We Were Only Kids// McFly (Wonderland)

This Time Around

February 17, 2008

I'm laying on the dressing room floor and I can't get up. I know no one is around me but I don't know when they left. And I don't know what time it is or if the show has started, but more importantly, I can't get up in order to tell anyone all of this information.

I don't know how long I've been here. I remember going outside and seeing the fans and then I remember being hit with an intense wave of drunkenness like a tsunami of alcohol hit me in the face. I don't remember coming into the dressing room or laying on the floor, but I definitely remember the five beers and seven shots I drank in the past four hours.

I wish I could just call Lilly right now. I need to let her know where I am.

I'd say the worst part of all of this is that I'm not filled with regret right now. I'm not lying on this filthy dressing room carpet that's probably been spat on, shit on, vomited on, bled on, and sweat on and thinking "Cor, wish I hadn't had those twelve drinks."

Because I just don't think that.

I've been thinking that less and less lately. And I'm not sure if it's to do with growing up in a band or what, but I just know I don't think that way.

Sometimes, even, I don't mind feeling this way. I know maybe that's bad, but I don't mean when I'm about to go out on stage (if that's worth anything).

"Dougie!" I hear Lilly yell. It doesn't shock me, but I feel her fall to the floor next to me and I realize I have no idea how long she's been here.

"I'm not dead." I say, not bothering to open my eyes because I can feel myself spinning even with them closed.

"What are you doing?" She asks, frantically. "You have to be onstage in seven minutes!"

Yeah, I don't think so.

"I can't move." I say.

"What? Why? Are you okay?" She asks me.

"I'm drunk." I say. Too drunk to lie.

"What do you mean?" She asks.

"Lilly, if I get up I will pass out." I say. "I can't even open my eyes. It's too bright."

"What did you drink?" She asks. "Battery acid?"

Okay, if we're getting into the specifics of what I drank, then I'm not too drunk to lie.

"No...just...some beers." I say.

"Dougie, you have to get up." She pulls on my arm.

"I can't." I repeat.

"Dougie!" She snaps. But I can't!

"What am I supposed to do?" I snap back. I don't normally get angry, even drunk, but I'm annoyed. It almost seems like she thinks I'm lying. Of course, I want to be on stage right now!

I hear her sigh and get up, and then I hear footsteps on the carpet, and I can't tell, but I think maybe she's pacing. But then, all of the sudden, she's pushing my upper body to lean against the couch behind me and I feel sea-sick sitting up. I hope she doesn't try to get me to stand. It's not happening.

"Lilly, I'll be sick." I warn

'Then be sick." She replies, and her voice is filled with more bitterness than I have ever heard before.

I feel her put a glass to my mouth and I already know that it's water. I know the water will most likely do me good, but just the idea of another liquid sliding down my throat makes me feel nauseous. "Drink. Now." She demands a few seconds later, and so I do. I drink the whole thing. Then she holds onto my hands and I hear her stand and I know what I've been dreading is going to happen. "Ready?" She asks.