And in the End

I wish I could say we all lived happily ever after...but I'd be lying.

James had decided to move on with his love life, and I was not invited for the ride. Oh, we had a friendship of sorts. Or we were working on it, but it was awkward at best.

I tried to find someone of my own, but failed miserably. It was all because I kept comparing the new men to him. How could someone get under my skin so quickly? Yeah, he was incredibly good looking. Kind hearted, sexy and fun, but goddamn it, he was not the only man in the world! I had lovers before him; it wasn't like it was my first time.

So why him? Why couldn't I get him out of my head?

It didn't help that I had daily contact with him while we were getting set to record his new album. The first time he showed up to a band practice with that woman hanging off of him I wanted to cry. Instead I put on a stone face and did my bit. I left the moment practice was over, skipping the usual socialising afterwards.

I invited my latest mistake, Michael, to a practice. I was hoping to make James jealous. Instead Michael acted like a goddamn groupie and practically drooled all over him. I caught James' expression of pity when he looked at me over Michael's shoulder...not the desired reaction at all.

I was packing up my sticks trying to get Michael and myself out of the hall before I strangled the asshole, when I felt James' hand on my arm.

"Sarah and I are going to grab a bite. Do you and your friend want to come?"

"I dunno boss, he's hardly house broken." Michael heard me and flipped me off.

"You can't keep avoiding me," he said as he leaned in a bit closer, "it's just dinner. Please say yes."

Against my better judgment I agreed. The cab ride over was awkward, Michael insisted on sitting next to James leaving Sarah and I to squeeze in as best we could.

Michael continued his campaign of fawning during dinner. I could tell James was pretty uncomfortable but he was polite as always. Sarah glared daggers at Michael and announced before dessert that she had a headache. James offered to take her home but she muttered something about needing time to herself.

When Michael got up to use the restroom James and I sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Finally I spoke up, "I'm sorry about Michael, boss. I don't know what I was thinking with him."

"It's not your fault," then he laughed, "OK maybe it is."

"I think this is our last date, he's really not my type."

James sat back in his chair, lit a cigarette and stared up at the ceiling for a minute, "So, what is your type?"

"You."

He shifted his gaze back to me, "that's sweet but it's not really what I wanted to hear."

"You asked. Did you want me to lie?"

He shook his head and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else but Michael came back and interrupted the moment. James stubbed out his cigarette, paid the bill and stood to leave. He forced a smile when Michael grabbed him in a bear hug before letting him go.

I took Michael back to my apartment. I was both pissed off and very horny. I was so hard I could have driven nails into steel with my cock. But I didn't want Michael. I wanted James. I wanted to fuck him so hard that he couldn't walk straight for a week. I wanted to make him scream for mercy, hurt him like seeing him with Sarah hurt me.

I told Michael to strip for me. He did it with a cocky half smile, thinking he was going to get what he wanted. He was wrong. I rolled on a condom, bent him over the kitchen table and just drove myself in with no lube, and no foreplay.

I pictured James in front of me, and imagined my cock as a huge sword cutting into him. I wanted to see blood. I wanted to feel ripping flesh. But Michael's well-used ass was soft and yielding, so the fantasy was ruined.

Michael liked me to fist his cock when I fucked him but I didn't touch him other than to move my cock in his ass. It was all about me this time. My anger seemed to all go to my cock it felt larger than it had ever been. I reached my climax quickly, pulled out and left him hanging there.

He got dressed in silence, not looking me in the eye at all. Once he was finished he muttered something about calling me later; we both knew that was a lie.

I went to bed alone, "Another One Bites The Dust" played in my head as I tried to get to sleep.

The next morning I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and back to the rehearsal hall. James was already there and talking to the other band members. He looked hotter than hell in a faded tshirt and pair of tight ragged jeans. My mouth watered thinking about what the jeans so vividly outlined and my cock stood to attention. Mark, the bass player smirked at me but said nothing as I quickly took my seat at the drums trying to hide my hard on.

I was so distracted that I flubbed my piece seven times running, each time a different mistake. James was polite but I could tell he was getting irritated with me, as was the rest of the band. We kept having to stop and start from the beginning. Finally he called a break.

While I was getting some coffee Mark came up to me, and in his weird mix of his native Scottish accent and some misguided attempt to sound like a California surfer he quizzed me, "Look dude, I don't mean to get into your space but you are seriously sucking today. What's your damage?"

"I just broke up with my lover."

"Oh bummer. Hey sorry man," he shook his head.

I worked my way over to where James was talking to the sound engineer. I waited for him to finish before asking to speak to him privately. He frowned at me but granted me an audience and we went into a back room.

Before I said one word he turned to me with his eyes blazing, "You said you could keep your private and professional life separate. You sure aren't acting like it! Your playing is total shit and you have all the subtly of a 14 year old boy viewing a porno."

"I had a rough night..." I started but he cut me off.

His fists were clenched, "don't give me that bullshit Paul! I'm sorry but if you can't get it together I will have to find someone who can."

The heat of his anger shocked me, and then I took a good look at him. He looked about as frazzled as I felt, "Looks like you didn't have a little slice of heaven last night yourself boss."

I think my change of tone caught him off guard; he unclenched his fists and lowered his head. I tried to put my hand on his shoulder but he jerked away from me, took a deep breath and then without another word left the room.

A few minutes later I heard loud crashing sounds coming from the rehearsal hall. I got there to find that my drum kit had been thrown across the room. The rest of the band was just standing there with their mouths open, their eyes glued to the rapidly closing outside door.

Mark was the first to speak, "You wouldn't think such a little dude could be that strong..." he said to no one in particular, his faux surfer act dropped. Then he looked at me, "guess that means we're done for the day, eh?"

I ran out the door trying to find him, but James had disappeared. I went back inside and the band had picked up my kit. Luckily no major damage was done but the violence behind the action left me breathless. I could tell the rest of the band was pretty freaked out too.

On the way back to my apartment I tried calling him repeatedly. He either had his phone off or he was not feeling very talkative, I didn't leave a message.

I went over the events of the day in my head trying to get where it all went to hell. Something was niggling at the back of my mind, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. But then again, introspection was never my strong point.

-------------------

It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be.

In the past, I would make a decision, act on it, and get on with my life, never looking back. But this time it wasn't working.

I didn't regret my time with Paul as a lover, but I didn't want to be involved with a man, really. I wanted to be with women, specifically one woman, Sarah. She was everything I thought I needed.

So why didn't I feel whole?

The day started out oddly. Sarah had spent the night in my flat. Usually I love having someone sleeping next to me; it makes those half conscious moments upon waking seem like the best time of day.

Sarah had a way of entwining herself around me like I was an overgrown teddy bear. It was endearing most times, but that morning I felt trapped. I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding having dreamt I was being pulled underwater and was slowly drowning to find that she had thrown her legs over mine. She had her arms around my chest effectively pinning me to the bed.

I wanted a cigarette, some tea and a shower in that order, but couldn't move without waking her. Finally the alarm went off and she rolled over groaning about the early hour.

The night before had been a total disaster. Paul had brought his boy toy with him to practice and I in a fit of masochism decided to invite the two of them out with Sarah and me. I guess I thought the twinge of jealousy I felt seeing them together could be overcome by making friends? It was stupid of me.

Instead it made Sarah angry when this stud basically hit on me in front of her and Paul. It made Paul angry, and me feel like I was being repeatedly kicked in the chest.

By the time I got back to my flat that night Sarah had calmed down, she met me at the door wearing next to nothing, with a sheepish smile, apologising for her behaviour. I felt that really I should have been the one saying I was sorry but I didn't, I let her take the blame.

Sarah handed me a drink, which I downed immediately, and then she led me into the bedroom. She helped me out of my clothes and rained kisses on my shoulders, neck and mouth. When her lips reached my cock my body responded in the expected way but my mind was elsewhere.

Luckily she didn't notice, instead she took the lead, placing my hands where she wanted them, covering them with her own to make them do what she wanted. Then she pushed me onto my back, lowered herself onto me and began to ride me like I was a prize pony. The warmth of her enveloping me registered, I could feel her hot breath on my chest, but it was like it was all happening to someone else. I closed my eyes trying to get into it but I got it all confused and pictured Paul bracing himself over me instead.

After awhile she tightened around me, dug her nails into my arms, moaned a few times and laid her head on my shoulder. I didn't come, I felt about as involved as if I were a dildo.

The next day I arrived at the studio in a really edgy mood. Being pounced on by my manager, Russ, the minute I got there did not help improve upon it.

"There you are boyo!" he chortled at me, putting his arm around my shoulders "not to put the screws to you m'lad but the record company is breathing down our necks. We need to get this done!"

"We" probably need the advance to pay off "our" ex wife, I thought uncharitably.

I bit back my comments and instead palavered on about how close I was to actually starting recording, etc. Basically parroting to Russ what he wanted to hear so he would get the hell away from me.

Paul was not in good form; he kept messing up the simplest things. Usually I am pretty laid back about that, but the more mistakes he made the harder my head pounded.

I don't really remember exactly what was said, but he and I exchanged heated words in one of the back rooms, by then I was so enraged he could have recited "God Save the Queen" and it would have set me off.

I decided to remove myself from Paul before I did something I would forever regret. Maybe the band had overheard part of the conversation or maybe they just heard the raised voices, but when I came into the room they all looked away quickly.

I meant to go have a cigarette, calm down and go back to rehearsing. I put on my jacket and started outside, and then I spotted Paul's drum kit. I literally felt something snap in my head as I walked over to it, kicked over the cymbal and launched the bass drum into the wall. The snare followed and the hi-hat soon joined them.

The destruction felt frighteningly good to me. I had that after climax sense of release as I lit a cigarette and quickly left the building.

I heard Paul coming out the door after me. I ducked behind the dumpster and watched him run past. He circled the building before going back in. I waited a few minutes then headed off to get massively drunk.

-------------------

I woke up before the sun thinking I was probably going to get call telling me I was fired. When it didn't come I debated whether or not I should go into the studio like nothing happened.

Curiosity got the best of me. I wondered what was going to happen next. I was prepared for the worst just in case. From the way everyone else seemed to be walking on eggshells waiting for WWIII to break out, I could tell I wasn't the only one thinking that.

James wasn't there yet and the whispers escalated as the time passed and he didn't show. I was just about to pack up and head back home when he arrived.

I've often heard the phrase "death warmed over" but until that morning I'd never seen it personified. James' eyes were swollen, bright red and ringed like a raccoon's. He was unshaven, seemed to have skipped his morning shower and looked like he was wearing the same clothes he had passed out in the night before.

Without a word to any of us he stumbled over to a stool and sat down. He took out his guitar, plugged it in and started tuning it. Russ hurried over to him and from what I overheard he was trying to get him to forget the day's rehearsal and go get himself together.

For his part James never even looked up. He just kept twiddling with his guitar. After a bit of that he got up unsteadily, moved away from Russ and cast his scarlet eyes at the rest of us as if to say, "well, what are you waiting for?"

I could see no one else had the balls to say anything, so I volunteered myself to be the voice of reason, "Ah, boss? I'm not so sure you're really up to this today."

He looked at the band as if trying to confirm this was the consensus, nodding half to himself. He unplugged his guitar, almost falling forward as he did so and stumbled out.

I had seen zombies with more animation; I was getting really freaked out by his total silence. I followed him out of the studio, "Boss? Hey wait up!"

He wobbled on his feet as he turned to face me. He pulled out a cigarette, and after a few tries got it to his lips but couldn't quite get the lighter going. With that he sighed, exhaling fumes of pure alcohol in my face and dropped the cigarette on the ground. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he started to go down, luckily I caught him just as his legs gave out. I slung him over my shoulder and took him back into the studio.

Russ directed me to a couch in one of the back rooms and I laid James out on it. I turned him on his side so he wouldn't choke if he got sick, and put a wastebasket nearby.

Russ sat down on one of the chairs and gestured for me to do the same. "I've been in this business for many years," he started, "I've seen many a talented young lad, none quite as talented as our boyo here."

"Yeah, he's pretty remarkable," I was wondering where this was all going.

"The problem usually is that once they get to the top, these lads find that they are really all alone in a sea of people who just want something from them. People they thought were their friends. If they don't have strong support from people who really give a damn about them, they fall apart," he continued.

James groaned and rolled over onto his back, we both watched him for a moment. Then Russ fixed his eyes on me; "I've had three ex-wives, so I'm not an expert in relationships. I don't know what makes love work, but maybe you do."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do," He cocked a half smile at me, patted me on the shoulder and stood to leave, "despite what he thinks, he needs you."

"How did you know?" I was dumbfounded. I never thought Russ was the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was more on the ball than I had credited him for

"Simple m'lad, anyone else would have kicked his ass by now. Lord knows if I was just 20 years younger I would." He laughed and left the room.

-------------------

I don't really know how I got to the studio that day. The last thing I remembered was downing the last of one bottle of Jack Daniels and starting in on another.

Then time skipped ahead to swimming up to consciousness to be greeted by the sinking feeling I was going to be desperately ill.

My eyes were blurry and I wasn't really sure where I was. I just knew I had to sit up quickly before I was sick all over myself. I heard someone move off to my left and a small refuse container was thrust into my hands just in time.

When things had settled into the dry heaves the container was removed. My mouth felt like a whole battalion of soldiers returning from a 10K hike had just walked over my tongue with their socks on. A bottle of water appeared and I cautiously took a sip, gagged briefly but was able to keep it down.

I heard the door shut and lay back down on the sofa trying to get my bearings. Slowly things in the room started to come into focus and I was able to guess where I was. How I got there remained a mystery.

"Welcome back," Paul said as he came back into the room holding a wet paper towel, bending over me to wipe my face with it, "you are one big mess there, boss. But I have to hand it to you, you sure know how to make an entrance."

"Do I want to know?"

"I'm pretty sure you don't," he sat next to me on the sofa, "I think we need to get you home, and into bed." Before I could say anything he added, "I meant that in the 'you need to sleep this off' way, nothing else."

"I'm not sure I can move," I protested as my stomach attempted to leap up through my throat.

"It's up to you, boss," he brushed some hair out of my face and stood up, "I'll go tell Russ you're awake."

Oh yeah that's just what I need, but Paul was out the door before my brain was able to pass that on to my mouth. As I got to my feet my head throbbed, and the floor seemed to tilt. I used the wall to steady myself, but I didn't get that far before Russ burst into the room. I could tell by the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes that he was not happy.

"Not quite a red letter day is it Jimmy? Now you know ol' Russ only wants to best for you, right?" He waited a few seconds for me to say something when I didn't he continued, "but let's be fair, either you get yourself together and get back on track or the big boys at the label are going to want to know why they are not getting what you're under contract to give them."

There was more to the speech but I didn't really catch it, I was too busy trying not to be sick again. Finally he stopped, and turned to leave, "You need to sort your life out. And I don't mean just professionally."

After he left I sat back down on the sofa, I was both physically weak and mentally drained. I was also feeling a curious mixture of embarrassment and self-pity, which were not two emotions I was much given to having.

Just then the door opened and Sarah came into the room. "Paul called me. He said you were sick and that I should come get you. Are you OK?"

"Aside from making a total spectacle of myself, I think I will be," as I stood up another wave of nausea hit me but I was able to keep it at bay, "let's get out of here."

Once I was safely in bed, I heard Sarah on the phone talking to someone. Afterwards she lay down next to me on top of the covers, "Russ is sending over a doctor to get you a vitamin shot and something to help with your stomach."

She started petting my hair, each stroke made my eyes feel heavier; I could feel sleep creeping up on me. "How sweet" I mumbled, as I slowly lost my battle to stay awake.