"I was lost in the pages, 
 of a book, full of death
 reading I will die alone"


"What if there was no tomorrow?" she asked. Mumbling the words, seeping through her lips in a soft whisper. "Would you still be here with me?"
"I don't know...if there was no tomorrow, I'd like to take a shot at getting Susan Sarandon"... she hits me on the shoulder and rolls over on the bed, faking a pout while I laugh.
The rain pouring down outside, hits her window-sill garden and lets in that sweet smell of wet earth. 
"I love this smell" she says, her back to me, not turning around. "Everytime I smell it, I think of us...here..."


...


I wake up from my day-dream, Ray is sitting right in front of me, smiling...
"Were you dreaming of her?" he asks, noticing a faint peaceful expression on me...
"Yeah...she's been coming to me a lot lately..." I say, painlfully getting up from the couch and dragging myself to the kitchen,. "Would you like a beer?"
"Nah, I can't have any more of those Dean, you know that...don't tease me..." 
"Fine, fine, more for me then..." I say, brining two bottles with me to the table, opening the first one as I sit down and chugging half of it in one sip. 
"You know...drinking like that is gonna get you killed" Ray says. We both look at each other for a second and start laughing.
"Can't a man enjoy a final drink?" I ask.
Ray looks ate me, saddened and finally asks: "Why did you do it?"
I look down at the table, sliding my finger through the water ring left by the bottle standing on the hardenned wood top. Then back at Ray...
"I had to...they were gonna hurt her. Even you know I couldn't let that happen." 
He smiles, disappointed...his anger gets the best of him as he gets up, screaming at me.
"You KNEW this wasn't going to end well..you had your gun here at home, you should have asked for help, you should have waited for backup...Why the FUCK did you go in alone?" His fist hits the table, as he starts crying... "You dumb old fuck..."
I don't stop him, I know he's right. I retrace my steps that day, wondering what else could I have done to save the girl and leave, unscratched...there's a silent, morbid relief in me when I can't think of a way to do so...


...


They were three. Two of them were holding her already beaten body down, the third one was unzipping his pants. There was a desperate contempt in her face, no fight left in her. She was laying there, peacefully, like a hanged man who has accepted his fate seconds before the fall. Noone in their right mind would have stopped at the sight of three hooded men holding down a bloody woman...most people would have just kept going, as I'm sure some of them did...sadly, not me.
"I'm gonna give you five seconds to drop her off and start running." I said, boldly, while wishing they'd just leave, even though I knew they wouldn't. One of them looks at the other two and starts laughing, coming at me with a coy smile in his face.
"Are you talking to us grandpa?" He asked, opening his arms as if he's challenging me, lifting up his shirt afterwards to let me see the Glock 17 he was keeping  near his crotch. "I think you were just leaving..:"
"You're right...I was. I'm sorry to have bothered you." I saw the dim light of hope in the girls eyes, that lit up once she saw me, fade away as I fake my leave. I couldn't let these pricks win...as I turn around, my hand in my pocket searches for the loose change I knew I had from the grocery store. "Just an advice son..." I say to the one near me who was already turning away mindless words to get his attention. He turns back, allowing me an easier access to his gun as I throw the coins in his face.
It happens in the split of a second. The grab. A skill we trained over and over in the academy, studying every possible movement outcome the enemy could do, and the steps we might have to take to reach a holstered gun in a belt. He jumps back, I jump forward, reaching the gun with my right hand and his nose with my left fist. As I pick up the weapon, a quick shot to his left leg lets the others know I couldnt be more serious and makes the kid fall to his knees, allowing me to rotate him to his friends with the gun pointed to his head. 
Surpsrisingly, the two scared kids reach out for their coats, even though their friend's life was in jeopardy. These weren't runners, they were fighters. This wasn't my lucky day...I was fast...but even I couldn't be that fast. Two shots in the first kid's chest leave him out of the fight and then time slows down as I see the other one had a .357 Magnum in his hand...and not even his friend's body can protect me from those... I turn my gun to him and we both fire two shots each...mine, fatal, to his head...his, piercing his friend's body, hit me in the stomach...


There was a smile in that crying girl's face I haven't seen in a long time. As if someone had pull her from the darkness of a traumatized life, back into her mundane and now beautiful existence.
"Thank you sir, thank you so much!" I noticed she didn't see the wounds on me, as I covered them promptly with my coat...she hugged me and it felt like a thousand knives being staked into me at once. I didn't want to alarm her and I had seen too much to know why they called these wounds the "slow death". There's nothing to be done...I had at most...an hour...if I didn't move much...
"That's okay...I'm glad you're okay...I have to go now, but I'm glad you're okay."
"Thank you so much...if it weren't for you I'd be...wait...I need to know your name, you saved my life..." I wish I could stay and chat, but if I wanted this to be a good memory for both of us, I couldn't show any weakness....and I needed to leave that place soon...
"Dean...my name's Dean...I'm just happy I could help...but I really have to go now..."
"Thank you Dean..." she mumbled again, at a loss for words. Her eyes, watering up once more told me all I needed to know...she was going to be okay...
The walk home was the most painful five mnutes of my life...hanging on to my coat to cover the blood soaked shirt, moving at a steady pace, trying to keep my body as still as possible...
As soon as I sit on my couch, I drift in and out of conscience, dreaming of her...
Looking back at it, a shameless smile pops into my lips. I was happy I saved her...I guess I couldn't have asked for a better ending...


...


"You and I both know Ray, there's not much left for me to live for..." I finally say. He looks at me, calms down and smiles, saddened by the cold harsh truth...
"You can live for yourself...."
"I've never been good at taking care of myself....and you know it. I've got two bullets in me to prove it..." I say, laughing lightly as I cough. The cough gets worst and the taste of blood feels up my mouth....it's getting close...
"I'm coming Ray.." I say, Ray looks at me and forces a smile.
"I know Dean...I'll be waiting..." he says, before vanishing up in before my eyes...my imagination had played its last card on me...Ray has been dead for 5 years now, yet I'm glad my almost completely wasted mind found a way to keep me entertained in my last hour...
 I look at the table and there's this old photo looking back at me...me and Veronica, back in '88...we are staring into each other's eyes and smiling like two dumb kids in love...I pick up the frame and smile...
"Guess we'll all be together soon...." 
My vision blurs, my mind numbs down and  the pain gets worse, as I feel myself getting colder and more and more tired...I don't fight it. I rest my head in my crossed up arms on the table and close my eyes...


It starts to rain outside...the soft, light drops will hit my window sill garden soon, leaving that sweet wet earth smell on my flat...today is a good day to die...

"So take it easy on me, 
 I'm afraid you're never satisfied"


"Prince charming doesn't exist..." I tell her, as she's leaving...she stops, frozen, without looking back...attentively listening yet letting me know she has no intention in staying... "prince charming doesn't exist..." I continue "remember that fourth date? You told me you were looking for your prince...I told you I knew I didn't look a thing like jesus but I talked like a gentleman..." I smile as I remmeber it, for a second or two... "I now know I will never match up to those fairy tale ideals of yours. I will fall short. But I will keep getting up...and I know you don't wanna hear this but...you're normal, too. You have flaws. I can't cite them because everytime I look at you, I see that gorgeous, perfect girl I fell for, not the flawed regular version I will remember if you leave...to make me feel better in losing you. I don't want to see her..."
I walk up to her and place my hand on her shoulder.
"And I really don't want you to see me as the "guy who you once thought was great..."
There's this momment of silence between us. It feels like years passing by, those split seconds.
"You know that's not something very...."principy" to say, right?" she finally answers.
"I know. But it's working isn't it?" she turns her head slightly back and smiles "Disney's got nothing on me when it comes to talking..." I playfully brag.
"You did okay...if you wrote half as good as you talk, you might actually be a decent writer..." she mocks...
She places her hand on mine, still not turning her body back and walks away slowly...
"I'll see you tomorrow Aladdin..."
"Technically, Aladdin was a sultan...." I mock back.
"Don't push it..."

"Without her, it's not the same
 The same, the same, but it's alright" 

"You've been sitting here for four hours now...staring at the door with a drink in your hand...what troubles you, son?" asked Joe, the bartender. He looked like a typical 50's movie bartender: fat, jolly, always with a wise word at the tip of his tongue.

"Well Joe...my life just crumbled tonight and your bar was the demolition site..." I replied, reminded once more why I sat alone.

"Well, apologies for it. Had I known my bar would be such a dramatic place, I would have cleaned it up better today." he said, with a mocking yet gentle smile... "People sitting at that side of the counter, tend to dramatize their lives to a point of meaningless despair...so tell me...what troubles you?"

"Well Joe, here it is..."

..................

I was 26 back then, finding my own path while I wrote as a columnist for two of the town's newspapers when I met her.

A black-haired waitress, working at "Little Henry's", a small Italian restaurant at the corner of 37th Ave and Balboa Street...I have always been one to aim high, no waitresses, or people with meaningless jobs. You could say I was a prick, in that department. Little did I know by then, this was the highest I had ever aimed...

"What...no tip?" she asked once, after my first meal in the diner. Not offended, but pouting, in a childish manner, as I offered the exact change.

"I don't believe in tips. Food is already overpriced." I answered, my words sour, I was having a bad week. 

"Well, I'll give you one then: Speckels Park. By John F. Kennedy Street, there's a spot near the Lake where no one bothers you, the sounds get muffled by the trees around. I do most of my thinking there. You seem to be needing some..." 

"Never tried it...maybe I'll give it a go, seeing as I'm running out of options." I blankly say, just as I'm about to leave.

I've had no good stories in the past two months. The editors were angry, with good reason. They said I "lacked commitment"...I judged otherwise...I lacked inspiration. 

That place revived me. 

The soothing water sounds, the city-noise free area, it was a secluded forest amidst a crowded town, my very own Shangri-La where I could hear myself think, see myself write, and nothing else mattered. My stories soared through my imagination, picking up the best of me before landing themselves on paper.

Then one lonely afternoon I heard her voice echoing through the muffled silence "I see you found it!" It was her. Weeks after my visit to her restaurant. I must admit I felt bad for never returning. I was lost in my work and she was the reason why...

"I told you it was a good place."

I looked back and smiled, embarrassed. "Yes...it has really helped me. My work is flowing again, thanks to you..." 

She smiled and sat down next to me, nudging her shoulder against mine as if we were old friends. "You're welcome. So...what do you do?"

That's all it took. A nudge and a question to make us spend hours talking. She was a  part-time waitress,  finishing up her law degree. Her parents were back in Ohio, where she was born and raised. Moved here for some ex-boyfriend and fell in love with the city. Her passions were reading and drawing. She was quite the sketch artist and she loved what I had written...two points in her favor. Then there was her hair. Black as the night, curly tips, flowing back and forth as she talked, hypnotizing me to the point of no return. Her pet peeves were dogs. Bad experience as a child left her with an uncontrollable fear of them, which to me meant calling every single one I saw when I was with her, just to playfully piss her off.

"You know this one could fit in your key chain, right?" I'd say, to a half-hidden girl, peeking from behind a tree at a leashless chihuahua that was standing there, looking at me, confused.

"Make him go away!" she replied, no harm intended as her intonation made clear. 

Weeks go by, first dates long gone, first kisses exchanged in that same faded place we met. San Francisco was mostly sunny so I made most of my writing underneath that oak tree by the lake where I first sat down and waited for inspiration to strike me. She would meet me there in between shifts, after classes, we barely needed a phonecall as she usually knew where to find me.

Days were too short for all our talking. Months went by and she and I were too good to be true. And like every perfect story in every shitty romance movie, a misfortune was needed, to spice things up. 

One day, she sat restlessly by the oak tree at my side and exhaled loudly, as if burdened by the thought of words to come. 

"What is it?" I asked, as I put down my laptop and looked at her.

"It's him...he wants me back." ...

She was always a "straight sayer" as I called her, no need for futile conversations, straight to the point in important matters. The words echoed in my head with a bang...shattering the perfect dream I had unconsciously created of a future spent together.

"Well...I want you still, so we're in a bit of a jam here." I replied, faking a smile and a joyful tone.

She had never talked about him to me until that day: their seven year relationship, being childhood friends, the shit perfect love tales are made of. Every sentence made me more and more realize I was the villain in that story...

After talk settled and stories shared, I posed the million-dollar question: "What are you going to do about this?"

......................

"And that's what brings me to this bar, where we once shared our first drink, at 4 a.m, talking to you Joe. She was to make her choice by midnight today...either leave with him, or meet me here. Guess her choice was clear."

"Well, you win some and lose some Dean..." he replied, words shared, I bet, with a thousand customers. 

"That's your advice after all this? Is that supposed to ease my pain?" I ask, offended by the little thought he put into his reply.

"No. Pain is numbed by what you've been drinking. I've worked here forty years now, kid. Countless books could be written on stories similar to yours, customers have told and retold of their own lives. We all got our crosses to bear. I know to you, yours seems the heaviest, yet one day you'll see this story is but a water drop, staining very few strokes on your life's canvas."

A second of silence fell upon us, as I wrestled inside between the idea of such an important year of my life, meaning so little...not only when compared to others, but also when compared to what I still had to live. I remembered my mother saying "One day, you'll look back at this moment and laugh". 

"Maybe one day I'll share a drink with my future wife here Joe, and our story will blow your mind..." I said as I raised my glass, finishing up my drink.

He raised his glass, scotch, neat, and drank it whole, as he smiled. "I'll be here, waiting for that moment."

As I was about to leave, Joe shouted at the door, calling me by my name "Dean...this is a twenty-dollar tip...I thought you didn't believe in overpaying..."

"I don't. And I didn't. Your company makes your drinks underpriced." 

He laughed at the unusual compliment. Sharing one last cliché'd "Come back soon, kid" as the door shut and the lights went off. 
5 a.m had come and gone and the sun was starting to paint the town red. I moved up to Fort Baker's pier and lit up my very first cigarette. The pack was nearly empty but the moment felt incipient enough to call it that. One hour and 5 smokes later, I mustered up a faint smile to myself. It wasn't yet a laugh but I was on my way. 

"Tocas-me no rosto enquanto o ar não sai

 Inspiro sem medo do acto que vem"

As horas vão passando, a cidade adormece, devagar, numa pachorrenta tarde de domingo. As luzes lá fora acendem-se, os carros vão deixando de passar e as vozes nítidas de conversas soltas que ecoam até à minha janela já não me visitam. O véu negro cai sobre a agitação de uma tarde primaveril, perfurado apenas pela luz das estrelas que teimam em brilhar por entre nuvens passageiras.

O filme acaba e nós não nos apercebemos, perdidos em histórias de infância, sonhos e aspirações pessoais, deixamo-nos levar pelo prazer de conversar. Trocam-se risos, segredos e olhares não tão inocentes, que me levam a uma pergunta  para a qual já sei a resposta: queres vir fumar um cigarro ao terraço?

Abro a porta e deixo-te passar, olhando de relance para o teu corpo, elegante. Move-se numa ligeireza sensual enquanto o teu perfume se arrasta, um pouco atrás, intenso e cativante.

Subimos e deixas escapar um ar surpreso ao veres a vista sobre a cidade, comentando na sorte que tenho em poder aqui vir todos os dias. Na verdade, podíamos ter fumado em casa, mas conheço o efeito inebriante que uma vista como esta pode ter.

Uma brisa mais fresca sopra na altura certa. Já de cigarro aceso, puxas contra ti o casaco bege de malha que tens vestido, abraçando-te com força numa expressão friorenta. Aproximo-te por trás, encostando o meu peito às tuas costas e cubro os teus braços com os meus.

Perdemo-nos por minutos, a contar janelas e a identificar edifícios icónicos da cidade, iluminados pelas luzes citadinas que tremeluzem à distância. A noite consegue dar um ar misterioso e sedutor ao mais banal dos edifícios. A pintura grená, suja de um paralelipípedo gigante e inestético ganha nuances alaranjadas e vermelhas que se pintam com o reflexo de uma luz.

Passam-se mais uns minutos, acende-se mais um cigarro e fala-se dos sítios que nos marcaram na cidade: onde brincávamos em pequenos, onde adormeci, bêbado, na estação de comboio, onde roubaste uma vez uma laranja, no mercado junto às docas. Viro-te para mim, desembaraço o teu cabelo louro, solto, para trás da orelha e digo em tom sussurrado "...e neste terraço, foi onde te beijei pela primeira vez..." puxando-te para mim, sorris e beijamo-nos.

Afastas-te, sorriso nos lábios, olhas para o céu e de volta para mim, mordes o lábio inferior e sussurras "é isto a que tu chamas ver um filmezinho em tua casa?".

Puxo-te para mim e perdemo-nos um no outro no terraço. Enquanto a cidade adormece, os carros deixam de passar e as pessoas já não falam, o silêncio ensurdecedor da noite é superado pela música de mais um beijo, um gemido, um suspiro...seguido da melodia muda de uma noite bem passada.

"to a place, i recall, i was there so long ago...
 the sky was bruised, the wine was bled,
 and there you led me on..."


the faded voices wake me up. 
i've always liked this sound. people talking, moving, living. i always liked crowded places, ever since i was a kid. they make me feel safe...as i slowly open my eyes, the blinding white lights blur my vision. all i see is black silhouetes, moving on a white canvas.
why does my body ache? i lift up my arm, there's still blood dripping from it and a red paper bracelet with the words "urgent care" on my wrist lets me know this isn't such a safe situation i'm in.
"he's waking up!" i hear. that nostalgic, childish voice echoes in my head and brings a smile to my lips, it's her... i turn my head and our eyes meet. hers were crying, mine were just happy to see her. i know i love her but...i can't seem to remember her.
"hey you..." i say, in an almost muted voice...
"he woke up again!" i hear Alex say...what does he mean again? he slowly walks up to me with a patronizing smile on his face. "hey sleeping beauty, feeling better?"
i try to sit up but they both stop me, pushing my body towards the stretcher. even though it was soft, my back landing against the mattress makes my whole body shiver in pain. 
"what the hell happened?" i ask, confused. 
"not this again..." Alex says, as he rolls his eyes and leaves the room, frustrated by what i just asked.
it's only me and her now. she holds my hand and slowly explains it. "you were in a car crash...you're okay. noone got hurt"
"no, no, no...this makes no sense...i was back at college yesterday, it's...what day is it?"
she sighs and draws a sad smile. i can see this is hard for her..."it's september, september 3rd...and you're gonna ask me how is this possible, since you distinctively remember it's march..." she says, as she looks away and her eyes water up again.
i've never been so confused in all my life...
"well...if my memory is the problem then we should start working on it. I should start to write everything so I don't..." her sad smile, once again, shuts me up. she points towards the garbage can near the entrance. judging by the ammount of shredded paper in it, i can see i already had this idea...
"the doctor says it's better if you rest...your memory will come...eventually."
she kisses me and i feel at home. for once during these minutes i feel at peace. 
"i'm glad you're here" i say...still not remembering her name...she smiles openly. the first happy smile i've seen from her today.
"i know you are. it's the fifth time you tell me that."

what the hell is wrong with me...

"Boy, one day you'll be a man...


Oh Girl, he'll help you understand."




The sound of my own thoughts, roaming around in my head, keeps me awake. I can't rest. I hate it when we fight. I get up, half asleep, my hand against the wall to guide me while my eyes are still drinking in the darkness, sip by sip, adjusting to an almost pitch black house, illuminated only by the red and green dots of light the electric appliances emit.
I make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water, even though thirst is just an excuse my body makes up to try and justify my lack of sleep.
As I slowly move back to bed, I notice something out of the ordinary: the building lights are turned on outside, yet the ray of light that comes in through the bottom of my door isn't regular. It stops halfway through and continues a short while after...there's something in there.
Curiosity speeds up my walk as I reach down for what appears to be an envelope someone stuck beneath the door. No address, no name.
I open it up and immediately recognize the writing. It's him.


"We're not always gonna be sunshine and butterflies.


I think being with me tends to have the same fucked up effect as a night of alcoholic binge.
It starts off sweet, that first taste, that satisfying thirst for something "out of ordinary", mixed in with a lemon and a soda, the liquid equivalents of my early-night ramblings about how beautiful you are.

Next thing you know you've had a couple of those, you've spent time with me. We're happy. Cruising along, sex on the beach. Those neverending talks, those notes at the foot of your bed telling you you're the reason I wake up every morning, promptly complaining afterwards about what shitty job I might have at that time...and how hard the writing is for me. We love it. That edge, the rush of not knowing what we are, what we're going to be, the struggle between the relationship and the fling, the potential of what we can accomplish paints itself before our eyes and you see me as a politically correct, "always fucking ready to whatever the world throws at me" guy. The man you're dreaming of is masking what I really am, but it doesn't matter right now - much like that fifth Martini masks off the unpleasantness of a forgettable night - right now we're both your best friends.

But you don't stop. We don't stop. We keep going. Drinking from the bottle now, out of control. We're explosions in the sky, high tides in the sea, hurricanes in the jungle. We're not happy - we're ecstatic, flying along as you carelessly take another sip, dancing the night away at the club, smiling at your friends, laughing at every little shit that seems remotely fun. You're a child at Christmas morning, you're excited, horny, sexy, nothing can stop you now. And you don't. Take another sip and we're moving into some shitty town together. We're fucking everywhere, lost in lust, passion, hopes, dreams of what both of us can accomplish. We're not like them, we're us! We're the perfect couple.

One last sip and the bottle falls down, it shatters on the ground...you look at it and, for a split second, you doubt yourself...the curtain closes and you see us for what we are. We're not that different, everyone isn't looking at us and your friends aren't laughing anymore, they're dazing off, drunk, going with the flow of a song they no longer try to playback or even follow its beat. I'm naked. The paint washes off, no more masks. You're thinking "should I stop?". You don't.
One last drink.

We're that blackout sensation. That blind rage when we fight and get on each other's nerves while we scream out loud...
This is it. We're over, you're over, falling to the ground, losing your senses while your friends try and help you up...and I slam the door and go for a walk.


Ah, the morning after...that afterglow, once all the lights are turned off, it's just you and your messy hair covered in bits and pieces of food you had last night. That smell...reality comes striking back. You spend the day in bed, slowly recovering what's left of you, trying to remember how you got back home while you flick the remote looking for some mildly interesting show that will make you forget you can barely stand up.


I let myself in, the house is a mess...I can see you went out after our fight. Walking over to our room I glance at the path of destruction your uncoordinated drunken self left: the keys on the floor, the entrance light shattered against the wall, the towels covering up your first hurl, the half-filled bucket by your bedside...
I lie down next to you and tell you you're still the reason I get out off bed every morning. With you, the writing is not so hard.
Suddenly, you don't feel so bad. We're okay.
Because even though I might be sour sometimes...I'll be there the morning after."




Picking up the phone, as I finish reading it, a childish smile on my lips, I call him. It rings once, twice, then a sleepy, mumbling voice picks up.
"Hello?"
"You know, someone once told me you could judge how much someone likes you by how fast they pick up their phone when you call..."
He laughs lightly. His bed springs clatter as he rolls over in it, replying "Well, he seems like a very wise man..."
"You're an idiot."
"Ah thank you. I can never sleep at peace until someone wakes me up at...holy shit 5 a.m....and tells me I'm an idiot...will that be all? Or do you want to call me a jerk as well and avoid the afternoon call?"
"Shut up...I'm sorry. About everything, I was a bitch to you..."
"Don't worry about it. We all have our moments. I assume you read my letter."
"Yes..."
"Am I good or what?"
"You're okay..."
I can feel him smiling on the other side.
"You're not that bad either..you're an "okay plus"."
"Go to sleep, amateur writer."
"Not without a second "idiot" remark. The second one really hits the spot."
"Sleep, you idiot."
"I'll stop by tomorrow."

When I woke up, 
Mom and Dad are rolling on the couch,
Rolling numbers,
“10”
Rock and Rolling,
“9”
Got my Kiss records out!
“8”
Mommy’s alright,
“7”
Daddy’s Alright,
“6”
They just seem a little weird,
“5”
Surrender,
“4”
Surrender!
“3”
But don’t give yourself,
“2”
Away,
“1”
Awaaaay!
“Happy New Year!!!”

The music goes loud and the screams go louder, twenty or so people hugging, kissing and celebrating the start of yet another year. Happy New Year to us all... I hit “Send” as soon as the countdown ends, no use in calling her since the lines are all jammed up with fuckers like me trying to call someone special with whom they just couldn’t be with this day.
They say the way you spend your new year is the way you’ll spend the rest of the year. So we should all try to make the best of those last 24 hours. I don’t believe that shit. I spent my last three or four new year’s eves as a bachelor, fucking the brains out of twenty-year-old girls whose names I can’t even recall, and I haven’t spent those years fucking twenty-year-old girls. So, as long as I can tell, the whole “New Year’s Eve” myth was lost on me long ago... 
“Happy New Year Dean!” I turn around and there they are, three of my closest friends, drunk as shit, their eyes shining with inebriation, reflecting the flaring lights of the fireworks in the sky, which they won’t remember tomorrow morning. I’m way behind in the whole “drinking myself stupid” tradition, so I take one of their glasses and chug it down as they all cheer. 
“Well, we’re off to town to try and score some blow and some women. You coming?” Asks Rick. The overpronunciation on each of those words, lets me know how hammered he really is. Rick was only happy when those three elements could be combined: drinking, drugs and women. 
“Yeah I just gotta try and call her; I’ll meet you guys there,” I reply.
“You know, one of these days, you’ll have to show me your balls…cause I’m starting to doubt you even have them” said Bill, tilting his glass back and forth as he spoke, spilling half his drink on the already flooded tiles. “Screw her man, she bailed on you, didn’t she? Let her call!”
Bill didn’t have that many friends. He was always straightforward in his answers, and most people thought he was crude and offensive, but honestly, he was the only guy who just spoke his mind. He meant no harm with what he said, but he wasn’t going to soften any blows. He just spoke. No filter on. That’s why I valued his opinions. And once again, he was right. I close the lid on my cell and tell myself “Fuck it, she’ll call.”
As soon as I end my line of thought, the vibrating buzz on my pocket lets me know Bill was right. She should be the one calling. I look at the lid. Johnny’s number comes up. Maybe she was calling from his cell. 
“Hey Johnny, Happy New Year man!”
“Hey, man! Happy new year to you too. Listen, do you have a minute?”
“Sure, let me just go into the bathroom so I can hear you.”
I slide past a drunken crowd with relative ease. Lucky me no one was puking on the toilet so it was free. I get in; lock the door behind me and the music fades down to a tolerable volume. 
“Yeah, I’m here, what’s up Johnny?”
“Well…I’ve grown to like you over these years man so I just thought you should know…it’s her…there’s something wrong.”
My heart skips a beat as soon as that sentence reaches my side of the phone. I slam the wall with my fist closed. I should have fucking been there. Something’s wrong with her and I’m drunk and 30 miles away…
“What happened? Is she okay? What the fuck’s wrong?”
“Well you’re not gonna like this man…she’s…well she’s clearly blackout drunk…she was talking to her ex…and they both got in a room and haven’t left for twenty minutes…”
My concern turns into blind rage. I hit the wall again, this time strongly enough to stain it with blood.
“Thanks Johnny” I calmly say, hanging up the phone. I scream out in anger, hitting the wall consecutively, each blow to the concrete spraying in red speckles from my now injured fist.
“Save it Dean” I think to myself. I stop for a minute. In my head, everything goes silent. No music, no voices, just my heart resounding in my ears and Johnny’s words echoing in my mind. Fuck…this isn’t going to end like this.
I come back to reality, someone’s knocking on the bathroom door, angry at my delay. 
“Get the fuck out man, other people need to go there!”
I ignore them. Pick up the phone and call the only person I know who is still sober on New Year’s Eve. 
“Hey Dean! Happy new year!!!”
“Thanks Mary, happy new year to you too babe. Listen…I need a favour…a big, fucked up favour right now…are you still sober?”
Mary takes her time answering my question. She knows I never ask her any favours so she’s undecided between her obvious will to help and the effort she knows she’s going to have to put into doing it. 
“Yeah, I am…what do you need?”
“I need you to pick me up and drop me off at her place.”
“Fuck…something’s wrong?”
“Yeah…” I let out, in an herculean effort to keep myself from crumbling down to tears. She knows I’m serious, I hear the hastiness in her voice as she asks me:
“Do you need me to do anything?” the soft tingling from the car keys in her hand lets me know she’s already coming. 
“You’re doing it already…just drop me off there. Please.”
She hangs up, no goodbyes necessary, I’ve known her for 22 years and she knows I’m way too shocked to worry about being polite.
Ten long, painful minutes later she arrives, opens the door on my side and lets me in. We don’t share a word on the whole way there. She’s stepping on the gas, we’re going as fast as her car allows us to go. Knowing her fear from high-speed driving, I know she’s desperately trying to help me get there as fast as she can. In my mind, I am thankful. But my lips stay sealed.
We get there in ten minutes. The house was a mess. Coloured lights coming from every window, the music, loud enough to cater to a whole fucking town. Roughly fifteen people outside, half of them puking, the other half making out with each other…the door wasn’t even opened - there was no door. Someone kicked it off its hinges, resting now, horizontally, three feet behind where it should be.
I get inside, climb on top of the nearest chair and look for Johnny’s face amid a smoke filled, booze-smelling half-conscious crowd. 
“Johnny!” I yell out. Some girl pulls me down and screams into my ear.
“Johnny’s in the living room, back there!”
There’s bound to be about thirty different Johnnies in this party, yet this drunken girl’s lead is all I got to search for him so I thank her and move in.
Luckily to me, there’s Johnny, in the living room, half drunk and half worried to see me. Yet he comes over to me and shakes my hand.
“Where is she?” I ask. “Which room?”
“Look man, if she knows I called you, she’s going hate me for a long time…” Johnny was one of her closest friends, he knows he was doing the right thing yet he also knew I wasn’t going to go down easily…and that scared him. “What are you gonna do?”
I smile at him. It was clear he was making an effort to take my side. He loved her, as a friend, for as long as they have known each other. Kind of like me and Mary. Yet he knew how much I liked her…so he was stepping down from the good friend position into the good guy spot…and it was aching him to do so.
“Don’t worry about me, I don’t want you getting involved in any way…you’ve done enough.”
“I just hope I haven’t done too much…”
I go into the room he pointed me to, and there they were, both drunk, already half naked, she was beneath him, arching her back, head leaned back as he kissed her neck. They don’t even notice I’m there. I pick up her cell phone. It was on the nightstand. 1 Unread Message… what a fucking surprise. I come out, close the door behind me and go over to Johnny. 
“Read it,” I say, handing him her phone. He asks no questions, takes the phone, unlocks it and starts reading the message.
“Happy New Year…I Love you. Move in with me.*”
Johnny smiles as he reads it, he is now sure he did the right thing by calling me over. I was glad I could provide him some closure in this whole goddamn mess…
“Why the fuck did she have to screw this up…”
“Don’t worry Johnny, better now than in ten years.”
“I’m gonna go put the music louder, that should buy you some time alone in there with them…he’s a fucking prick. I’m guessing the only people who will try and fight back are his two friends sitting by the bar over there…the rest of the guys couldn’t care less.”
I hug Johnny and thank him. We both knew this was probably going to be the last time we spoke for a long time. He liked me but she was his best friend…no way I could compete with that. Too bad. I was going to miss Johnny…
I get in the room, he’s still on top, half-naked, caressing her breasts as she runs her hands through his chest. I was smiling, thinking to myself I should probably hit her, not him. But my dad always taught me not to hit a woman…too bad for him.
I pick up the lamp, standing unlit by the bed, pull out the cord and swing the object as hard as I can into his head. The smashing hit, followed by the awakening sound of the lightbulb, shattering down as its million pieces rain all over the bed, wakes them up from their sensual trance. She starts screaming, confused. He grabs on to his head still shocked by the blunt trauma. I pick him up by the neck with one hand and slam him into the nearest wall. My fist cringes as it closes down, still bleeding from the practice hits on that bathroom wall. This was no practice hit. I smash my hand into his chin with the strength of a man who knows he is right. There’s no stronger punch than that. A blow delivered not by hate but by self-respect. Pride. And stupidity.
The hit resounds in my ears, echoing louder than her screams, everyone else’s voices and the loud music. In my head, that was the sound of a five-year relationship ending with a bang. No sound could compare to it right now.
Her exes’ eyes roll up before closing down, his head tilts to the left as his whole body falls down to the ground, unconscious.
She keeps screaming, asking me how could I've done this in between sobs and "I'm Sorry"'s. Fuck her. I'm not even gonna dignify that with an answer. 
Finally, the door opens, and some guy leans in his head, probably startled by the screams. There was glass everywhere, a bleeding guy on the floor and a girl crying. Then there was me. Needless to say, I'm the bad guy in this scenario for any clueless soul that walks in. 
"What the fuck man? What did you do?" he yells at me, getting some more attention from the other clueless morons standing next to him.
"This is none of your business, he's okay, I just punched him." I say.
As I'm finishing up my sentence, the two guys from the bar start moving through the crowd in my direction. They knew this was the room where his friend was about to fuck my ex-girlfriend. They knew. Let them come. Once again, the blinding rage of being betrayed clouds my judgment. It's her fucking fault, yet two more guys will pay her price. Because I'm proud. And stupid.
They come at me, one guy pushes me back yelling "See what you did? It's your girls' fault. She was the bitch here, not him."
That did it. Thanks "soon to be knocked down" idiot. You just fueled my rage for the next two minutes. I move at him, dodge the first punch to the face, and take the second one in the stomach as I'm already rotating my body clockwise, my elbow to his face with the momentum of a full-body swing. Blood everywhere, that's a cracked nose to say the least. He holds on to it as he curses me off, moving, hunched over towards the ground into the kitchen, keeping his free hand a little lower to catch the dripping blood that runs towards the floor.
The other guy looks confused, his courage diminished by his friend's unfortunate fate.
"You're a fucking idiot! Those are my friends you just hurt!" 
"I'm not in the mood to chat, you either move up or shut the fuck up and move away" I answer. Courage I didn't know I had spoke in my name...
He moves away, looking for his friend to try and help him with his nose job.
Fuck this. This whole mess could have been avoided...Fuck her decision to spend New Year's with her friends. Fuck my decision for not wanting to tag along. Fuck our fight this morning. Fuck me for still being in love with her. And fuck her for not loving me back when alcohol eluded her conscience.
"FUUUCK!" I scream, now outside. The drunken idiots by the house's entrance stare at me as if I'm about to explode. I was. 
I smile as tears fall down my face into the asphalt. It's been so fucking long I've cried, I had forgotten how good it can feel. 
That damn "Cheap Trick" song comes up again. 
It's my phone. 
It's her. 
I let it ring...


"Mommy told me, 


yeah she told me,


I'd meet girls like you.


She also told me,


Stay away, 


You'll never know what you'll catch..."

"The youth is starting to change me."

How was it?

What?

Your first day at the new job, you goof. What else?

It was awful, I looked so bad. I didn't know what to do, where anything was, I was a nervous wreck...I bet they hated me.

No they didn't. They were expecting it. I called and told them you sucked at what you did.

That's not funny...not today.

Hey...calm down. Even if you were bad, which I doubt, it's completely normal. I sucked at my first day too.

You know, you're three thousand miles away and I...I just need you here now...

Okay go outside...

Why?

Just go outside...

Fine...

...

I'm outside.

Look up. Can you see the stars? Or is it cloudy there?

No, it's clear. Why?

Funny thing about the stars is they look exactly the same from where you are and from where I am...Remember the "W" I told you about once? The cassiopeia constellation?

Yeah, I do. Let me see...oh found it. There it is.

Ok now, see the right upper tip of the "W"? The last star?

Yup.

Now count two stars to the right. There's a small, faded one first, then a strong one, almost at the same spot. Can you see them?

Yeah I can...

Now there's a small one after those two. A bright one, apparently blinking. Do you see it?

Yeah! I can see that one! It's not as bright as the left one but it's blinking hard.

Well, that 's our star. I had it made for us. I called in a favor the Gods owed me. I once gave Zeus a ride home, he lost his wallet so he couldn't grab a cab.

...

Yeah, if you're silent for being shocked at my stupidity, let me tell you I'm a bit surprised myself. But I just thought...it would be fun to count the stars with you...

I love you.

This is too serious. I think we should see other people.

Nice way to ruin it Romeo.

Ehe...I'm messing around. I...I gonna be honest with you...I lied. I don't know Zeus.

Just shut up for a second.

Why?

I just...wanna hear you breathing.

I love you too...

...

But seriously...the "seeing other people" part, Zeus just asked me out...we're supposed to go chase some nymphs...

The silence you're about to hear right now? This is me pouting...

So...that's a "no" on the bitch cruising with Zeus?

Eheh...You're a dork...oh and I should be in bed, so stop wasting money on me and wish me good night.

Dream of me if you can...

Bitch cruising with Zeus?

No...just me.

Okay.

Kiss.

Good night handsome.

*clic*

"I don't look a thing like Jesus but I...talk like a gentleman"

"You're kinda cute" she says, running her hand through my hair.

"You're not so bad yourself" I reply, lighting up the room once more with the warm, red light of one last drag in my cigarette.

All dark again, just her hand in my chest and her warm breath on my neck lets me know she's there.

Her breath turns quieter, she's falling asleep again....

I stare at the dim light, struggling to get in through the window's shutters and listen to the city outside, falling asleep, quietly letting me know it's late. No voices beneath us on the sidewalk, no cars pass by, no dogs bark.

Just silence.

I wonder how many people in this town are falling asleep to the fainted melody of a beautiful girl nodding off on their shoulders...

What have I done to deserve this I wonder. I always believed in karma, yet lately, I have been a fucking prick. I lied, cheated and wronged people in ways a good man shouldn't. Then she shows up and all that regret multiplies by the guilt of feeling so damn good when I'm with her. Why the fuck do I believe in karma...

I feel like I'm driving a car through heavy rain, deafning, hard hitting rain that makes me squint my eyes to try and glimpse at the path ahead through the windshield, steering by instinct, hoping I'm on the right lane.

Then a bridge crosses over the road and, as I'm under it, everything makes sense. The rain now hits the asphalt above me in a soothing, natural symphony. My path becomes clear and I slow down, savouring the peaceful. fleeding moment of the calm before the storm.

She's that bridge. That split second of clarity between storms, that makes you wish that road that's above you would never end.

But it does. No matter how slow I drive, that dreaded rain is coming back, once again, with a crushing sound, preluded by a clichéd expression of the utmost simplicity..."We need to talk."

No...not this time.

I come back to reality, she's stroking my hair, softly, in what seems like a dazed state of relaxation. She lets out a "hey you" in a soft whisper...in my head, loud enough to silence a crowd.

"There's something you should know..." I say, lighting up another cigarette, choosing the words carefully in my head. She looks at me and nods, attentively listenning to every word I'm about to say.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that you like me." I say, smiling at her, staring at her shocked yet curious expression as the words reach her ears. I take a drag on my cigarette and procceed. "I know this because I've never let myself fall for someone I wasn't sure felt the same way about me...yet my past always finds a way to fuck things over...so I want you to know something..."

And I tell her.

Like a catholic man talking to a priest in confession, I let out my mistakes...mistakes I believe a girl like her, even though tainted by her own past, running from her own ghosts, won't understand.

The times I didn't cry for people I lost, the times I led girls to believe I was something special, the times I betrayed, cheated and played with people's emotions for my own, personal selfish gain...

I tell her everything. I feel her moving back, away from me as I keep going, her hand no longer holding mine, her presence dimmed...

"I just...wanted you to know...what you got yourself into."

Silence, light's still out, pitch dark in the room.

I feel the bridge above my car, shielding me from the rain, ending. The storm aproaching once more.

Fuck me...why didn't I keep my mouth shut...a few more weeks living a lie seem like such a better choice now.

I feel her moving now, bed's shaking, she's coming closer...her hand in mine once more, she kisses me.

“Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title”

"Virginia Woolf..."

"It's what you were that made you who you are...screw the past. We'll make it work."

The bridge above me ends. It stopped raining...