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To say the room was spinning was an understatement. He could barely feel the seat under his cargo shorts or the glass in his hand. Some music he couldn’t make out was playing. It felt like music was all he heard no matter where he went. Every party he went to, every bar he stumbled into played the same songs over and over until he felt like his head was going to burst into little pieces of confetti to match the lei around his neck. He couldn’t even escape the music once he went home. He spent all his free time working on his own songs. He enjoyed it, of course, it was much better than any real job. Although, he doubted any real job would take him anyway. Who wanted some unreliable two-time dropout?
He felt for the lei around his neck, his fingers clinging onto the cheap plastic and fabric for any hint of reality. Sweat from the drink he held dripped down his hand, proving to himself he wasn’t dead yet. That was comforting at least. Usually, some random would approach him to ask him if he was doing alright once he reached this point but no such luck today. It’s not like he’d reciprocate anyway. He came here for one reason and one reason only; to get drunk.
There wasn’t any party to use as his social drinking excuse tonight, he had looked. Nothing wrong with having one night at the bar for “fun” right? This was the opposite of fun. The first time was fun. It gave him a buzz that had him feeling like he could do anything. Now all he felt when he drank was the awful sinking feeling of his life draining away. It was too late for him to get help for this, but even if it wasn’t he wouldn’t reach out. His problems were so little in the grand scheme of things, why would he ever have the audacity to go to someone else who had problems of their own to rant about his party problem? He couldn’t bore a therapist either, he was too scared in all honesty. He was alone with this one, as he was with most things.
Words flew over his head, he couldn’t make them out. It all blended with the music anyway.
“Hey, kid!”
A hand laid on the bar before him, forcefully yanking him out of his thoughts. He lifted his head to see the bartender staring down at him.
“Do you want to close out your tab or what? You can’t sleep at the bar.”
Was he sleeping? He thought his eyes were open but the glasses likely hid that.
“Yeah just… resting my neck. I’ll close it now.”
His speech was slurred more than intended, but he reached for his wallet anyway. He opened it to look for his card. He had enough drinks for tonight; if he bought more, he wouldn’t be able to pay for it with his next song. The last thing he needed was to be in debt because of this habit. He had already succeeded in what he came to do.
“The name?”
Right. His name.
“Rob… Yankovic.”
As Rob spoke he slowly realized his card wasn’t where it should be. Oh god. He didn’t want to be a criminal, he wouldn’t be able to make it in jail. He looked further in the wallet, now desperate. He would have to make a run for it, and despite being very limber he couldn’t go very fast or long. He was going to get caught at the door and they’d take him to jail and he’d have to dance for food. His parents were right.
He looked up at the bartender, who returned his gaze with an expectant glare. Rob chuckled nervously and mumbled, "Sorry, hold on.” Tears welled in his eyes, and then the bartender tapped something on the counter with a finger. Rob followed the motion to realize his card sat in front of him. He’d been here a million times, and he somehow managed to forget they kept his card. He snatched it off the counter and slid off the stool towards the door.
Avoiding people wasn’t too hard as long as Rob stayed to the side and didn’t accidentally stumble onto the dance floor or into some guy who desperately wanted to get into a fight today. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to talk to anyone at the moment, all that mattered in his head was him getting home. He pushed his side into the door to open it but it didn’t budge.
“Locked? Why is it locked from the inside?”
He pushed harder but nothing happened.<br />
“Great…”
Just as he was about to decide to sit on the floor and cry, the door beside him swung open. He jumped back and screamed, causing the person who walked through to give him a nasty glare. Fortunately, he gathered his thoughts and caught the door before it closed. It was a pull door. If he were aware enough of his surroundings he would have felt like an idiot, but if he had been more aware and alert he would have also felt how bad his side hurt from slamming into that door repeatedly.
The air hitting Rob’s face was so cold he could have sworn he sobered immediately. That was exactly what he didn’t need. He couldn’t drive in this condition, he was at least smart enough to know that, so he chose a place close to his house. It was barely two blocks away and easy to walk, even if you could hardly walk. He slowly started his trek back home so he didn’t accidentally fall into a manhole or end up getting hit by a car. Falling into a manhole was surprisingly much less of a problem than he originally thought when he was a kid. With every show he watched he was certain he was going to fall into a manhole someday. Now, he was sure that day was tonight.
He studied every house longer than he should have, worrying he had forgotten where he lived and his home was much closer than the bar than he originally thought. The homeowners very likely stared at him wondering why this drunk man was staring at their houses as if he was window shopping but he carried on.
He was more terrified of running into someone he knew than anything. His friends, if they could even be considered that, had seen him drunk before, but tonight was different. He wasn't drunk because he was out partying and having a great time, he was having an awful time at the moment. If he saw someone he knew he’d have to somehow make up a quick lie about a super awesome party at someone's house and also come up with a reason as to why they couldn’t go check it out, all while he was so drunk he bumped into a lawn gnome a few houses back and apologized before he realized it was a lawn gnome so he kicked it over, then he started to get scared the gnome would strangle him in his sleep so he picked it back up.
Finally, he stumbled onto the familiar sidewalk and looked up to see his house in front of him. At that moment it looked more dull than it ever had. The paint on the sides was only more faded by his state, the shutters by the windows were broken, and part of the railing on the porch was completely splintered into bits. It was an old, lonely house, and it showed. It was one passed down to him through the death of a distant family member, as bad as it was he couldn’t quite remember which one.
Rob took hold of the wobbly side rail and pushed himself up the stairs. He leaned forward so he wouldn’t fall backward down the stairs in his state, but, he leaned forward a bit too much so he instead ended up getting a good mouthful of wood. He used the one hand that wasn’t holding onto the railing for dear life to push himself up off of the cold porch. He couldn't process the pain but somehow he did realize that would hurt like nothing else in the morning.
After he managed to pull himself up he leaned his full body weight onto the railing beside him to regain his bearings. It cracked, and he thought nothing of it. How could he be so stupid? He made it to his porch only to fail his one task of getting up the stairs. He was a failure, wasn’t he? His parents were right, they always were. He could have been a good son if he tried. If he loved them and was the perfect son they wanted then he wouldn’t be in this situation. He would probably be a praised member of the community, helping out in the church with volunteer work maybe. He didn’t realize he was crying until a gust of wind hit his face and cooled the tears streaming down his face, sending chills down his spine. He leaned away from the wind and into the rail, earning another loud crack and the railing giving way to his weight.
He tumbled off the stairs and down into the bush beside them. He didn’t fully grasp what happened, all he knew was that he wasn’t in the bush a second ago. Would it be better for everyone if he stayed here forever? His parents wouldn’t have to worry about their disappointment walking free in the world, tarnishing their reputation with every sip. If he was lucky enough he’d get pitied and they’d come to the funeral. What he would do to see his mom again. This was worse than falling onto the porch. Rob was a grown man, lying in a bush and crying for his mommy.
With much reluctance, he pulled himself out of the bush and onto his feet. He grabbed onto the leaves and splinters that stuck into his shirt and yanked them out, throwing them back into the bush. He was filled with anger and sadness all combined into a mess of tears and words slurred under his breath. He fumbled around messing with his shirt and headed back up the stairs. He wasn’t as careful as before but kept his balance as he made his way to the door. He pushed it this time, successfully opening it on the first try
He stepped out of the cold and into his quiet living room. He didn’t have time to settle in before the door slammed shut behind him and he jumped into the air, screaming and spinning around to see what made the noise. Once he learned it was only the door he turned back around and threw his sunglasses down onto the couch.
“God… Stupid porch, stupid me. I can’t even walk right. I can’t do anything. Now I’m talking to myself. Could this get any worse?”
He ran his fingers through his hair as he ranted, the simple calming act doing nothing to help him in that moment.
“What do I do? I have no one. I can’t sit here - stand here - and… lie. My friends… They all hate me, I know they do. I hate myself. I can’t take this. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to go to another stupid party, I don’t want to go on another stupid day.”
The room was spinning worse than it did before. He was going to vomit, or explode, or worse. Maybe it was due to the fact he hit his head on the porch or slammed his back onto the ground but the pain in his body was finally revealing itself. He felt as if his body was being torn apart from the inside out. His chest was so tight he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t breathe. He doubled over and sobbed even harder.
He was such a failure to everyone. He was a waste of air. All he ever did in his life was make stupid covers of some obscure band. It would be better if he never existed. He didn’t want to die, no one ever did, but god he wished he didn’t have to deal with these problems anymore. He didn’t deserve to exist, he would never be useful to anyone. He could never get better, that was a fact. He was too far gone for rehab and not far gone enough for therapy. He was too dramatic, he could easily go another week with the same habits. Another meaningless party, working on the same songs until he was sick of them, degrading himself until he was back in this state of mind again, the works. Yet, why would he want that? The thought of carrying on like this for the rest of his short, miserable life seemed worse than the alternative.
“Why am I like this? Why can’t I be normal?”
His words were barely coherent to himself through the sobs. His body ached, the pain worse than anything he’d felt the other nights. Was his nose bleeding or was that from the tears? It was hard to tell. He closed his eyes tight, hoping, praying that he’d never open them again. He would do anything to have this end right now. All his fears, worries, and pain, wouldn’t be an issue. His parents wouldn’t hate him anymore, he wouldn’t have to wonder if the girl he liked would like him back, and maybe he could finally be at peace.
The sobs stopped, no use in crying now, it wasn’t like he deserved to either. He brought this upon himself. He was the stupid drunk who couldn’t pull his life together, so he didn’t deserve the man he could have been when he was the one who killed that man in cold blood. What was he other than a pathetic excuse for a human being? He wasn’t worth a penny found tails up on the ground. The only thing he would ever be good for was keeping the local tobacco store in business.
Slowly, eyes opened that weren’t his own, staring down at hands that didn’t belong to him. The headache stayed, but the rest of the pain was gone as quickly as it appeared. Where Rob once stood there was another boy to take his place; same height, same shirt, same pain. The only difference was the horns atop his head and the peculiar way his face seemed split in two by a shadow. Beside him stood two others the same height as him. They both stared at him, the man they used to be. They were all dizzy, sharing the same state Rob was in only a moment before.
The one with light purple skin, a heart plastered onto each wing on his back, and black eyes with shaky white pupils looked away first. He looked down at his gloved hands in bewilderment. The hands that had not existed only a second before baffled him. He gently flexed them, making sure this wasn’t some particularly weird out-of-body experience.
The one whose skin was a light blue and whose claws were as sharp as razors moved his gaze next. He looked around the room that just wouldn’t hold still for their inebriated state. He stumbled back ever so slightly, his heels clicking against the hardwood floor as he did.
The man who shared Rob’s vibrant flowered shirt spoke words that cut through the stunned silence. He announced what they all were thinking.
“What do we do now?"