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He probably shouldn’t have done it, just stood in the mirror naked after his shower, but nobody can make good decisions all the time. So today’s a two sizes too big t-shirt day. And it’s not that he hates his body, it’s fine, perfectly acceptable, whatever. Just. It’d be better if there was less of it. If he was just… a little closer to nothing. And he knows he’s supposed to be trying to get enough into Corey to break him out of the brain loop before he up and faints in front of ten thousand people, but Joey just can’t get his own second hotel pancake down. And now Corey’s watching him slide his plate to Sid, and just none of this is good. Joey leaves to head back to his room.
His fucking ankle was stiff when he woke up this morning, and as he sat down in the shower to stretch it, he went places he hadn’t gone in years. And it’s not like he expected it to be gone forever. He knows it’ll never leave him, just why did it have to come rear its head now, of all times? As the lock clicks open and he puts the keycard back in his pocket, Joey is very aware of how he usually deals with days like this. He sits on his bed, running his hands through his hair. He knows that destroying himself, bit by bit, will never undo anything, but that doesn’t stop him from believing it.
As his one and a quarter pancakes and glass of orange juice come up, something else rises to the surface. That recklessness he’d fought so hard to tamp down. As he digs the baking soda out of his suitcase—live fast, die young, but hopefully with a few teeth left—that thought from a couple weeks ago comes back. Why not go purge in the disgusting alley behind a big city fast food place? Why fucking not? What has he got to lose? Well, the obvious, the rumor mill’s bad enough already. Fortunately, some things seem to have escaped it, faded into oblivion without reaching the damn World Wide Web. But, what has he got to lose inside? Why not go off the rails? He’s already broken forever, it seems. What does it matter if it’s one crack not glued up, or a hundred?
When the lock clicks again, Joey’s in bed trying to push away the bad ideas and worse memories marching in time to the drum beat looping in his head. Mick walks in and asks if he’s okay. He’s fine, just not feeling great this morning. Mick agrees, ‘cause he got pretty drunk last night, and turns the tv on. They don’t have to leave for a couple more hours, and the background noise is at least a little distracting. Joey starts to doze off, exhausted, as the adrenaline fades, but the song’s still stuck in his head, and he wonders…
What the hell did I do to deserve all of this?