My Empire of Dirt

I Hurt Myself Today

~I hurt myself today, just to see if I still feel~

Johnny stood on the balcony of his Los Angeles home, staring across the rolling hills as tears streamed down his face, music softly playing from his stereo.

He fucked up.

Again.

When the after party finally ended, the frontman had finally checked his phone that he had put on silence only to find half a dozen missed calls from Gretchen.

She was in the hospital.

He took the first redeye back to LA to be with her, terrified as to what was wrong, thankfully she was ok...well, physically for the most part.

Gretchen had a miscarriage. They had suspected that she was pregnant- she had missed her period a few times- but neither had bothered getting a pregnancy test to confirm it yet, they wanted to wait until Johnny was home to be there for it.

Vivian's mom, Lizzie told her about Faith. The doctors reassured them that one in three women suffer miscarriages, that it was just a biological fluke, possibly something that ran in her family.

But after a little too long on Google, Johnny confirmed what he had been tearing himself apart for since he he got to the hospital.

Stress and shock can cause miscarriages.

This was his fault.

Everything was his fucking fault.

He couldn't take care of the kid he had and he killed the one he never even got to meet.

Elias and Vivian did the opposite of what they had agreed upon. She was keeping Faith. Not that it bothered Johnny, she needed to be with her mom and Vivian clearly needed her.

Gretchen had been- as always- surprisingly forgiving and understanding (at least that's what she had portrayed) taking his hand in hers as she layed in that hospital bed and told him they would get through it, that it wasn't his fault, that they weren't even together when Faith's conception happened. It would be ok. They would be fine.

No it wouldn't.

'I MURDERED OUR CHILD! I CRAWLED RIGHT BACK TO LILY WHILE YOU WERE MISCARRYING HIM! IT'S NOT OK!' Johnny wanted to scream, but he didn't.

He wanted to throw something or punch someone, he wanted to scream at God or Satan or whoever the fuck was at fault until his throat was raw and he couldn't speak.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

There was no one else to blame but himself.

~I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real~

Him.

Their child wasn't far along enough to be able to discern the gender, but Johnny was positive it was a boy, he felt it in his soul.

He dreamed about his son, about holding him in his arms, teaching him how to walk, to talk, hearing him say dada for the first time, facetiming Gretchen and their baby while he's on tour.

But that wouldn't happen now.

He was dead.

Because Johnny fucked up once again.

Gretchen was able to come home, but the tabloids were able to find out what had happened from a source in the hospital.

His socials were flooded with condolences, his text threads were filled with heart felt messages from people who loved him.