After a drunken one night stand, Eric Carr doesn't remember a thing. He wakes up naked in his apartment but one thing is for sure. The blood he just coughed up isn't a remnant of last night.
This book is in 1991 and will continue to whenever I damn...
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--------------------------- April 22nd, 1991 | --------------------------- 7 : 0 4 A M | ------------------
My eyes slowly open, adjusting to the bright light coming from the living room window as I cover my eyes with my hand.
I fell asleep on the couch again.
I must have cried myself into exhaustion. Who wouldn't if they just found out they have cancer?
... I'm going to die. I've barely lived out my life enough to die.
I haven't seen my family in ages, haven't done everything I wanted to...
If the chemo is successful, I can live it out. But... it's a small chance that it will be successful. Then what?
My friends, my family, they have to watch as I die a slow and painful death to a disease that can barely be treated. As I deteriorate, lose my hair, lose weight, and lose functions, they have to watch me become a shell of my former self and I have to live with the fact that every day could be my last?
It hurts. Hurts so fucking much...I have to tell them. Tell them that...I may not be around much longer. That they will have to find a replacement drummer...Bruce will, he will live on without me, never knowing my feelings, and he'll find someone to love. Someone who also loves him. And I'll have to watch and just smile through the heartbreak.
I can't do that.
Let's just get this over with.
I get dressed in simple clothes, some jeans, a white shirt, and my thick jacket with a fluffy hood, some snow boots that have wool lining, and gloves.
Usually, to calm my nerves I have a drink, but I can't drink before driving. I'm not reckless like Ace was. I lock my door behind myself, chewing on the inside of my cheek before getting to my car, I sit on the leather seat, a tear slipping down my cheek before I wipe it with the back of my hand, coughing into my hand as I start the car.
Traffic was nonexistent. Almost as though it knew my nervousness and decided to work against me to make me early. I was hoping for bad traffic so I could be given time to think, to decide what to say. How I can explain to my bandmates about the death sentence that I've been diagnosed with?
I sit in the parking lot of the recording studio, holding back the tears that are pooling in my eyes. My fingers fidget before I gather the courage to leave my car, the cool chill of the air making goosebumps rise on my neck.
I'm the first here. Coughing hard as I grab a paper towel. I cough into it before looking down, seeing the bright red blood seeping through it. I close my eyes tight, tears falling before I hear the rehearsal door open. I quickly fold the paper towel and throw it away, wiping my tears away and turning to face the door with a fake smile plastered on my face.
"Hey, Paul!" I smile, he looks at me, concerned. "Eric. Were you crying?"
"me...crying? No! No no, I wasn't crying!" I lie through my teeth, sitting down on my drum stool.
