"So... did you ask him already?"
"No, I have not asked him yet."
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Lucy, why?"
"Because," I mumbled with a sigh, "Taime already talked to me about it. He said th-"
"I thought you just said you didn't ask him about it?"
"I didn't; he brought it up himself. He said that he feels bad, but he can't keep helping you guys. He likes you guys being around and all, but he's already got a lot going on lately," I said quietly, watching my father talk to his friends.
We were having a fairly big party for our small-ish house; there were probably thirty people, my boyfriend and I included. Taime was finally being social again- after the last tour, he was quiet, and he almost seemed angry. Over what, he would never tell, but I could sense it.
"We would just need his help to-"
"I'm sorry, babe, but he said no. I can't change his mind."
"You can't even talk to him?"
"No; he used that tone of 'I've made up my mind,' and I don't fuck with him when he's like that."
"Okay, but was that when he was acting all weird when he got back from that one tour? Because-"
"Bret!" I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest, carefully holding my drink to avoid spilling it.
"What?"
"Are you even listening? It doesn't matter the circumstance. He can't help you anymore. He believes in you; he truly feels that you guys can do this on your own. Prove him right."
"Well, I would like to do that, but in order to prove anything, I needed him to put in a good word with a couple of promoters."
"Can't you do that yourself? I mean, make a good impression on them and they-"
"No, Lucy. I can't touch those guys; they're higher up than Kevin Lyman or the rest of the guys working Warped- or anything else we've done for that matter. We need someone to pull a string or two, and Taime would be the best one to do it; he's been around long enough to be a fair judge of us doing something this big."
"Babe, you want a headlining tour, go after it, but I can't keep asking my dad for favors like this. I've already asked for more help than I care to admit, but I do it because I love you, and I want to see you succeed. Now you guys have had some experience; you've made some pretty decent waves. You have to start pulling your own strings, otherwise, you're the puppet," I said, reaching out to brush an eyelash off of his cheek, only for him to lean away.
Well that... hurt?
"What's going on with you lately?" I asked.
"Nothing," he muttered, "I'm just... nothing."
"You need to get it together," I growled lowly, growing tired of his sudden mood swings.
"I have it together," he hissed through gritted teeth, looking over his sunglasses at me. "Let's just get out of here."
"But, Bret-"
"Come on," he said impatiently, walking towards the door.
"No, we just got here ten minutes ago," I pointed out.
"I don't care."
"Bret Von Dehl, if you have any hope of me changing his mind, you will get your skinny ass back here and let me think of what I can try to do."
"He won't change his mind," he said frustratedly, habitually fluffing out his hair as he turned around. "You already said that."
"No, he probably won't, but I can ask him for advice on how you guys should go about this yourselves. That's the next best thing- and if he thinks it was his idea, he might make a few comments to the right people. That's all I can try to do, alright?"
Quietly, he slumped his shoulders, rolling his eyes as he sighed.
"Fine. I'm gonna," he gestured vaguely, "go get a drink, I guess," he mumbled, shuffling off to the kitchen.
'Jesus, that boy is going to make me crazy,' I thought, shaking my head as I looked around for my dad.
"Taime," I called out, spotting him smoking a cigarette in the backyard.
"Lucy!" he mocked, smiling as I walked over. "What's up, kid?"
"Bret."
"Oh?"
"Yeah... I told him that he needs to start doing things by himself and, uh, he's a little bitter."
"Look, you know I feel bad, but I can't juggle having to deal with taking care of my band and his. I just have a lot -"
"No, no, I get it, trust me. I told him that I would ask you for any little pointers you can give to help; you won't be doing anything, just giving advice on how he should go about all of this stuff."
"'Stuff 'as in?"
"He wants to get a Relapse Symphony headline tour going, so they need promoter attention and what not. I figured you might be able to tell me how to get in touch with someone, or something like that," I said with a shrug.
"I mean, sure I guess. Hey! What's in that cup?" he asked me.
"Sprite, why?"
"Give," he commanded, wiggling his fingers as he took the cup from me and tasted it. "Sprite. Good."
"Taime, I'm nineteen; leave me be."
"Yeah, you're nineteen, not twenty-one."
"Point being?"
"You're not legally allowed to drink."
"Like you never drank when you were underage!"
"I did, but not when there were a shit ton of people at my house."
"Although you have a point, I'm irritated with it."
"You'll live... Besides, it looks like your boyfriend is doing all of the drinking for you," he noted, nodding toward the house. "Didn't take long."
"Oh my god," I groaned, quickly heading into the house, where Bret was busy trying to climb onto the stair banister.
A handful of other drunk visitors had gathered around the bottom of the stairs, cheering him on as he tried to keep his balance.
"Bret Von Dehl! Get down from there!" I yelled, marching up the stairs.
"Baby! I'm glad you're here," he slurred, more or less falling over the banister and onto me. Luckily he still had a grip on the railing, otherwise, we'd be going down.
"Okay, that's enough. We're leaving. Move! Clear out," I shouted, angrily heading for the door, Bret hanging on my shoulder as I headed for the door.
°°°°°°
"So what if I'm bein' a pain in the ass?" he snapped, leaning against the kitchen counter.
"Not just a pain in the ass, but an asshole! You live for being mean to me lately, don't you?"
"The fuck are you talkin' about, Lucy?!"
"Really? You've already forgotten when we got in the car and you started name calling? Fuck you."
"Now look who's bein' mean!"
"You called me a bitch when I tried to help you get into the car, and when I told you to stop playing with the radio, you freaked out and said that I was being a cunt."
"Well, what were you doing?"
"Because it's always me," I muttered, rolling my eyes and walking out of the room.
"Maybe it is!"
"Shut the fuck up, Bret," I yelled back at him, slamming the door to our room.
I dropped down on our bed, hoping that he would just pass out on the couch and forget everything. It was weird; lately, he had been different, meaner. Something had changed in him, and it was changing everything in me.
I was tired of feeling like shit again. Meeting Bret was what had made me feel better before, but now, there seemed to be some form of resentment between us. He was acting like a leech, sucking away my happiness- that he had once given me- and now he was slowly pulling at the seams of my life.
After a few minutes of thinking, I heard the door fly open, hitting against the wall behind it.
As soon as I took one look at Bret, I knew that the fight was about to begin; the color swirled in his hazel-green eyes, which were locked on me, and I could tell by his white-knuckle grip on the bottle of Jim Beam in his hand that he was angry about something.
"Can never jus' help me out, can you?" he asked, trying to focus his blurry eyes.
"I have done nothing but help you, Bret," I snapped with a sigh.
"You never support me," he went on, acting like I had never spoken a word. "When we got together, you were all about me, 'n my band 'n my art, but now," he threw his free hand up, "now, I don't know what the fuck is going on."
"What the hell are you talking about? I have done nothing but support you. I'm still all about you and your art, but you're acting like a-"
"Like a what?!"
"Like a goddamn leech! You always need something from my dad or someone else. You need to start doing things on your own! That's what I've been trying to tell you," I cried.
"Fuck you! I just need the extra help with all of the shit I have to deal with."
"You know what, I can't deal with you." I shook my head, leaning against our bed post.
"Why, because I'm right?"
"No, because you're drunk as hell, and you're being dramatic! I don't deserve this. Don't treat me like I'm garbage!"
"Then don't fucking act like it- ever think of that?! Your treatment reflects you."
My eyes widened in surprise as shock washed over me. I didn't really know why I was surprised; he was treating me like shit lately anyway, but hearing him say it- more or less admitting to it was worse.
"I hate you," I mumbled, trying not to cry. "I'm not gonna take anymore of this," I whispered, a single tear spilling.
"Then maybe you should get the fuck out," he screamed.
"Maybe I should!" I screamed back, backing up a few steps when he leaned forward.
"Good!"
Next thing I knew, he was pitching the bottle of whiskey at me, and he narrowly missed my face by what must have been two inches; as the bottle struck the wall, it shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces. The shards littered the carpet and the amber liquid slashed and dripped down the wall and the back of my legs.
"Lucy!"
I shot up, chills running down my spine as Archie leaned over me, his blue eyes wide with concern.
"A-Archie?" I croaked, barely being able to focus my eyes on him.
"Yeah, baby, it's me." He pulled me to his chest, and I found myself clinging to his shirt for dear life, almost afraid to let go.
"It's okay; it was just a bad dream," he soothed, stroking my hair as he held me. "I'm here, and I will never let anything happen to you. I promise," he murmured.
"It was so real- like I was there again," I whispered shakily, still seeing the bottle shatter in front of my face when I closed my eyes.
I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I was so freaked out from that dream; I knew everything that was happening, but the one thing I didn't know was where the bottle would go.
When it had first happened in real life, I had that dream a few times, but usually the bottle ended up actually hitting me and slicing my face to ribbons when it broke. As time went on, it landed farther from me until the dream stopped, but seeing him must have brought it back.
"Breathe, Lucy. Just focus on my voice, okay? That's all you need to worry about right now. Just listen," he said softly, trying to calm me down as I sobbed. "Think about my funny accent," he said quietly, laughing softly at himself.
I felt fucking ridiculous that I was crying over something like that, but being that I was sick and loaded with cough medicine, I was like a helpless child right now.
He continued to talk to me, mumbling sweet things and telling me about his plans for us, which, unfortunately, I couldn't hear most of over my own ragged breathing, but eventually, I locked on to a calming, rhythmic sound.
We laid back, me still holding on to him, and I listened to his heartbeat, somehow finding it more soothing than his voice. It was steady and strong, and that alone made me slowly feel like I was coming back to reality.
"That's my girl," he whispered, noticing that I had calmed down. He kissed the top of my head and I sighed, loosening my grip on his shirt. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he assured, to which I merely responded by nodding.