Archive of Our Own

["𝙷𝙰𝚃𝙴" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟺, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚖, 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜]

Used to be a roadie for James Vedder, back then he was a one man show, mostly playing on synths. Watched him evolve, grow into his own sound, he ended up with something dark and heavy. Eventually reached the point where he needed a band to play alongside him, so he’d hire musicians that were available. I’d tune their equipment before every set, sometimes I’d have enough time to play, too. Was how I learned all of his songs.

One night I’m doing what I do every night, after tuning I’d play a couple of riffs. James must’ve been watching, maybe he did every night (least I hope so). Scared the shit out of me when he came outta nowhere and said “lead is MIA, wanna fill in?”

That was my first night on stage and my last night hauling equipment. Didn’t look back after. Couldn’t. After the show, James hands me a guitar that he’d own for some time now, tells me to keep it, said he’d seen how I took care of it, that it’d reach its full potential with me.James wanted me up there permanently, said something about the chemistry. Yeah, there was chemistry. Over time we developed a stage presence that was violent.. chaotic. A kind of raw energy that was hard to describe with anything other than the words borderline insanity. We used to play at all kinds of clubs, mostly underground. There wasn’t a night where we wouldn’t finish a gig either bruised, bloodied, or aching sore. James had a habit of.. destroying anything that was on stage, that sometimes included me. He really knew how to put on a show.This one time, he came up and grabbed me from behind, somehow lifted me up entirely above his head. The guy was way bigger than me, but he was also so fucking high, I was caught completely off guard. I just remember holding onto my guitar like my life depended on it, cause I knew I was about to eat the floor. Eventually he slams me down into some nearby equipment and I spent the rest of the show laying there. I ended up having two giant lesions on my chest and stomach, I swear I thought I broke a rib.

Couple of weeks later we formed Wretch, we were co-writing our songs together, and by this time we were performing almost every single night, we were basically penning down new material on the road. It felt so natural to work with him, offstage, when we would write songs, those were the calmest moments I’ve ever spent with him, complete polar opposite of what everyone else saw. He seemed.. fragile, vulnerable.A little while later and we had enough material to do a whole album, James wanted to independently produce, but we’d seem farther away from that reality every day. We had a stack of signing offers from pompous executives and slick guys in sequin suits alike, all tossed aside each time we got one. All of them walked up to us claiming they were different from the other corps, truth is, they were all the same, they just sold a different version of the same lie, and we knew that.

To seal our fate, James and I ended up picking a name from a hat one night while we were drunk. Next morning we met with the label’s representative at Dark Matter, they’d pull the same stunts, fancy wine and organic food, but we wouldn’t be bought so easily. We laid down our one condition, that we’d have full creative freedom over what we made. A week later, we were signed to Skop Records, a division of Sony.

["𝙷𝙰𝚃𝙴" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟿, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟸, 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎]

First time in the studio, how should I put it.. Yeah, it was stressful. You'd think that having the privilege of playing in seclusion would make for a welcomed change, especially when all you did before was play in cramped basements and overcrowded bars, sweating underneath the heat of a dozen spotlights. But being cradled between the very walls once graced by the talent of many a past legend.. I was intimidated. On the other hand, James made it seem as if the studio was his second home. I guess that was a given, it wasn't his first rodeo. Since we already had everything written down we figured it’d be a breeze to get our first album out, but what we thought would be a month long cakewalk at the studio turned out to be an excruciating eight month period of back and forths between us, the producer, and the record label, endless amounts of discarded takes, and honestly more cups of Matapang coffee than I had ever consumed in my entire life.

James was a perfectionist, we would always have to do something two hundred times before he was satisfied with the cut. It didn't help that it was basically just the two of us recording everything on our own. The executives weren't huge fans of our so called creative process, putting pressure on our manager to get the masters done faster, but our poor producer could only work as quickly as James'd let him. I honestly thought we were going to get dropped any day, I had to live with that kind of paranoia in my mind the entire eight months. You wanna know what a volatile mix of paranoia and coffee does to you? It's not pretty. But every time that feeling surged in me, James would put it at ease, whether it was just us hanging out by the balcony, getting to watch him mix tracks with laser sharp focus, or just listening to how he would sound late at night, trying to figure out the perfect melody. Don't know, I guess it just reminded me that I was in good hands, and we'd be alright.

We named our 2072 debut Hate. Went gold within three weeks, neither of us could believe it. But I’ll get to that in a bit.

["𝙷𝙰𝚃𝙴" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟷𝟶, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟸, P𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚘, 𝚡𝚋𝚍𝚜]

The label wanted our song 'Plasticine' to be the first single off the album. This was a song about inner antipathy, basically hating yourself so much that you're willing to let anyone or anything bend you and break you in the most extreme ways just to get away from yourself. That's what it's about. The executives thought the song was catchy. So they wanted us to do a music video featuring me and James playing the song. In their words, "it would not only be in the best interest of the label but also that of the band members to market a brand image that accompanies the sound of the record." We weren't too excited about the idea of having our faces plastered across every TV screen, like those bands signed to DMS. Didn't want to take the attention away from the music and have viewers focus on our hairstyles and leather pants. We fought the label on this for weeks, but they would shoot down every single proposal we gave them, they were adamant on having us in the video. That's when James hatched an ingenious idea. You could tell it was one of the good ones when he was having to wake me up at three in the morning just to tell me about it (we were roommates at the time).

So there we were, presenting our terms again. If they wanted us in the video, we wanted to source our own director. They gave us the OK. Unbeknownst to our executive overlords at the time, we were already in contact with a well known XBD producer who wanted to work with us after hearing the song and the meaning behind it. James wanted someone who dealt in the business of depravity and perversion, someone who knew exactly what aroused the frayed edges of our psyche, working alongside someone who exclusively scrolled XBDs seemed like a no brainer.

Took 'bout a couple'a of weeks where we were just shooting ideas back and forth with our future director. I'm not at liberty to disclose his name, so I'm just gonna call him Frank. We gave Frank a rough idea of what we wanted to do, namedropped a couple'a gritty, dirty, music videos from the past, and he sent us some tapes from his personal collection which he reckoned suited our style. Guy had some really bizarre, off the wall stuff, a lot of it was rare and old too, and they were often fragmented and not whole recordings. It was really only these ancient videos with shitty quality that made us go “what the fuck”, kinda stuff that made you wanna look away, but you couldn't, 'cause of your damn curiosity. We didn’t even know if any of it was real or not, a lot of it was out of context and just plain weird, most of the time we didn’t even know what we were looking at. Then we realized that’s exactly what we wanted.

Later that week we began filming what Frank called a “crossover between freakshow and snuff”, and it premiered on September 12th, 2072 along with the single's release.

I remember James describing the video in an interview once as "appealingly grotesque, it's just something you want to stop looking at but can't, I think that applies to a lot of the world around us right now".

The first thing people always asked us was, "why work with an XBD producer? are you guys into that kinda stuff?" 'Course not, nobody was killed over the making of this video, the worst thing to happen was probably the rash I developed from having to spend a full 16 hours in rope. That, and the insects. So many insects. Everything you see in the video was done using prosthetics and practical effects, we weren't given the budget to get the magic done at a high tech studio. If I'm being honest, I'm glad we didn't. People'd come and tell me "c'mon, off the record, that stuff in the video was real, right?" It was real in its own way.

James and I were sitting in a Tom's Diner that day, the one just a block up from the studio. It was quiet at first, distant, thought I was just hearing it in my head. And then James goes, "dude, is that our fuckin' song?" He had his burger in his hand like he was gonna take a bite but he was staring out the window, looking at the giant screen plastered across a megatower outside, the ones that usually ran ads 24/7. "Holy shit." I looked up in disbelief, he wasn't kidding. We just left the diner immediately and headed down the street, we heard it 'round every corner. There was a record store nearby, they had these old school TV screens stacked up on their front display, and we were on every single one of them. We were grinning like idiots but also kinda confused, cause we didn't know what was going on.

Apparently the video got a lot of attention due to its dark nature, and turns out people really liked the song cause they thought it was some kinda sadomasochist anthem. You'd see people dance to this track at stripclubs and bars, which was pretty funny considering what the song actually means. 'Course, we also received some backlash at the same time from folks putting out claims that we were endorsing the XBD industry. Let's be honest, if anything we were offering a healthier alternative.

["𝙷𝙰𝚃𝙴" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟷𝟻, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟸, 𝙳𝙼𝚂, 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝙼𝚅𝙲, 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎]

DMS invited us to do an interview and a live performance on one of their programs, uh, what was it called… ugh, the name evades me right now, but it was sponsored by Time Machine, so the show was usually taped there. At the time our label had just signed off on a deal with DMS to begin adapting Plasticine to their Music Video Chip (MVC) tech. Meaning, people could now experience it through braindance. Guess we were going on the show to promote it or something, so that’s what we did. Was the first time I was ever on live TV, not that I had any family at home watching.

We did two songs off the album but we deviated from the arrangement a little. Told them to dim the lights and keep it dark. Think people were expecting something psychotic and raw, that was what we were known for, but in all honesty it was a very intimate set and I guess we just wanted to do something to match the tone. When we got to it, it almost felt like we were all alone there. I realized then that, no matter what we did, we were good at it.

When we got back to our apartment we were able to catch a late night playback of the show. Was kinda weird to see myself on the screen, but it’d be the first time I actually got to see us play, maybe see that chemistry James was always talking about. He had this natural ability to be able to see things from any perspective, something I could never do. Strange, the things you're made aware of through a different angle. I had this weird coping mechanism of sticking close to him whenever I got nervous, just acknowledging his presence reminded me that I wasn't alone up there. Guess it was more obvious than I thought.

And yeah, I finally saw what he meant by chemistry. It was the day I became aware of my obsession.

["𝙷𝙰𝚃𝙴" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟷𝟿, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟹, 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚛, 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎]

We went on our first tour that year. Razel Baptiste, a close friend of mine (and well known shaman), would accompany us on the band roster during that tour. 'Round the same time we bumped into a kid called Julio Rivera, and he'd climb aboard too as our official drummer. They’d eventually join Wretch once we started working on our second album. If I had to write out every single new experience I had that year, it'd be a whole other book.

At any one of our shows there was always some kind of afterparty, courtesy of the event organizers and venue owners. One night I told James, "sounds kinda fun, should go check it out", he turned around awful quick and said to me, "are you fucking kidding me? I'd rather die." Turns out, these afterparties were actually just obnoxious gatherings of suits, pseudostars and starfuckers looking to rub shoulders with their "favorite celebrities" so they can brag about it to their so-called friends and family. The best thing to come out of those parties was the supply of designer drugs, but even that wasn't worth the chagrin of having to overhear some self-important gonk talk about his sex life. We'd skip out on those parties as fast as we could, sneak out into the city for a real taste of the nightlife.

Eventually got involved with some folks we never should have met, but I guess that's all part of being a rockstar, or whatever. James doubled his drug use that year, started getting into the hard stuff cause that's what they supplied. Razel wanted no part of it, he was the spiritual kind, he preferred flower and  psilocybin. Killed me to have to watch James dismantle himself like that. Wish I could have looked the other way, but no one else was there to do what I did for him.

I was the one who had to pick him up off the floor whenever he passed out, and when he came to the next day, I’d be there to hold him while he was coming down, shaking, terrified and unable to stop shivering in cold sweat. I kept watch over all the hours he lost, days he couldn’t remember, entire parts of a week all blacked out. I sat beside him while he sifted through his darkest moments at 5 A.M. in the morning, when the hole inside of him grew bigger after the drugs wore off.

It was.. pure hell to live through, not knowing what were the chances of waking up the next day to find him slumped over on the floor and dead from having overdosed. Couldn't bear the thought of losing him, not like that. Lost count of how many times I woke up from that exact nightmare, how many times I had to make sure he was still there when the house got too silent, how many times I hid in the shower just to cry for him.

I knew I couldn’t get him to stop, so I begged him to at least slow down, tried to get him to see that the high wasn’t worth losing everything he had built so far. It was as if he was willing to throw it all away after finally making something of his own in this fucked up world. I made it clear just how much I worried about him every second of the day, told him a thousand times that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if something were to happen to him, that I’d be completely lost. But every time I did that.. it just angered him, and he'd shut me out, pretended I didn't exist. I hated that the most. The isolation. Not knowing where he'd been or who he'd been with, that really fucked with my head more than anything else. Part of me still wants to believe in ignorance, that it was never done on purpose, that he didn't know what he was doing. But I know James all too well, and he knew exactly where to twist that knife.

Still, those nights when he would finally come home and I’d still be awake on the couch, staring blankly into space with static on the TV, he’d come and sit right beside me, ‘thout ever saying a word. I’ve never felt a purer form of happiness than that.

I ended up indulging in his addiction, I destroyed myself for him. Wanted to know how he felt, wanted to be him, and in some way rationalize this addiction of his so I didn't have to blame him. Then maybe, just maybe I could forget every single terrible thing I witnessed that'd stained my image of him.

And it worked. Back then I thought it was the best decision I ever made. Each and every night I spent with him would wind up being better than the last. Felt like we were closer than ever. I mean it, both physically and emotionally. Was like watching a violent flame burn through both of our souls. Least that’s what it looked like. On the inside we were ripe with decay, compelled to run away from whatever was eating at us, but that wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on anymore. We were drowning, but at least we were in it together.

I’m not blind, I’m fully aware of the irony behind my decision, and I still find it hard to justify why I did it, still don’t know if I made the best choice. Maybe I thought, if he could just see what this was doing to me, he'd find it in himself to stop. Or maybe I just wanted to believe that I could die with him. He was as consumed with this dark desire to fill the emptiness inside of himself as much as I was consumed to follow him into this wretched disease. It got to a point where even I started to experience memory blackouts on the frequent. Days where I'd wake up on the floor of some stranger's penthouse bathroom to the sound of James throwing up in the toilet.

The drive back on days like those were the hardest for me. You could practically slice the silence with a knife, couldn't turn the radio on cause of our raging hangovers. We wouldn't talk about what happened, about the events that might've transpired, never tried to remember. Whatever fragments of recollection we owned of the night, whatever pieces were left in hazy memories were promptly locked up, not even being granted the chance to sit with acquiesce on the tip of our tongues or slightly lodged in our throats. I don't think James was physically able to look me in the eyes whenever that happened. I put it down to guilt or shame at first, that was until I caught his gaze in the rear view mirror on one of those nights, looked real close, and then I saw it, the way his eyes begged. Deep down he knew he needed help, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. And.. I didn’t know how to offer it to him. Not since the first time I tried to. I was afraid he'd react the same way. I.. I didn’t want that to happen, ever again. I couldn’t.. wouldn’t be able to live through it. It took me so long to heal.

He was my hero, my defender and protector, but he was also my darkest passenger.

[𝚄𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟷, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜]

First holiday I spent with him… this was back when I moved in with him and became his roommate at the time. He had this nice apartment up in The Glen. Wasn't as glamorous as it sounds, wasn't too spacious either, but we made it our space.

Never really did anything special for the holidays when I was young. My family.. they just weren't the type. They'd tell me about the stories that were passed down to them, stories from the old world, of how ancient traditions would be recycled over and over again, and turned into a vicious cycle of consumerism. Yeah, you could say they weren't big on Christmas.

James on the other hand.. well, he would tell me that his fondest memories of home were of those spent in December. Being the only child can be lonely, and being the only child to an actor-actress power couple only meant that loneliness extended throughout most days, weeks, months. December would be the only time where he remembered sitting down with both mom and dad, being able to actually have a full conversation with them.

Even so, I just figured these were things of the past. So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up one day to see this gigantic, towering tree set up in the living room, and James beside it on a ladder trying to light the damn thing up. As the days went by, these perfectly wrapped boxes started to stack up underneath it, and I had no idea where these presents were coming from. They would just appear there, every morning. I believed in a lot of things, knew a lot of myths existed, I mean, I was a vampire after all. But, Santa Claus? Come on. Turns out, James'd been sneaking them underneath the tree whenever he could cause he wanted me to experience my first holiday. I was sold, wanted to spend every Christmas with him. I mean, yeah, capitalism is the goddamn devil, but hell, James really knew how to give.

Didn't matter what'd happened throughout the year, how many fights we got into, or if we were dealing with something heavier than that. Come December, it'd always be just like the first time.

["𝙷𝙰𝚃𝙴" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟸𝟽, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟹, 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚛, 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎, 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍]

Seattle, Washington. Pretty sure that's where this was taken. Saw this photo in an old magazine I found lying round, I was immediately brought back to the exact memory the minute I laid my eyes on it. I remember it well, 'cause James never left my side that night.

This was his territory, the familiar ground on which he grew up. Felt to me like he was trying to make up for time lost to the years we weren’t in each others lives, walked me through his hometown memories, wanted me to know  everything I’d missed out on. Something about him was.. different. Seemed energized, more talkative. Even Razel noticed a color shift in James’s aura, said it’d turned vibrant. I couldn’t tell whether it was mania, or if he was just happy to be home.

I also happen to remember it was the night Julio had to bail on us and catch a flight back to NC when he heard his mom had been hospitalized. S’why he wasn’t in the photo. Told him that he didn’t need to worry about the rest of the dates, that we’d get someone to fill in on drums so he could be with his family.

Julio said, and I’ll always remember the way he said it, he said, “que le jodan, ¿tú qué me estás vacilando? I’m not gonna miss a single show, I swear on God if you guys let some cabrón touch my drum kit I’m– me voy a cagar en vuestra putas madres."
Day after, he caught the next available flight to Chicago from Night City, touched down with barely an hour to get to the venue, arrived just in time for the show. Kid hadn’t slept in 32 hours and he absolutely killed it up there.

[𝚄𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟸, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐]

Before the days of tour bus envoys and private planes, James and I would usually drive to our own shows. He had this crappy little van that we used to haul our equipment in wherever we went. Come to think of it, he was pretty sentimental about that van, he had it ever since he began playing music.

Always loved being on the road, my fondest memories are nestled there, almost like I’d find them between the cracks in the pavement. When you’re on the road that much you kinda learn just how many gas stations and lonely rest stops this nation has (a ridiculous amount). Most times we’d just stop for a bite and be on our way. Other times we were way too beat, had to sleep it off in some shitty motel. Still remember how terrified we were of the van being stolen along with all our equipment.

Drives were long, but I never wanted to go home. I had this playlist chocked full of old school songs, I’m talkin’ classic stuff, I’m talkin’ an eclectic mix, it had everything from ‘Smoke On The Water’ to ‘Video Killed The Radio Star’. Stuff hit differently, guess it somehow becomes sort of a novelty, and you knew all the words to every single song.  James wasn’t always the biggest fan of how I yelled out the chorus to ‘We Built This City’ right in his ear, but I know for a fact he enjoyed my rendition of ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ cause I’d see him crack a smile every time. Once ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ came on though, we’d both be belting it out to it, and fuck me, it was the best thing I ever heard.

Started to really hate touring after our anNIHILate tour. Felt like I'd never have another moment like that with him, surrounded by road crews and split up on either end of our bus. Between that and his growing addiction problem, I started wishing that we could just go back to being nobodies.

Had to cope somehow, so I found myself listening to the list again one night, hunkered down in my bunk, unable to sleep. I don’t know how, but he must’ve heard it all the way down at the other end of the bus, he came through the curtains and just sat right next to me, we were there the whole night. I.. think he missed it too.

["𝙽𝚒𝚕" 𝚎𝚛𝚊, 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟷, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟹, 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜, 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎𝙸𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜]

New Orleans, couple of days before our next gig, think it was around this time James found out about me being a vampire. I guess I never told him cause it wasn't a big deal, I was still only a latent vampire. See, I was brought into this world a vampire, so things’re a little different when you're born one. But I'll get to that in a bit.

One day James tells me he’s headed to Vieux Carré, said he had some old business to take care of. Now, I’m not the type to ask questions, and normally I wouldn’t let him wander off alone like that, God knows what kind of trouble he'd get himself into without me around to stop him. But his energy seemed to shift the moment we touched down in Louisiana. He was.. calmed, focused. Could tell he was feeling inspired. Figured I may as well take that as an opportunity to drop in on the local Chapter. I knew a couple of the vampires there, belonged to the same coven not long ago, until we hit twenty and littered ourselves around the country. So it was a little strange when I bumped into James within the little occult shop serving as the entrance to get down into the Chapter. He was tucked between the narrow shelves, holding a couple of candles and a bundle of incense.

That's when I told him. Maybe it was the intimate setting of the place, maybe it was the way he looked with those candles, maybe it was the smell of incense. Just felt right. Think I was more freaked out about how he didn't just straight up call me insane, hell, he didn't even raise a brow. Then he started going on an awful somethin' ’bout how this was it, said that "they" had been talking about this in his visions for a long time now. "They" meaning the demons. Yeah, that was the moment I'd also find out that some of his demons took on a literal sense, turns out he's an adequate occultist. I guess we both had our secrets.

Was pretty characteristic of me to get involved in whatever James was doing at the time, so naturally I became, uh, an active ingredient in many of his workings and rituals. Told me I had the good stuff, vampire blood was sacred, after all.

Most people don't know the difference, but born-vampires have to go through a death ritual in order to gain their full vampiric essence, until then, vampirism, as they call it, remains dormant. Your family usually decides when you get to become a fledgling, but since I had none around, I planned to endure mine only when I turned 27, which meant that I was still closer to being human than I was to any supernatural being.

My diet still consisted of human food at the time, that didn’t stop James from asking me to drink his blood, though. Sure as hell wouldn't refuse a drink whenever offered. Blood's the backbone to all of a vampire's powers, for a latent, however, it just offers a nice kick.

James also had the gonk idea of asking me to bring him to a vamp club. Now, there’re two reasons why I really, really didn’t want to do that. One, he’s human. They’d smell him from a mile away, like a walking blood bank. Two, do you have any idea how many vampires are Wretch fans? Guess I'm an even bigger gonk, eventually took him to one right in the city. James’d masquerade as my donor, was the only way to keep the others from trying to sink their teeth into him. Never seen him so spooked before, was like he’d gone back into his shell. Could tell he was getting a kick outta it, though, guy had this macabre and twisted sense of curiosity. Our dynamic switched that night, think that was kinda humbling for him, to witness me taking the lead for once. Hah, yeah, and guess I did have fun baring my fangs to anyone who got too close, telling 'em “back off, this one’s mine.”

Then came the day he asked me to turn him. I've seen a human convert before. It's.. a world beyond torture. A fate worse than death, most don't even make it through the whole process. I didn't want to put him through that, didn't want to put myself through that.

But he insisted. So I promised he’d be the first I turn if he could wait five years. I was never really good at saying no to him. A blood bond between two vampires.. I can't even begin to describe how pure that energy is, it would bind us forever. And I'd be lying to you if I said that wasn't the one thing in the world I wanted the most.

Wouldn't be long 'fore he found confidence in deviating from the traditional custom of bloodletting, as was orthodox of him in any juncture of his life. He had an artist's approach to everything he did, once he had a grip on something he'd twist it around and make it his own. S'what made him a unique and powerful practitioner, he would adapt rituals to his preference, made them personal, something that granted potency to his workings, and in everything else he created, really. It came as no surprise to me that he wanted to alter the way I drank from him.

Shoulda seen the way he would ask me to do the things he wanted me to do. He never demanded, didn't need to when he'd mastered the art of persuading me. The soft spell in his voice, slight tilt in his head that made a few stray locks linger over his eyes. That gentle grasp on the back of my neck, two fingers pressed into my nape slowly nudging me towards him, and the way they would crawl up my scalp when I sank in. It became a ritual in its own right, it was different each time.

His neck would begin to bruise easily, flesh was tender under my touch, like it welcomed my sinking teeth time after time. Felt like I was carving my name into his skin. I would drain him to the brink of unconsciousness, felt his lifeforce slowly deplete, just enough to turn his vision black. Wasteful, but it was what he wanted.

Made it a habit to come up and watch his face while he danced between the fine threads of life and death. Palest skin cupped in my palms while he drifted, witnessing how his lips would tremble, how he struggled to keep his eyes open, fighting to find the light he couldn't see.

When you drink from someone, a connection is made. The more you take, the more you're tied, it breeds insanity, it's how we lose our humanity. I wasn't hooked on the rush his blood gave me, I was addicted to the way it felt to hold his still body, looking terribly at peace with his obsession over dying. In that moment, with intent cast aside, when his shell grew fragile, I heard the thoughts that decorated his mind, and I felt everything, everything he kept inside of him.

That was a comfort I could never describe with words.

["𝙽𝚒𝚕" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟺, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟺, 𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕]

We recorded the bulk of Nil at an abandoned office space somewhere in Japantown. Place went untouched after they laid down the cinder block, left behind a bunch of cement bags, wooden wall studs blueprinted the open space. Apparently, Arasaka makes use of the space every year. Other than that, the place hasn't seen much action. Acoustics were shit, our label was fixin' to turn the place into a studio, but there was a backlog of permits to be filled before we could even touch the space.

Wasn't charmingly haunted or historically embedded as the likes of The Mansion at Laurel Canyon or Le Pig down on Cielo Drive, but we prepped it up real nice, made it our own. James came by one day lugging around three boxes loaded with candles, set it on down in the middle of the room and went "I'm gonna put fuckin' candles everywhere." Razel traced a number of Vevè symbols on the concrete, a couple more on cardboard signs he'd leave leaning against the walls. By the time we were done the place felt sacred.

Did couple'a demos for the album to pass the time, recorded a number of covers, too. One in particular, song called 'Nutshell', was arranged with all three of us playing on the song, and of course, James would do vocals. Now, we did this a number of times, tried different tempos, switched the time signature, even tried recording it in different areas of the space we had, never did sound quite right.

I remember one evening walking in on the sound of a lone guitar strumming that subtle, melancholic riff, knew it was James cause he had this distinct tone on all of his guitars. He was up on one of the platforms, sat on a stool. Seemed like he didn't notice anything around him, like nothing else existed to him. Then he started to sing.

On my life, I swear, I felt the walls tremble at his voice. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard, just him and that guitar. I just buried my face in my hand, and I cried. Took me awhile to notice everyone else was there, watching, too.

I had to beg him, but we got him to record his version of the song before our studio was even built. Ended up being on the b-side to 'Phosphor'. If I listen close enough, I can still hear how the concrete shifted, and how it settled dust onto the ground.

[𝚄𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟺, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚖]

Razel and I go way back, knew him ever since I was just a stupid kid, must've been about sixteen when we first met, Razel would've been nineteen. Back then his parents were one of the few shamans who'd willingly work within our circles, the family circles, that is. They're natural healers, and only a few had the rare ability to restore lost humanity. Needless to say they were sought out; a precious commodity. They keep us from turning into murderous, bloodthirsty creatures, allowing us to live hundreds of years without ever going batshit insane.

We got on just fine, two peas in a pod. Born into a life that was built for us from the start. Razel wanted to be an artist. He was gifted, a talented painter. But when you're born into a sorcerer family, you're kinda just expected to become one. Just so happened that we were both thrown off the path laid out for us.

Didn't know how lucky I was at the time when he agreed to tour with us and eventually join the band, but Razel saved me from completely destroying myself. In a way, he was my personal healer. He'd begrudgingly keep tabs on my intake, made sure I didn't cross the line you couldn't come back from, made sure to tell me how much he hated doing it every chance he got.

It was difficult, keeping up with James. His tolerance was through the roof. Lost count of how many times I would lose consciousness at random, how many times I wanted to claw my way out of my own fucking skin, how many times Razel thought I was already dead 'cause my heart rate would slow down to a point where it'd look like I wasn't breathing at all.

Got too heavy, and I just broke down one night. Started spiraling, staring at the lines left on the table when Razel walks in concerned as ever, but twice as severe, could hear it in his tone. We argued for a bit, I was already high and it was pretty typical of me to be a stubborn little shithead. I don't know, I couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop the words falling out of my mouth, I was a mess. Might’ve been the moment I realized just how low I had sunk.

And then he just grabs me by my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. Never knew how he could sound so stern and forgiving at the same time when he said to me, “you can’t keep doing this.”

["𝙽𝚒𝚕" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟽, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟺, 𝚓𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚘, 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑]

After we dropped Nil, right on the cusp of our NA tour, literally a week before the first show, we lost our drummer, Julio, to a shoot out in Santo Domingo. We thought for sure the dates were gonna get axed. Mainly out of respect, and not to mention we were all suffering the loss of a close friend and counterpart.

Julio Rivera was this starry-eyed kid, just sixteen-years-old when we met him, happened to be in the right place at the right time when we were looking for a drummer. Back in '73, after we got Razel onboard, we were trying out a number of people to complete the band for the tour, had a couple of names we were considering but none that'd caught our full attention yet, y'know, someone with the right chemistry. We were exhausted, having played sessions with at least a dozen different drummers. Starving, too, so we headed out to grab a bite, ended up in the corner of this dinky little diner.

Not long after we sat down, this skinny kid walks in, spittin' image of a young Dave Grohl with the long dark hair, wearing clothes two sizes too large. He stops in the middle of the diner for a good ten seconds lookin' a little like he'd just seen the face of God, and then he walks up to our booth. Kid goes, "holy shit– um, huge fan, you guys are like, my biggest inspiration." Humble type, looked as if he'd been meaning to bow in respect with the way he kept eyeing his shoes while he told us how he was gonna be in a band one day. James, as casual as he was, he goes, "yeah? What d'you play?" And the rest was history.

He'd been our drummer ever since he set foot in the studio to show us what he had, and goddamn did he show the fuck out of us. James really took a liking to the kid, almost like a younger brother to him, helped him find his style, his own technique. 
On the night the news came out, there was talk of an informal memorial taking place at the center of Vista Del Rey. Hundreds of fans were there, we were too. Outside, down in the streets, they'd laid out candles, flowers, photographs, memorabilia, merchandise, you name it. People were out there with guitars singing our songs. It was one of the most tender displays that I'd ever seen of something so human.

Was hard not to see the four of us as family. It affected us all a great deal but, think James took it the hardest. He was the kind to be really tough on himself, Julio's death was probably up there on the list of things he'd beat himself up about. Could tell that he blamed himself for it, that he saw Julio's blood on his hands, even if I kept telling him he'd done nothing but good for the kid. Confided in me one night, tried to tell me Julio's death was no coincidence. Said it was the corp, the label who'd set that up and left him out there to bleed dry.

Thought it was the smack doing the talking, he was strung higher than ever. But he kept explaining, and things were adding up, starting to make sense. To tell you the truth, 'round that time, the waters were turbulent between us and the label. They were beginning to crack down on our promised creative freedom and James was having none of it, fought them hard on that, and they punished us in more ways than I can count on both hands. S'why we were denied a proper studio to record Nil, why they cut our budget in half, and why we were eventually forced to use a droid that had all our drum tracks downloaded into its software after we refused every fill-in drummer they sent our way for the tour.

Day before we had to leave, there was a private wake held for Julio's close friends and family. The entire time, James couldn't find it in himself to even look at Julio's mother. This was a woman left not only to battle her withering health, but also the grief that came with the loss of her son. Even if we were the ones who robbed Julio some thousands of hours he could have spent with his family, the Riveras never held it against us, 'fact they saw us as their own for giving the kid a chance to live out his dream.

Julio's love for music was larger than life itself, s'what James saw in him from early on. The way this kid's eyes would light up whenever he'd talk about a song gave three sad bastards like us hope. The family wanted us to do an eulogy at the wake, but we ended up playing an acoustic version of 'Lighting Crashes'. It was number three on his list of top ten favorite songs. Just felt right.

Kept thinking about this one night back when we were still working in the studio, four of us were hanging around just beyond the production room where they had these old leather couches, comfy little things. After a day of endless recording we'd retire there, sprawled all over the seats, smoking and drinking, shootin' the shit.

Out of the blue, James goes "you guys ever thought about how you wanna go? I mean, 'f you could choose when or where to die."

Wasn't odd for him to pose a question like that, 'fact it was pretty normal. Room went silent for a bit as to give it some thought, then Julio pipes up. "When I was a little boy, growing up in Málaga, every summer my parents would take me to the beach. The smell of fresh water.. cleanest sands you’d ever set your eyes on. Was my favorite thing, looked forward to it all year. I know it's cliche but… wanna return to the sea when I go. Wanna feel the water embrace me one last time, even if I'm just a pile of ashes."

Razel, James and I all had this look on our faces like.. this 18-year-old kid, youngest in the room, had just said something so profoundly spiritual and deep and we were just trying to process that. Ended up agreeing with his sentiment, all three of us, about returning to the sea.

His family placed his remains at the Columbarium, his final resting place. We weren't about to challenge them on that, didn't even mention what Julio had said about the sea, just felt like it wasn't our place. Should've, though. Think it killed us all inside a little more knowing that we failed to fulfill that wish for him.

After Columbarium we drove west until we hit water. 2 A.M., feet buried in the sand and freezing our ballsacks off, far away from the intrusion of city lights. Stars were littering the sky somethin' pretty, like little puncture marks on a black canvas. That's when James broke down. Hard to watch a man crumble the way he did, but he'd been holding it in 'til then. Calmed down after awhile and we stayed watching the waves until sunrise. Drove back to the city immediately after and boarded the tour bus waiting to take us to our first show.

That was the night I knew I'd watched James fall deeper into that hole, the one I couldn't get him out of, the one I followed him down into.

["𝙽𝚒𝚕" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟿, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟺, 𝚊𝚗𝙽𝙸𝙷𝙸𝙻𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚛]

The anNIHILate tour definitely lived up to its name. On stage we'd smash thousands of eddies worth of equipment every chance we got, fueled by rage and chaos. The fans loved it, thought it was part of the show. Tickets sold out in every city, the album went double platinum, and they launched an EU tour right after. We were actin' out, but the corp backing the label couldnt've been happier. They just kept throwing eds at us. The three of us, though? We were fucking empty on the inside.

Started to see James less and less over the course of the years between '74 to '77. He'd purchased this plot of land just outside of Rancho Coronado right after we got back from Europe, built himself a discreet mobile home with its own little recording studio, nothing fancy or self-serving aside from the equipment he had installed.

Holed himself up in there for four years, became extremely recluse after what happened with Julio. Stopped making public appearances, refused to do any interviews, and when Nil won 'Best Metal Album of the Year', it’d be just Razel and myself up on that stage to accept it. He didn't step a foot out of the place, hell, most times I had to make sure he had enough to eat, guy was startin' to lose weight. People were beginning to ask questions, but we didn’t know what to tell 'em, then the rumors about his drug use started popping up again.

There were times when I thought things would go back to the way they were, like that evening he called in to join us on the radio interview we were doing for Vexelstrom. Felt so good to hear him talk about music again, with his usual off the wall humor, being downright hilarious. But it was just another ‘good’ day in a sleuth of rough patches.

I missed him. So fucking much. I dropped everything and hauled my ass across the city to be with him at 4 A.M. in the morning whenever he asked, didn’t matter what he wanted from me. Just needed him to know that he could depend on me, that I'd do anything for him, and I did. I was his sustenance as much as I was his bad habit. I'd still shoot up with him when he felt the itch, and I'd still be his quick fuck whenever he got too lonely.
Anything if it meant I could see him again.

["𝙽𝚒𝚕" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟷𝟹, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟻, 𝙾𝙳]

James and I argued, a lot. More often than not, it'd get physical, things'd break, collateral damage. We'd end up with bruised knuckles, maybe a black eye. Pushed things too far one night. Got so angry, said some nasty things 'fore I stormed out of his house. I felt the rush after that, just needed something to calm me down, but I went overboard that day.

Found myself face plastered onto my own bathroom floor hours later, mouth full of my own spit, unable to move, barely breathing, slipping in and out of consciousness, I thought that was it for me. Thought it was the moment I’d be experiencing death’s grasp just like any other human being faced with mortality.

It was all so fragile. Felt so heavy, so much that it was impossible to feel 'nything else other than this sense of peace beside me. Wasn't accepting my fate, I wasn't romanticizing death, that was my human body shutting down, little by little, 'til it failed to comprehend what was happening to me. I was scared, my mind acknowledged that, but my body couldn't. Hardly even felt my heart beating, I knew I didn't have much time left before things got fatal. Forced my eyes open but all I saw was darkness.

Took all I had to get James on the holo. Hindsight, I don't know, maybe I should've called Trauma, or even Razel. But I just kept thinking, what if I didn't make it? If I'm really gonna bite it, I wanted James to be the last person I spoke to.

Felt like divine intervention when I heard him coming through the door in a minute flat. Not even Trauma had a turnaround time like that. Turns out he'd been downstairs for 'bout an hour with the car parked, contesting the idea to come up and see me. To say sorry. Saw him bolt through the bathroom door with this look on his face, ain't ever seen him that way before. He had this little overdose kit he'd carry with him everywhere, always said it was to save someone else, not himself. Gave me a shot of Naloxone and called Trauma. Everything's a blur after that.

James was the only one who knew my real name. Never really used it 'til that day, kept calling me over and over, gently tapping my face, keeping my eyes open, making sure I was still there, not slippin' away.

["𝙽𝚒𝚕" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟷𝟻, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟼, 𝚛𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚋]

Checked into rehab after I forfeited my dance with death. James followed suit, think I might've scared him straight that one time. Wasn't unusual for us to go in together, normalcy would have us in sync when it came to this. 'Sides, felt to me like it was just a lil' bit easier to fight withdrawals with someone else right beside you, kinda like soldiers in a battlefield.

Rehab and relapse, a well known cycle for addicts, and James and I were no exception. We'd done that rodeo several times throughout the years of our abuse. Seen our fair share of rehabilitation centers, twelve-step programs and replacement drugs, walked out as new men and stayed clean for a couple of months only to relapse back into the habit again, 'cause that's just what happens when you find it all around you.

James built his home snug right in the corner of his plot, rest of the three acre land was open field, 'least until the fences. Spent a bit of time there while we were soberin' up in '76. Place was far out enough that you could actually hear the leaves rustle when the wind blew, yet close enough that whenever it did, you'd catch a whiff of the city. Beautiful grassy lawn, albeit overgrown with weeds, but that added to the charm. Was right out of an American Dream, coulda raised a family there if you wanted to.

Came a time when Razel and I would hangout at his place almost everyday, we’d come ‘round with takeout and booze, played video games, did whatever he wanted to do. Did what we could to let him know that we were there for him, ‘cause we knew he wouldn’t ask outright.

Mostly, though, we were just sittin' around writing songs. And if we weren't writing, well, then we were playing stuff we knew by heart. The little recording studio he had off the side of the main house had everything you could dream of, like the 12-string acoustic guitar he imported, gorgeous piece of work, and, Christ, the sound that came outta that thing; full-bodied, rich, warm. We’d steal the instruments away for the day and sit out on the porch or down in the lawn somewhere, strumming and pickin' out acoustic, folksy stuff. James and I harmonized well, and, believe it or not, Razel's actually a badass with the harmonica.

Started to understand James's self imposed isolation, something 'bout being way out there that catered to reflective, introspective solitude, complete with the desolate setting to match.

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟷, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘, 𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜]

Scorpio, our third studio album, was a problematic piece of work, what amounted to three years that built the wedge between Nil and Scorpio.

On the road during '73 and '74 we'd written a handful of new songs while on tour. Had the idea to release an EP with the new stuff we penned down. Problem was, the label didn't take to our new material. Said it deviated too much from our "patented" sound, plus, they wanted another full length album from us.

So there we were, creatively, mentally, and physically exhausted, heirs to a legacy we created that had finally presumed control over us. James held on to the bulk of songs we no longer had use of, said "fuck the label, we'll release that EP one day".

Lasted three weeks trying to come up with more material before we threw in the towel. Then came our brief hiatus in '75. Came one day the label called us up to their megacorp tower for a meeting. Started breathing down our necks about timelines and release dates, we didn't even have a single song written down. When James stormed outta that room that day, that was the last they'd hear from him for at least a year.

Eventually 'round '76 James started writing material for our next album while he kept himself locked up over in his house, he’d do the demos there and ship it over to us in the studio, where we’d try to piece a solid track. Wasn't ideal but, we made it work.

Must've been by God's grace 'cause we finally had enough tracks recorded for a solid album by '77. 'Bout the time the masters were being done, they'd ask me to do an acoustic track to put alongside 'Venom', the first single off the album, partly due to the success we had with the 'Nutshell' cover, but this time they wanted me to do the vocals on it. Was a weird ask but, already had the song picked out, so it was just a matter of getting James to do the guitar on it, like I wanted. They told me they wanted to get it done quick, so it'd just be me all by my lonesome. Wasn't happy about it but I obliged.

Walked into the box to do the song that day, and that's when I noticed James coming into the production room lookin' like he just made the drive from his place. Had no idea what he was doing there or who called him in, sure was glad he showed up when he did, though. Looked as if he was listenin’ real close, then I saw him smile from behind the glass while I was doing the take.

There were so many things I wanted to say to him, so many things on my mind that I couldn't express. So many times I wanted to tell him the way I felt, but ever since he built his home up on that ranch and hid away from the world, there'd be this wedge placed between us, felt like I couldn't reach him anymore. In a way, I sung that song for him, 'cause it was the only way I could tell him. And I think, deep down, he knew.

[𝚄𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟼, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎]

Alice Lainey Sinclair. She and I go way back. 'Course, back then she was known as Susan Lewinsky. Met when we were both fifteen, growing up in Des Moines. Tried to pull one on me by picking my pocket, so I punched her in the face. We laughed about it for weeks after that. She was your typical home runaway situation, sleeping on a different couch every night, hitching rides from strangers in trucks thrice her age, stealing to get by. All she had that she could call hers was that backpack she carried with her.

Never really knew when or if I'd be seeing her. Some nights she'd sneak in through my bedroom window, other times I'd find her sitting out on my porch, cheeks ruined with black runny mascara. To see her with dry eyes was a rare sight. That was her way of telling me things weren't great. And they never were. So, we did what we could to forget about everything else.

Anyway, we drifted, went our separate ways eventually, weren't out of each other's lives yet, though. Our paths happened to cross again about five years later. Bumped into each other at a party after a Wretch show, she ended up in Night City and earned the job title of a small time event organizer and a part time groupie. That's when she introduced herself as Alice. Reinvented herself, changed her name as soon as she turned legal age, moved far away and started a new life, just like I did.

We kept in touch, spoke damn near everyday, witnessed each other's success. Didn't take her long to make a name for herself, she ran the circles and climbed that ladder. Wasn't a time where I didn't see her on the arm of some rockstar, was how she made her way into the music industry. The relationships she had were mercurial, short lived and incredibly fleeting. Longest running fling she had was Slavoj McAllister, frontman of the Cartesian Duelists. As you can imagine, it didn't end well. That was a messy split, tabloids didn't leave them alone for months. But that only boosted her name into fame, she turned into a personality.

She climbed that ladder alright. Ended up becoming our manager in 2076. I honestly couldn’tve imagined a job she was better suited for.

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟻, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟽, 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚣]

Totentanz. That's where you’d find most of our crew after hours, either getting high or, well, whatever else they were scheming in those days. Used to hang back there years ago, us four, least 'til we got "big enough" to get into Sludge Factory. We'd still swing by the Maelstrom club every now and then, though. Didn't want them thinkin' we were gonna forget about 'em.

James started out in Totentanz, was kinda home turf for him. Razel wasn't a big fan of the crowd, but made his own fun pickin' into random borg brains with tiny, harmless glitches. Preferred Sludge myself, I mean, you can only witness strung-out near-comatose punks flatline on the floor so many times before it gets old.

Still played there from time to time, and other times we'd have smaller acts take the stage. Think of it as an exclusive and intimate set for our crew and close friends, folks that stuck with us from the very beginning, like an afterparty, but one worth showing up to. Last one I remember was in '77, just a month before Scorpio was s'posed to drop.

That night, that’s when I saw her there, standing off to the side, just out of reach from the rest of the crowd. Never seen her before, she didn’t look like a regular, either. I caught her gaze and I just— I smiled, didn't move an inch. Didn't even try to approach her. Must’ve looked fuckin' weak, but I had this weight on me that kept me tied to my seat, courtesy of all the thoughts buried in my head.

Turns out luck was on my side that night, 'cause I was at the bar when Razel walked over and as fate would have it, she was right by his side. Apparently the two of them go way back.

At first I thought she might’ve been from a clan outside the city. She was pure, untainted, untouched by tech. Then she spoke, her accent took me back to the times we'd spend down in Vieux Carré, and she had this way with her words, sweetest voice I ever heard, endowed with gentle affection and playfulness. 'Said to call her Vaanya, and that she'd stop by our next show.

Couldn't stop thinking 'bout her after that, had that image of her leaning against that bar decked out in her gear burned into my head for days.

Don’t know, there was just something about her. I was mesmerized.

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟽, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚠𝚑𝚢𝚊𝚖𝙸𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗]

While we were working on Scorpio, there was a period of time in which I'd actually been hopeful about how things'd turn out between James and I. I'd see him drop by the studio with increasing frequency, as if he'd been trying to puzzle himself back into the process, tryin' to get back into the swing of things. We were both clean, too, figured that the clarity accompanying sober life'd nudge us in the right direction, you know?

Thought that maybe he'd finally grow wise to the hints I'd leave him, that he wouldn't just brush off every little I told him during his self-imposed exile as some sort of drug-induced fluff, and maybe, just maybe I'd feel safe enough to look him in the eyes and tell him that I was done being just another body for him to use. I didn't want to be that late night call anymore, I wanted more, I wanted everything. And in my imprudence, I believed he felt the same way.

I'd swing by his place nearly every night, and every night, I'd feel him further away. Didn't matter if he was right beside me, on top of me, inside me, whatever. I could feel it, he wasn't there. It was as if he decided to build these walls around him one day and keep everyone else on the other side, including me. Never got a chance to tell him.

It was killing me. It hurt just to be near him, there was this constant reminder hanging over my head that things'd never be the same again. Wasn't easy, but, I came to the realization that I needed to move past this. Move past him.

Became a lot easier once Vaanya came along, couple of months later. James took notice almost immediately, and he wasn't known for his subtlety. Not something he'd ever admit, but damn did it piss him off, you could tell by the look on his face, the little crease that formed on the bridge of his nose and the uneven curl in his upper lip.

Never claimed to be a saint, felt good to see him react that way. James always held it together pretty well, but whenever we were on stage he'd let all that anger out and I thrived on it, 'cause I could see the cracks forming on that wall he built. Behind that front he put up, deep inside, I knew he felt something, and I did everything in my will to shove that in his face.

I'd only known her for a few weeks, but it felt like we'd known each other for a lifetime.

There wasn't a moment where I'd see Vaanya without that little piece of tech she had hanging 'round her neck. She had a real fancy one, top shelf stuff, not like any I'd seen before, certainly not anything like the cheap plastic wreath I had lying around at home; that thing nearly fried my brains out one time.

Early on I remember asking her, "So what do you do?" She was fiddling with her wreath when she looked back at me, puttin' on a tilted brow and that smirk of hers, "Isn't it obvious? I tune." It was her passion. She worked a day job tuning shots for those Music Video Chips, and when she came home, whenever she had the time to, she'd scroll and tune her own little pieces of art.

Shoulda seen 'em, these BDs of hers. They were little music videos in their own right. Scrolled everything herself, packed in her experiences, the things she felt, emotions, sensations, thoughts, everything, amplified by a thousand from the connection she shared to the songs she used. An unapologetic display of her soul, sworn to vulnerability should anyone come to witness, stripped to the bone and raw as flesh. The purest form of art.

Still remember the first time she put that wreath over my head, threw me into the dive before I could even say anything. Changed the way I saw her, after that. Felt like I knew her on another level, even if I'd just met her. When I came out I turned over to her, she had this look on her face, like she'd just gotten this huge weight off her shoulders. Must've followed instinct, I just wrapped my arms around her and she started to cry.

The more time I spent with her, the more I wished I could become just that. Vulnerable. I wanted to be able to feel without being encumbered by shame. I wanted, for once, to show someone, anyone, what was really inside of me, removed from the fear of being turned away.

She was made of a light that reached deep into the darkness that obscured me, tucked me away in a little corner where I couldn't find the light, 'least until hers arrived.

Would've been a couple'a months that I'd known her by then, I'd make an effort to leave the hole I called a house just to see her. Never realized how different the city looked in the morning. Daylight only made me weak, it drained me, wasn't like I'd spontaneously combust under the first touch of sunlight or anything like that, I just preferred the nighttime, the city looked better that way, y’know? Everything did. But it was worth it, ‘cause those were the only hours I could spend by her side.

I'd meet up with Vaanya at the edge of West Wind Estate, she knew 'bout this secluded spot far away from the scavs, somewhere she'd always disappear to whenever she wanted to get away, to clear her head. Said the place was dead empty in the afternoons, not a single soul wanderin' about.

Honestly, I hated being out in public, that was an issue which developed over the years of being in the band. Sounds stupid but, I'm actually terrified of crowds; always made me anxious as hell whenever people would gather around me like that.

But, being there with her, tucked away from the rest of the city, well, it’s been a long time since I felt that way. The sound of waves washing into concrete drowned out the endless drone of every hint of life, we could scream at the top of our lungs and no one would hear us. Whatever happened there was kept a secret between us and the sea.

She’d be the only one to see through the anger, the violence. She was there to see what became of me after. When most would’ve walked away, she was the only one to stick around. To stick through for me. She understood that part of me, cause she saw it for what it was, not what it claimed to be.

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟸𝟸, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚂𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊: 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝟶𝟿/𝟶𝟷/𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟽]

Sludge Factory. If you were allowed to walk into this place, it means you made it, big time.

Long ago there used to be a club called The Atlantis, and that’s where everyone went, ‘least everyone who had a name or anyone who wanted one. You’d find all sorts of folk from all walks of life hanging out at that place, least that’s what I heard. When that club shut down, a new one callin’ itself the Afterlife followed suit, gained traction pretty quick but it soon turned into a rendezvous point for people looking to do business. And I mean shady business. Creative types didn’t feel welcome there ‘nymore, and it didn’t take long for ‘em to close off the club to mercenaries and clients only.

Then Sludge came along, opened up right where The Atlantis used to be, and we suddenly had a place to call our own again. If the Afterlife was a place for hired guns, Sludge was a place for talent, and anyone lookin’ to do business with the talent.

That night we we’re headin’ up to do a publicity thing for 'Fuck You', our second single off the unreleased Scorpio album. Hadn’t seen James in two weeks before then; seemed to be doing alright, aside from the customary discontentment with the corp he usually lugged around with him.

Saw her from across the room, Alice was stood there looking less than pleased, and when she noticed us approachin’, she got up with a hand on each hip, 'bit like a disappointed mother spottin’ her kids coming home past curfew. Starts by telling us we're late, a tone of displeasure lacing her words. From the corner of my eye I’d seen James was about to make things a whole lot worse by opening his mouth, so I make up a half-assed excuse, knowing it wouldn’t stop him from talkin’ anyway.

He points out that there's still thirty minutes 'til the show begins, she quickly snaps back, sayin' we missed rehearsal. A perfectly audible scoff accompanies the way his eyes roll back into his skull, and in the back of my own I had to agree with him, emphasizing that there isn't much to rehearse when all they're going to do is put us up there with a playback track. But James’s upper lip starts to twitch, whenever that happened I knew what’d come next.

Figured I’d put myself in front of him while I ask Alice about Razel, just in case. She points to the door behind her, she had her hand over her forehead, squashing her temples like her head was about to implode, and she goes, and I quote, "Look, Ghost, you know I love you but if the two of you don’t get out of my sight and head back there right now I will see to it personally that Wretch never plays on a stage ever again.” I'll never forget the way she said the next sentence to come out of her mouth, she calls my attention again, fury in her eyes, and goes, "Put your dog on a goddamn leash.”

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟸𝟽, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊: 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝟷𝟶/𝟸𝟸/𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟽]

Took a walk through Japantown with Razel one night. Had a fog in my mind, a cloud hanging over my head, and I knew he could tell. It’s strange, I don't remember all that much of what happened throughout October, but I can still perfectly hear the conversation we had while leanin' over the rails with fogs in our chests, word for word.

𝙶 ["Feel like shit, not gonna lie. Think I might be experiencing withdrawals."]
𝚁 ["You been clean for months, it's unlikely. Stress, maybe. 'Lotta pressure getting this album out. What's been ailing ya?"]
𝙶 ["It's weird, 'Zel. Started out as regular headaches. Migraines, more like, fucked with my vision sometimes. Then the black-outs started happening. Mindin' my own business and the next thing I know, I've lost four hours of my life after I wake up behind some dumpster around Northside, no memory of how I even got there."]
𝚁 ["Sounds like an exploit. Your firmware all up to date? Could be a 'runner trying to fuck with you. Shoulda taken me up on my offer 'bout that extra layer of ICE. Offer's still valid, by the way."]
𝙶 ["Yeah, why d'you think I came to you in the first place? Ain't even the worst of it. The other day I was dozing off when all of a sudden it felt like my soul was being ripped out of my body. I.. saw myself lying on my own bed, from above. Like I was outside my own shell for a second."] ["To top it all off apparently I now have heightened senses or somethin'. Everything fuckin' annoys the crap outta me. Lights, sounds, smells, everything's amplified. It's driving me insane."]
𝚁 ["Hate to break it to ya Ghost, but this ain't a runner we're dealin' with. This is all you. It's time. You're turning."]
𝙶 ["What?"] ["Nah.. no way. Don't I get to decide or somethin'? What about the ritual?"]
𝚁 ["Shit's ceremonial. Like a quinceañera. Still turn fifteen with or without one. The real ritual? The one your spirit goes through. You're about to embark on a journey through death and rebirth, Ghost."]
𝙶 ["Fuck.. 'Zel, I'm not ready."]
𝚁 ["The essence never lies."]

Didn't really know what he meant by that, didn't understand at first. But by the next couple'a days things'd begin to pick away at the elusiveness, and I'd learn just exactly what it meant.

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟹𝟸, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖]

There was a part of me that was dying on the inside. I felt it slowly rot away, wilted and grayer each second, feeding this.. thing that was spreading, contaminating me. Like a disease. And I knew in time, something else entirely would be taking over. The person that I was, and the person that I would become; they were ultimately two different sides to a coin. Wasn't even sure anymore if I'd still actually be in control after it happens, still aware, still alive, I guess.

Sometimes I'd see him besides myself, that other half of me, shadowing me. Sometimes it was all I could see. I hated every living second of it, 'was as if chaos had been imbued in me and translated entirely into something I was forced to feel, as if something kept my eyes peeled open and made me watch as it ripped my own soul right out of my body.

Vaanya was always the first to witness it. How the emptiness gave way to black, to anger. She was always there, was only a matter of time. Tried not to let it happen in public, the black-outs, the takeovers, but things like that were beyond my control. All it took was for one nosy son'ovabitch journalist to start asking me questions about James's personal life, 'bout who he's been seeing these days, shoving their cameras in my face, talking about Vaanya like she's some piece of meat, and that was it. I switched off.

People started talking again. Drug abuse, mental illness, even cyberpsychosis. Didn't go over too well with the corp when that shit made its way back to 'em, but they were terrified by the idea of any one of us fuckin' off, so they couldn't do anything 'bout it. They needed us more than we needed them, and they needed us to exist if they wanted this album and tour to take off.

Thing I hated the most, though, was the image of me that must've built up in her mind. That wasn't me, but it was the version of me she had to meet. And it never scared her off. Somehow she understood the darkness dwelling in me, as if she had one of her own.

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟹𝟼, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗]

Came 'round one night I witnessed the marks on Vaanya's arm, same ones I had, same ones James had. Took me by surprise, could never picture her lumped into the same filth and dirt we swam in, even then, she must've navigated those waters gently, because they never did stain her, at least in my eyes. Turns out we both went in and out of replacement therapy 'round the same time, and we'd both been clean for three months.

Seemed like it was her only sin, she paid the price for somethin' she had no voice in and ended up hauling the baggage around with her no matter where she went. Told me that the pain still lingers, sometimes. I knew what she meant by that, both physically and mentally. Came to admit that there were still days she wished to throw it all away.

Strayed deep into conversation that day, we were up talking 'til five in the morning on a fairly clear night, one of those nights you could see the Moon up in the sky, enough light'd come through the large window in her apartment we sat by, bouncing off her skin and perfectly tracing her figure. She laid it all out that night, all of her demons, every little thing that tortured her from the inside, sprawled out in front of me just like she was.

Intimacy ran deeper than it'd been down on other nights. We bonded in more ways than just flesh, skin waiting to be exposed to the approaching sunrise just like our souls bared themselves, finding a new light in each other. Probably sounds cliché as hell but, she spoke the words to make my demons run.

That night I finally understood how she could always see through me. She knew all the parts that came from the grief, and she knew how to sift through it to find me. Now, I don't believe in God, but somethin' must've sent her my way, 'cause I knew right then she was s'posed to be a part of my life, and I knew I woulda done just about anythin' to keep her by my side forever.

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟺𝟸, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊: 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝟷𝟶/𝟸𝟾/𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟽]

Shit was gettin' outta hand. I kept losing hours only to regain consciousness and control in places and situations I don't even know how I got myself into, kinda like a wild benzodiazepine binge, 'cept there was absolutely nothing to gain from it.

The big night was approaching, and pretty damn quick, too. Had this terrible feeling that I'd ruin everything for us, all because of this godforsaken curse. Decided to do somethin' about it, try and retain even a drop of control over the life that was spiraling out of my hands lest I relinquish myself entirely to the essence that was eating away at me from the inside.

That week I told just 'bout everyone that I was headin' out of town for a couple'a days. Made up some bullshit 'bout visiting family back in Des Moines. Just didn't want anyone to worry 'bout me, y'know? Wasn't like me to just up and disappear sometimes. That was James's thing.

Two days before the big show I locked myself within the confines of my own house. Windows were shuttered off, doors were sealed, lights were out, made it look like I wasn't there. But I was. Found this military-grade shock collar off the black market, had it attached to a chain and hooked myself to a pipe like a vicious dog. Strapped myself to a chair in my own living room, too, an added layer of precaution against the beast raging in me. Hadn't eaten anything for over thirty hours prior to my self-imprisonment, wasn't worried about starving when I seemed to be fed by mere scent and semblance.

Carried out my sentence and stayed that way until the night of the show. Time seemed to waver uncontrollably, 'least that's what it felt like. Stuck in my head a little like a fever dream. Don't really know what was real and what wasn't. I only remember pain and agony. Then I'd come to on the third day, face planted against the floor, freed from the restraints I put myself in. Looked 'round the room for a bit and found I'd ripped the collar from my neck and tore it apart. Met the same fate as the chair I sat on which'd been reduced to a pile of metal, too.

Looked a little somethin' like a tornado had just ripped through my living room, but honestly, I was just glad I didn't tear my front door down and put a literal meaning to the phrase "went to town".

["𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘" 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 #𝟺𝟹, 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍: 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊: 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝟷𝟶/𝟹𝟶/𝟸𝟶𝟽𝟽]

Ten-thousand arms, that was all I saw before me in this endless arena, convoluted at times, appearing to be like waves in the midst of a storm while flash photography lit up the sea with lightning. Stage lights were like fire in my eyes, constantly blinding me, but I couldn't stop staring, the snake pit was calling for me, toes were on the edge, and all around me, 'bout 90,000 watts powering out a 125 decibels of the pure destruction we created, a force that was pushing me closer to the pit.

Yet all I could hear was my own heat beating, my knees were shaking like the timber belonging to the unfortunate ship caught in the water's ceaseless motion, creaking each time I stepped forward. So I did what was natural, held my axe above my head, swung fast and hard until it lodged itself into the amplifiers stacked behind. Sparks flew, and I fell backwards.

A hundred hands on you all at once, do you know what that's like? I don't either. It all melted away, just felt like I was floating down a river, but I felt it, I felt their energy, all of it, like a sea of ecstasy, far more incredible than any high I'd ever experienced before.

Next thing I know, my eyes are open and I'm standing in the same hallway we came through to get up on stage. Thought for a moment I imagined the whole thing, that it was still 9:55 P.M. and we were about to head out. But the sweat was real, and the lines cutting into my fingers were still fresh, still there. Must've blacked out again.

What's ahead is illuminated by cold flickering lights, and as I'm walking it almost feels like I'm chasing silence down the hall. Walked past a doorway and heard my name being called out, sounded so far away, distant, or maybe I was just tuned into my thoughts again.

𝙹 ["There he is. Was beginning to think we lost you out there."] That voice sucks me back into reality, James is framed up against the doorway, soaked hair like silk, the occasional droplet leaping from jet black tips, plunging into the towel thrown around his nape.
𝙶 ["When did the show end?"] I move past him and into the room, but I can still feel his eyes on me.
𝙹 ["Uhh, like ten minutes ago. You feelin' okay?"] Could see the way he tilts his head a little to the side from the mirror in front of me, looking at me strange before shutting the door behind him.
𝙶 ["Yeah. Just lost track of time."] The only source of light in this room came from the array of bulbs installed above the mirror, somethin' that gave me a clear view of how he'd been inching his way over to me.
𝙹 ["Yeah? Who's keeping track, anyway?"] Came so close I felt his voice touch the back of my neck, how he pressed himself against me, letting another exhale trickle down the side. Just as soon as I turn around to face him he grasps my jaw with one hand so he could shove his tongue down my throat, keeping me where he needed me, where I wanted to be. It was that raw, visceral desire he portrayed that I could never resist.

We lose yet another hour to the carnal urges that always seemed to take control within the confines of a dimly lit dressing room, occupancy of two. Might've been the adrenaline or the ego-inflation of having stepped off a stage just moments ago, ushered by a crowd who'd never stop chanting your name. It was usually just the speed, though.

Always enjoyed the view he forced on me whenever he’d pull from my chin and brought me up against him to watch our reflections in the mirror, keepin' a tight grip on my neck, making sure I stayed there. Think he wanted me to see exactly what he saw. Just never thought of the implications, and what was hiding in the imagery. Over time I realized exactly what I was s'posed to see; just the embodiment of a puppet and his master.

Didn't matter how good it was, by the end of it I'd still feel nothing, and he’d still be miles away. Somehow it didn't bother me anymore, I grew numb to all of it, all of what I felt for him. 'Least that's what I wanted to think. The pain was still there, it'd always been there, beneath me like an undertow waiting to sweep me away with the currents when I least expected it.

He was stood over by his clothes, gettin' dressed again. Didn't have the energy to move myself, so I just watched. He'd always been able to put up a sober appearance despite being high on somethin', but I could smell it on him that night, mixed in with his scent. I could taste it, fed from the warmth it offered. It pained me to know that he was headin' down that road again, and it hurt even more when I knew that I couldn't allow myself to follow him this time 'round.

𝙶 ["You're using again."] He'd been sniffling away from the drip, was always another dead giveaway, 'least to those who knew.
𝙹 [So?"] Brazen as ever, but that was the James I'd always known.
𝙶 ["I can't go back there anymore."]
𝙹 ["Ain't askin' you to."]
𝙶 ["We both know how this goes, James."]
𝙹 ["Things're different now, though, aren't they? Doesn't have to be that way 'nymore."]
Knew what he was referring to, we both did. My eyes searched to pierce through his but all I found was the cocksure half-grin plastered to his face, turned my stomach inside out.
𝙹 ["You do your thing, and I'll do mine."]

Didn't know what to say after that. Felt my own voice just sorta disappear in the middle of that room, somewhere between the empty space that separated us. Same kinda emptiness I felt when he said he was heading down to the truck to keep the engine running, lugged his bags over his shoulder, and left.

Time's lost 'tween standing in a cold shower and being catapulted out of the arena's parking lot while strapped to the passenger seat of James's truck; left so fast the fans standing outside didn't see nothing, but they sure heard the sound of that engine roar like some beast climbing out of hell. 'Bout a mile later we're pushing at a hundred and ten miles per hour up on the highway, radio at full blast, signs of a typical live fast attitude that seemed to plague him in those days. May as well have been the amphetamine in his system, too.

When you're travelling that fast in a huge metal machine of that caliber, somethin' that's probably suitable on the front lines of war, you start to wonder if you ought'a be fearing for your life. 'Course, I didn't have that problem, but the rampant recklessness James'd been exhibiting lately got to me, I guess, and I just needed it to stop, needed everything to stop.

𝙶 ["Slow down, you're gonna get us killed."] Nothin'.
𝙶 ["James, slow the fuck down."] Not a single word, kept his eyes on the road, in fact I'm pretty sure he sped up a little.
𝙶 ["Alright. I'm done. Stop the car."] I was pissed, damn near wanted to wring my hands around his neck and strangle the life outta him, and he just kept fueling that fire.
𝙹 ["What? We're in the middle of the fuckin' highway."] Heard that little scoff come right after he questioned me, did well to match the incredulous look he had on his face.
𝙶 ["STOP THE FUCKING CAR."] I snapped, feral-like with gritted teeth and a guttural scream you thought you'd only hear at a gig. Don't really know what did it for me. Maybe it was the way he decided to point out the fucking obvious, maybe it was the tone he used, maybe I just had it up to here with him, and it was time for me to explode.

Anyway, that's when he decided to slam his foot into the brakes, thank fuck I had the seat belt on, tires were screechin' on the fucking asphalt. We were coming through the huge suspension bridge that connected Watson and Downtown, he pulled over on the side, jumped out as soon as I could, and he followed suit.

𝙹 ["The hell's your problem?!"]
𝙶 ["MY problem?! Jesus fuckin' Christ, James. Are you actually fucking tone-deaf or do you just refuse to acknowledge how much of a shithead you're being?"] The words just kept falling outta my mouth, didn't even give him an inch, I couldn't, couldn't stop, don't know what came over me, I just saw red.
𝙶 ["Y'know, if you got somethin' to say to me then fucking say it, but for God's sake stop actin' like a fucking child."]
𝙹 ["You're the one with a fuckin' problem, not me. Ain't got nothin' to say to you."]
𝙶 ["So you've got nothin' to say to me, after everythin' we been through, after all these fucking years, you're just going to shift gears and act like nothing ever happened between us?"]
𝙹 ["What do you want me to say, Ghost? You and I both knew this couldn't last. Held on for as long as we could. You let go first."]
𝙶 ["You don't get to fucking say that. Six years, James, six years you had me practically shakin' my ass for you just for a lil' bit of attention like I'm some kinda fucking whore. I let you use me in any way you wanted, stuck those fuckin' needles in my arm just for you. I gave myself to you, fuckin' body, mind, and soul. What'd I get in return? Fuck all."] Maybe it was me who'd been acting up, at that point. I couldn't tell, my brain was on fire and I felt the need to scream every single word that came flying out of my mouth, guess I was just tired of staying silent.
𝙹 ["Could've walked away if you wanted to. I didn't ask you to do those things for me."]
𝙶 ["You never had to ask me. I did those things 'cause I knew you were too bullheaded to ever tell me what you actually wanted. I did them 'cause it was what I wanted, too. Didn't matter how many times you pushed me around, left me out in the cold, I stuck around anyway 'cause that's how much you fucking mean to me."]
Saw his head dip down right then, looking a little like the guilt had weighed on him. Thought maybe I’d gotten through to him, he had his arms folded, turned away from me and towards the river, encumbered by silence.
𝙶 ["But I'm tired, James. I'm fuckin' tired. I can't do this anymore."]
𝙹 ["What's that mean? You're just gonna leave?"]
𝙶 ["It means I'm done. Find someone else to be your emotional dump truck."]
𝙹 ["C'mon, it was never like that. You know I need you."]
𝙶 ["Did you, really? Or did you just need someone, anyone, and I just happened to be the sucker that stuck around?"]
𝙹 ["It's you. It's always been you. Fuck, Jeremy. I'd be fuckin' lost without you. I'd be dead. Please don't do this."]

Six years. Waited six years to have him finally say the only thing I ever wanted to hear him say. Felt so weak after that, like I'd just break into a million pieces. Wanted so badly to just go to him, to accept that I was still hopelessly clinging onto something I wasn't even sure was real, but I couldn't. Couldn't move, my feet were rooted to the ground and I had a one-track mind determined to validate my anger.

𝙶 ["Yeah, guess it's too late for that now."] Maybe it was just foolish pride, or maybe I was afraid of finding yet another false promise.
𝙹 ["Jeremy, wait–"] He grabs my arm just as I'm turning to walk, and all I could offer him was the look of listlessness I wore on my face before I snatched myself away. Just like that, felt like our ties were severed.
𝙹 ["FUCK you. Forget about the band, I don't fuckin' need you, I don't fuckin' need anyone."]

Didn't look back. Just started walkin' down in the opposite direction, each footstep fueled by the fire we were both using to burn this bridge. Could hear him kickin' up a fuss from behind, though. Once he stopped yellin' I heard the hollow thud of a door slammin' shut followed by the rev of that engine, and I'd knew he'd sped off. Don't know where I went after that, don't know how I got off the highway. Can't really tell if I had lost those hours to another black-out or if I was just so blinded by the rage that I erased the memory of it.

All I know is, next thing I remember 's I’m at Vanyaa's place, guess I somehow managed to make my way there. Found myself lying on the floor with a different set of clothes on, and I immediately feared I might’ve lost more than just mere hours this time. It was pitch dark, same kinda drab undertone that accompanies an empty house on a Sunday evening. Shoved my hands into my pockets praying that I still had my phone on me, searchin’ for an indication of how many days or hours had gone by without my knowledge.
It was ‘bout five in the morning, I’d found out, couldn’tve been more than five hours since I walked away from James on that bridge. Figured maybe I just wandered on over here to calm my nerves, but I couldn’t see Vanyaa anywhere, hell, I could barely see two inches in front of me. Kept looking at the floor waiting for my eyes to adjust, the screen on my phone lighting up my immediate surroundings. Got up on my two feet and started moving.

Had to have done this sort of thing more times than I can count on one hand by now, but I could never get rid of how anxious it left me, forced to come across the evidence of a dozen bad decisions I didn’t even have the chance to think through. I moved down the hall, no sign of her yet. Eventually my light hit somethin’ shiny on the floor. Felt my heart sink into my stomach when I realized it was a needle, sure enough it'd been attached to a syringe, too. Each step I took ushered me into a vivid painting of drug paraphernalia spread across the floor. Finally found her slumped over in a corner, obscured by the heavy shadows oscillating on the walls around me like ghosts dancing across the room.

This wasn't reality, it couldn'tve been. Maybe I was just stuck in a dream I couldn't wake up from, or I'd died and gone to Hell. Tried so hard to believe that she'd start breathing again, that her eyes would flutter open and everything'd be alright. Grabbed her by the arms and held tight, kept shaking her back and forth begging her to wake up; her skin was so cold.

That ugly thought in the back of my mind lingered closer and closer 'til I couldn't lie to myself anymore.

She was gone, and I have no memory of what took her away from me.

Completely lost myself in confusion and frustration a second later. My thoughts were poundin' against my own skull, head spinnin' trying to make sense of this senseless situation. It was enough to bleed insanity within me.

Didn't know what to do, so I just paced around the apartment, I was on the verge of breaking down. Couldn't help but feel like this was all on me. Kept askin' myself, what if she'd still been alive when I arrived? I coulda done somethin', stayed by her side keepin' her awake, making sure she knew she wasn't alone. But this tethered beast inside of me sought to destroy everything I love, everything I care about. Just wanted to put the blame on someone or something. All I saw was red.

That was the anger that fueled me, I put her favorite jacket over her before picking her up in my arms, and I walked out of there.

My Type-66 was conveniently parked on the street just outside her apartment, must've driven the thing here while I was out. It was pouring like I'd never seen before. I mean, sure, it rains a helluva'lot in this city, but it was stormin', ain't ever seen the sky like that, 'was as if God and his angels were weeping. My mind was empty, vacant, wasn't thinkin' about what I was gonna do next, where I'd go, seemed to me that my feet were movin' on its own from that point on; I set her down in the passenger seat and put myself behind the wheel. Just sat there, felt like I spent an eternity just staring out through the windshield littered with raindrops that kept fallin' on each other.

I learned exactly what hopelessness felt like. I felt empty. There was nothing left. Everything I'd worked for, everything that I'd found to complete me had been stolen from me in one night. Don't know what happened next, exactly. Thought I'd been lost in my thoughts but I faintly remember hearing the sound of rubber burning on asphalt and neon sprinting past me. Her lifeless body remained in the corner of my eye, softly painted by streetlights every three seconds. Maybe I'd lost my mind by then, started pretending she'd just been asleep after a long day. Imagined us leaving the city behind for good, going wherever the road takes us.

It wasn't me behind the wheel, anymore. Didn't know where we ended up, but the shell that was me kept his foot on the gas 'til it felt like we hit somethin' on the road. Must've driven off the asphalt and crashed against the barriers. Looked out the window and that was it; we were already halfway through plummeting into the ocean beneath us.

I didn't move, didn't struggle. Felt the cold reach underneath my skin, asphyxiating beneath the weight of it all. And then there was nothing.

I'd come to accept the idea that this was the way it should be. I would join her, and call this my home.

All that was left of this wasted life would return to the sea, and I would become it.

And as I descended from grace, in arms of undertow,

I would take my place in the great below.