Painted Lady {h.s}

blitzkrieg bop

tw: drug use, violence

{"They're all revved up and ready to go
They're forming in a straight line"}

★ HARRY ★

August 2nd
1997

"I'm going to get a drink." I brush past Lorelai quickly, my feet racing for the door.

I can feel every bit of my heart breaking off, but I can't show Lorelai how broken I am. I have to escape, no matter how much I don't want to leave.

"Harry?!" Her desperate voice calls out to me, breaking me down even more.

I can feel the lump growing in my throat, but I force it back down. I reach the door and throw it open, staring into the empty hallway. I turn back for just a second, staring at Lorelai's broken expression with watery eyes. My head drops to my chest just as the first tear falls, my feet carrying me out into the hallway.

I hear the door slam in my exit as I trudge my way down the hallway. My head and heart hurt with how many emotions I'm experiencing all at once. It's all too much, and I need it to stop.

My hand slams down onto the elevator button, but it takes too long. I need to get out now. I leave the row of elevators, heading straight to the stairs. I push open the heavy steel door, the sound of it closing behind me echoes throughout the entire stairwell. My head is incredibly dizzy, so I hold onto the railing for support as I descend the multiple flights of stairs.

I can feel my cheeks being coated in my tears, but that's the least of my worries. All I know is that I can't let the rest of the band see me like this. They'll judge me until the end of time, and I'll be ruined. I just have to make it through the lobby without them seeing me. Make it out onto the street and finally be free from the stares and pity.

I push through the steel door on the bottom floor, the quiet ambient music flowing through my eardrums. I keep my head low as I walk past the bar, heading straight for the glass doors.

A weight falls off my chest when I reach them, pushing through into the dark night. The streets are practically empty, only a few strangers littering the street. I trust my gut and turn left, walking past a multitude of small shops and restaurants. I know that on our drive here we passed by a bar not too far down the road. My feet stomp against the concrete as I walk the empty streets, the cold air slapping me in the face and freezing my lungs with every breath.

I spot the bar in the distance, and my feet automatically pick up their pace. My skin can practically sense that I am getting closer, itching with every step I take.

Fuck, I have a problem.

As soon as I reach the door to the bar, I throw it open, making more of an entrance than I probably should have. The bar is practically dead, only a few older men sitting passed out at the bar top. There's a group of younger men in the back booth, whose eyes snap to me as soon as I walk in.

I walk down the small steps into the main area, walking straight to the bar and ignoring the stares from the guys in the back. I plant myself at one of the many open bar stools, the bartender walking over to help me. He's an older gentleman, really selling the ambience in this place.

"What can I get for you?" His deep voice scratches.

"Your strongest scotch, neat." I mutter quietly.

He quickly grabs a glass and a bottle from the top shelf, pouring out a small amount and sliding the glass towards me. I take the glass into my hands and knock back the full contents, slamming the glass back down onto the counter.