I checked over the suicide note containing the will.
Give my guitar to the first kid under sixteen you see. Give my brothel creepers to anyone who fits the shoes. Anything else goes to the first person to find it.
Alright, it wasn't that great. What would anyone expect? A battered kid, mentally and physically, just wanted to get it over with right? The suicide note was a more personal sentiment.
See ya in hell Dad.
I opened the half bottle of Jack. My heart beat faster as I thought about the finality of what I was about to do. I downed it very quickly, without even wincing. I laid back and let it kick in. After what seemed like hours, I leaned over and lit the joint. As I was half way through the final joint of my life, Nikki, one of my squat-mates came home. Now, let me tell you about Nikki. She is probably the most straightedged person I know. She once threw out all the alcohol in the flat and has been known to steal cigarettes from me and give them to crazy bums on the street. So, when she smelled the smoke coming from the bathroom, she immediately started yelling.
Oi, whoever's smoking in the bathroom better f--king knocking it off.
Shut the hell up, Nikki.
She could tell I was drunk. She came racing around the corner and dove on top of me.
Jesus Christ Nikki, I said.
What the hell do you think you're doing? She saw the knife and suddenly she didn't need an explanation.
Go to hell, Nikki. I raised my hand to slap her but I felt something catch my jaw and suddenly I was out cold.
I woke up with Nikki, John, Schultz, Laura, Erin and Billy all looking at me.
Dude, do you know what just happened? You got f--king punched out by a chick.
No shit, Billy, I said. Erin stepped up and began to talk.
Justin, you have to stop. This is tearing your life apart. Tell me, what exactly were you going to do?
Yeah, we kind of figured that out. I think you should lay off the booze. You're constantly plastered. I became extremely defensive.
My girlfriend dumped me, my band just beat the shit out of me and left me lying along a random street and hmm, I don't know, I've also been through a ton of shit my entire life, so maybe suicide WAS the right thing.
Dude, your girlfriend dumped you cause you're an alcoholic, said Billy.
Thanks Billy. Uh, guys? Can you tell me why in Christ's name I'm tied to a bed? My arms were at my sides, and there was rope around my torso.
You can't get alcohol if you're tied to a bed, said Erin.
Yeah, just think of it as detox, piped Laura.
But this isn't a f--king clinic, was all I could manage.
Yea, but yer a hazard to yerself, mate, said Schultz.
Goddamnit, f--k you guys. And with that, they walked out of the room.
At least play me some f--king music! It was obvious I was in for a long night.
I ended up falling asleep and woke up about two hours later, probably around eight o'clock in the evening. I was drenched in sweat, yet I was freezing.
Guys, I called out weakly. Erin rushed in immediately.
Oh my God, Justin, are you ok?
I don't know, am I?
Holy shit. Laura! Laura came rushing in.
F--k. You look as pale as a ghost.
What do you think we should do? asked Erin.
I guess we should sit him up and give him a beer, answered Laura. Schultz, get Justin a beer!
Olroight. Schultz walked in with a cheap beer and handed it to me.
I took a sip and spat it back out. What is this god-awful piss?
'Nd that's what we usually say about yor beer. I had to laugh, he had a point.
I passed out again around two, feeling extremely refreshed. I woke up around 1 the next afternoon and instead of doing the thing sensible people would do (not call a girl that hates your guts because you're a filthy drunk) I called up Ava. She wouldn't talk to me at all. Wait, no, that's a lie. She said three words over and over again. You filthy bastard. That's all she said as I tried to explain myself for at least ten minutes. I couldn't take this, so I started to cry.
Stop being such a whiny bitch. Click. I couldn't believe it. She just called me a whiny bitch. And open further reflection, I found she was right. I've been constantly drunk or whiny the entire time. Well, I guess it was time to find out my future with The Egocentric Politicians. The corny-ness of the name almost equals how good they actually are. I'd been playing rhythm guitar for them for about two years now. Of course, their squat was crawling with great musicians and I could be easily replaced. I was basically their Sid Vicious, show up and make an idiot out of yourself while we play music kind of deal. I dialed the numbers slowly and deliberately. I didn't know whether to be pissed beyond belief or repentant. Maybe a bit of both. The phone rang and some chick picked up the phone.
Uh, is Allan there?
Al, it's for you!
Hey Allan, its Justin, are we still good for tomorrow night's show?
Uh, listen, Justin, nothing personal, but we don't need you anymore. All you do is get drunk and whine. You're a drama queen. If you're just gonna show up and be a total faggot about everything then just piss off ok? Good bye.
Was I really that annoying? But that wasn't my main concern. My main concern was how much I don't remember. Was booze really that important to me? That's what my friends were trying to tell me. My friends.