Even Now

Chapter 30: Head Over Heels

February 25, 1994: Seattle, WA, USA

Boring, boring, boring.

The meeting between the band and their manager, Susan Silver, drags on and on. It goes well over an hour, consistent with the same dumb old stuff.

Layne feels restless, tapping his heel rapidly on the floor as he's slumped back in his chair, eyelids heavy. How easy it would be to close them.

Blah, blah, blah, touring. "Don't even drink. We can't have this tour go the same route as Lollapalooza last summer. Layne, I'm talking to you!"

Yeah, got it, Susan. I'll stay clean, goddammit.

He can tell that Sean and Mike are pretty bored, too. But Jerry... he's unreadable.
When he'd arrived, he'd sat as far away from Layne as it seemed possible, saying only two words to him in the most nonchalant way possible: "nice hair". Nice for him to have noticed that it wasn't fuckin' blue anymore.
During the meeting, Jerry was acting like a complete egghead, all participating and shit like he's a teacher's pet. He might as well be raising his hand to answer questions.
Layne doesn't care, though. Jerry'd usually been the one to speak for the band. It was always easier that way.

What Layne did care about was that this was the first time he'd seen Jerry in two weeks.

Honestly, Layne's pissed now, mood completely changed from when Jerry'd last crossed his mind. What, so they sleep together, and then he leaves like it was a fucking one-night-stand? Who the hell does he think he is?
Before seeing his aloof behaviour in person during this meeting, Layne had thought Jerry'd had some sort of excuse, that he just didn't want to wake him up or something. Maybe he'd had something important to do.

Jerry was nearly unrecognizable now. Then again, every now and then his 'Can't-tell-Cantrell' persona would come out.

Selfish bastard. Does he know what I've put on the line for him?
Why's he treating me like this?

Layne had thought that Jerry would've at least given him a glance, a smile, or something. An explanation. Up until this meeting, he'd thought Jerry had strong feelings for him. The way he'd held him that night...

Don't get all sappy, now.
Fine. If he wants to end this, then he can go to hell. I'll fuckin' kick him out of the band. They can't replace their singer, but we can find a better fucking guitar player. Hell, I even know how to play.
Who needs him?

Okay, that was drastic... but still. What the fuck even gives, man? I'm not some girl he can fuck and then move on from. At least, I didn't think I was.

Layne doesn't even care anymore. He just wants to get a reaction out of him.

He stands, palms on the table in a loud motion.

He raises his voice in Jerry's direction. "What the fuck's your problem?"

He makes sure to glare at Jerry, who swivels around in his chair with shock on his face.

Susan stops blabbering and turns, arms crossed. "Excuse me?"

Layne rolls his eyes at her, gesturing towards Jerry. "Not you. Him."

Jerry tilts his head, face paling. "What?"

"Yeah, dumbass. You," Layne seethes. "What's your fucking problem?"

The room is silent.

"I don't have a problem with anything, Layne," Jerry responds, raising an eyebrow. "What the fuck are you even talking about?"