"World's Best Daddy."
I really, really, wish that was true. In fact, it couldn't be more wrong. I'm a failure to my kids, and on the day they gave me that mug I knew I'd never live up to being the world's greatest, even then.
I sigh again, suddenly not feeling like coffee anymore. I tip the liquid down the sink to my right, and leave the mug in the sink. I deserve the emptiness, the sadness, the quiet. I've brought it all on myself. There's a box in the front room, and I put in a toy that I found in the kitchen, a toy that was already there squeaking with the weight forced upon it. It's already full of my kid's things, like toys, clothes. I might as well fill it with the memories I don't want.
I walk around the front room first, picking up squeaky toys and toys with flashing lights. I remember when I used to play with the kids and they would think I was magic because I could make almost any toy light up and talk to them. That's all over now. I throw the toys in the box and bring the box with me to the stairs, where I know there are more toys. The toys there all go in the box, then I walk back downstairs. I know I could never face their rooms for a while. The happy pinks, blues, purples and greens would hurt more than anything else could. I would remember painting the room with Jamia, being happy and excited, and I don't know if I could cope with that. But all over the walls down here, there are pictures of my kids. I know it probably seems normal, but it's not. All the pictures of me and Jamia are gone, the space where the frame had been was clean against the dusty wall. But, that was normal for this kind of situation. What wasn't normal was the fact that she had left the pictures of my kids. Maybe that was her last way of finally getting to me - reminding me every day of what I've lost. And I'm not going to take them down; because that will be the only time I ever see them. All I'll know of my kids is what's in my head and what's on the walls. These dirty, dirty, walls hold my memories.
I walk back up the stairs, ignoring the rest of the pictures and try to make it back to my room. If I could close my eyes and make it there, I would. I hate being surrounded by these memories. I want to lock them all up and never see them again, I want to be in control of them. But, I can't close my eyes, so as soon as I make it up the stairs, I lock my eyes on the white door of my bedroom. Of course, when I reach the door the hinges decide they want to stick again. They want me to stay here and be tortured - they want me to go crazy. Everyone wants me to go crazy.
I push all thoughts to the back of my head. I nervously start to search for a lighter in a white wooden nightstand. Knowing that if I don’t take my mind off things everything will come back I won’t be able to take it. I throw the small drawers out of the nightstand aggressively. I fall on the hard ground and use my hands to separate everything that fell out of the nightstand to the light wooden floor. Then I spot it. Something that can save me. My purple lighter is laying there next to a golden box of cigarettes. I get back to my feet and pick the lighter and the cigarettes with one move. I sit at the edge of my bed feeling relief. I carefully take out the lighter in the box. The lighter is followed by a cigarette. I place the straight stick between my two fingers and gently put it in between my lips. The touch of the cigarette on my lips makes me feel somewhat relaxed. I can already smell the smoke even though the stick isn’t yet alight. The lighter shares its heat with the cigarette and I take a deep breath in. Small bits of what got burned out land on my lap and leave small stains of ash. I let the smoke stay in my mouth before I inhale it. I can feel slight burning at the back of my throat. The smoke slowly begins to fill up my lungs and then it seems to block out everything in my head. I fall back on my bed. I continue the pleasurable process of burning and inhaling all the chemicals inside the tobacco.
Without realizing I smoke the whole pack until there’s nothing left. I feel a strong wave of disappointment since it doesn’t feel enough to me. My lips and throat got dry and my lungs feel heavy from all the smoke. I look around my room and I can see clouds of smoke floating above me. Everything in this room will smell of cigarettes but I don’t mind. That just makes the room have my mark on it. I feel a strong need to have coffee again. I live off coffee and cigarettes so it’s unnecessary. I seem to consume more coffee and smoke more poisonous sticks since I’ve lost what I cared the most for. It’s what I cared the most about for 12 years. The band helped me find who I am. Everyone in the band was my family. And I really mean that, there wasn’t one person in that band that I wouldn’t give my life up for. And really, I already did. I risked my whole life on this band turning out well. I left college because I believed that every one of us had the talent and drive to make it. But now it’s over, and I really don’t know what to do with myself. This wasn’t like after “The Black Parade” tour, I couldn’t just call the guys and tell them how much I missed them because they all had new projects to work on. They all still had their lives. Though, I then realise I don’t want to think about this at all. These memories of my old band are painful and still raw. Everything it abandoning me, and staying in this house wasn’t helping.
Chapter 1
Start from the beginning
