six feet tall standing next to me now. My once broad shoulders cower. My stretched t-shirt hangs off of me, damp with sweat and booze. My mouth isn't working and "no, I'm a little-"

"Drunk, oh my god. Jerome this isn't like you!" She's looking at me; her eyes are beads of fire. She's squinting and smiling flagrantly. God, she thinks this is funny. She's judging me; she pities me. She's acting like this isn't all because of her, and a fire has been lit in my brain. I pick myself up and stare. No, not stare. I sear my eyes into her skull. She's still laughing; "What? Have you got a burst of confidence?"

Now it's my turn to laugh in her face; "I thought I'd make a toast, to your newfound love. Guess I got a little carried away!" Her face falls and I drop the glass, it shatters; the smile's ripped off of her face. That smile I found so beautiful is evil now.

"Jerome. It's not what it looks like." She's trying to be sincere. Laughable. I can feel my stomach churning; my head is hot. It's burning, pounding, and screaming all at the same time. It builds until I can't take it anymore.

"It's not what it- You're really trying to respond with a cliche," and the burning's inflating my lungs, amplifying like a balloon on the verge of explosion. "Don't lie to me!"

"Ok." She rolls her eyes, "so maybe I wanted more than a failed musician with literally no future prospects. Sue me." Her words bite, and she walks away.

***

"Jerome." Marcus is still talking in my ear.

"Huh?" I notice I'm slumped over; my head's beginning to pound. It's a clear sign of an early hangover. Marcus pulls me up straight, twisting my stool around to face the bar.

He smiles sadly into his words "Bud, you need water. You're lookin like a pile of shite; no offence." He shrugs and pushes the glass to me. The cold is soothing, the glass smooth between my rough calluses.

"How am I gonna live without her?"

"Nothin'll feel right for a while. But, you'll make it one way or another." And as Marcus grabs me by the shoulders, I feel the weight of losing her. As he leads me to the cab I cry. I cry for everything we had, and for the life, I know we've said goodbye to forever.