"Matty, we got a room. You don't have to sleep in this van again. It smells like ass."
Glancing over his drummer's shoulder at the number 49 room of the La Kiva hotel, Matty looked back to the guys rolling in their bags. It would be cramped for a two bed room. And they all know he couldn't afford it. Working for Target and living on your own meant you didn't make a lot of money. Getting fired from Target and living on your own meant you made less. They didn't want his money but he was starting to feel like they wanted his soul.
"I'm honestly comfortable in the van. I get more sleep actually," lies, but the words passed his lips.
Was he being too prideful, too ridiculous? His band took a turn he didn't like. He was too passive, too unconfrontational to call them out. His anxiety stood in front of their bad habits like a security guard he needed to sneak around just to face them. And as he started to reconsider, he caught the bag with a white powdery substance get tossed from one hand to another. His fingers trembled in his hoodie pocket and his back stiffened. He recalled the conversation months ago between them, "You haven't even had your first high yet. Nothing tops the first time." Nothing terrified him more than a first high. Anything that could numb everything in his head for awhile held more temptation than he could stand.
Fidgeting with the keys to the van in his hoodie he said goodnight and hopped in, locking the door. With a lone pillow tucked under his head he laid back, imagining what he was missing out on. "I'm sorry, Mom, Dad," he whispered to himself. Why was he tempted by the things that'd destroyed so much in his parent's lives? Born prematurely, he wasn't supposed to live because of the track marks. Locked in a closet for most of his days until he was 8, he wasn't supposed to overcome irrational fears and anxieties. Not until he'd found music, anyway. Every squeeze of his heart, every pained breath that he took disappeared as he played learned a new note, a new song. As he found the ability to communicate how he felt through music his life started to come together. His friends started to stick around. He'd found something to love and he'd never touch drugs. Thanks to music, he could break the chain from the habits of his parents and their parents and their parents.
Now drugs were trying to take music away from him too.
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duk3andr3ws see you saturday! wash your hair..
204 likes
10 days ago