The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome

*Andy’s POV*

I rolled over and tossed the condom, then noticed the damned wound in my hand. “Shit!” I had completely forgotten about it! I frowned.

“Ah, fuck, was it broken? It’s ok, Andy, I have an IUD, I mean it’s not ideal-“

“No, it’s not the condom. I forgot that I, eh…” I was borderline ashamed of the whole thing, but there was no use hiding it. “Last night, I was really upset, eh, that I hadn’t handled things better. So I, um...” I cleared my throat. “I was angry on the bus and destroyed the table, and um, ended up with a nail in my hand. Juliet made me promise that I would go see a doctor.” I glanced at her, worried. I had been a total prima donna. Gwyn was a veterinarian, how would she react to that kind of bullshit?

She started laughing! “Andy, you fucking musicians and your fucking testosterone!” I might have been a little insulted, but I was so relieved, I ended up laughing too. I guess she was right, it was totally stupid. Now we had no table .And I was going to have to pay for it. Dammit.

She took my hand and looked at it. “Well, this may surprise you, but this will not be the first time I’ve taken a musician to the hospital after getting so pissed off about me, they hurt themselves punching furniture.” I gave her a questioning look- she didn’t strike me as a groupie… “Andy, no, it’s not like that. I was dating a guy named Drake.” I noticed that her voice wavered when she said his name, and tucked that away to process later. “His best friend was this insane motherfucker named Z.”

Gwyn got this weird look on her face, like she was remembering something happy and sad at the same time. Clearly loaded memories, I decided to just listen. “Z was a crazy alcoholic, a crazy womanizer, he had a strict 2 week limit on chicks for years, he was a misogynistic asshole and constantly getting in fistfights and just a crazy fucker. He played rhythm guitar in this local alternative band, Racer. I could never really tell if he had a legitimate personality disorder or what. But he was so much fun. He was also Drake’s roommate for a while. It was so weird, though, we really got along, I was the only chick he could tolerate, he would ask me for advice and talk to me about his feelings, I never understood why. But he couldn’t stand that I was loud during sex with Drake. And one time, they got in a fight about it, and he wouldn’t punch Drake, so he punched the fridge, and broke a bunch of his metacarpals!” She shook her head, chuckling softly. “I took him to the ER, where they put him in a sling, gave him some meds, you know.” She frowned, not looking at me.

I knew there was something else. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry, it doesn’t have anything to do with the story. It’s just hard to forget. A while later there was more fighting about the noises I made during sex, and he wrote that I was disgusting on his wall, then assaulted Drake’s other roommate, there was this huge blowout with all of them. Drake and Z made peace later, and Z told Drake he was sorry and he wanted to see me, but I took it really hard, and I didn’t hang out with him again. About a year later, Z shot himself in the head. I still feel bad about it. He wasn’t a good person, but I miss him.” She didn’t cry, she just looked far away.

I burrowed my arm under her and laid her head on my chest. “I’m sorry.” Words were clearly insufficient for such a complicated situation, but they would have to suffice. I put a lock of her black hair behind her ear, and ran my finger around its curve. Her black tunnels didn’t look like wood- I squeezed them, and they were squishy! “That tickles!” She giggled. “They’re latex.”

“Cool!” I squeezed them again, for good measure, making her laugh again. I was glad I could distract her from that kind of pain, since she couldn’t do anything about it. “So, is there even more stuff you want to talk about to try and make yourself sound unappealing, or can I make some calls now?” I gave her my best grin and squeezed her boobs.

Her whole demeanor changed. It was like she shrank, she was scared. I just held her to me, I wouldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to do. She looked up at me, her eyes, that crazy-weird color, boring into mine. I wanted to beg her to come but made myself stay silent this time, and I just returned her gaze. I didn’t know what she was searching for, I hoped she found it in me. After an eternity, she got up on an elbow and kissed me. It was a slow, heated kiss that made my whole chest burn with energy. When she sat up, she looked almost sad. Huhn? “Gwyn?What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Andy. It’s just that, though you are worth dying for, I am afraid of dying. But, yeah, go ahead and make any calls you need to. I need to make some too. Then we can take a shower and go to the hospital, ok?” What the fuck was she talking about? Dying for me? She’s smiling now, so she can’t be that upset. Goddammit I don’t understand women! Should I ask for clarification? Should I not? Fuck!

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good.” I looked over at her, she had started looking through her phone. Her hair was partly in her face, and fell over her smooth shoulders. Her breasts were so round. I didn’t want to get out of bed yet, I wanted to run my hands over her just a little while longer. I was thrilled she was coming on tour, despite her confusing answer, but it can be hard to get private time together like this in that environment. And three years was an awfully long time…

Notes

what's Gwyn talking about? hrmmm....

miss you deeders.

QOTD: ever lost a friend/loved one to suicide?

yes, and they didn't leave a note.

if you are ever feeling suicidal, there are resources available to help you. here is the number for the national suicide prevention lifeline: 1 (800) 273-8255 , here is their website: www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org there are many others- hang in there.