The ghost of a man sits on the dirty, dank floor of the cupboard sized motel room. He picks up a half empty bottle of vodka and takes a long swig, wincing as the liquid burns down his throat. He'd never been much of a drinker before, but being sober was just too much for him to handle right now.
As he clumsily deposits the bottle on the floor, his other hand rises, a crumpled, tear stained photo clutched in his shaky and frail grasp.
The smudged photo depicts three people. A young man with pink lips and lovely wavy brown hair, a genuine smile on his face, not the strained one he had always faked for the press. Ryan. His best friend and someone he loved dearly.
And to the far right another man, taller than the first, hair darker and cheeks flushed a rose pink colour with happiness. This was Brendon. He stared at the photo still, but not at the person he used to be.
He was looking at the girl in the middle of the picture, the centre piece of the photo. Both men had their arms around her shoulders. And in Brendon's eyes she was the most beautiful creature in the universe. This was Philippa. He winced once more as he thought her name.
In this photo she was her old self, hair freshly died, bright and vibrant like her personality. Her skin shone in the bright white light from the camera flash. She'd always had smooth, soft skin that reminded Brendon of porcelain dolls and she was just as delicate and beautiful. Her words rang in his head, the exact words she'd used after their first kiss in high school.
"Brenn, you don't want me. I'm damaged goods. I'm messed up Brenn. Messed up bad."
And then , try as he might to stop it, he remembered his own words.
"I don't care! I love you. I will never let you go, no matter what. I love you. And I'll always be with you." A sob escaped from his lips when he remembered his words once more. "I'll always be with you." Except now he wasn't.
His feeble hand reached a short distance to his right as he dropped the photograph and grabbed a heavily blood stained razor blade, wild need darkening his tear filled brown eyes. He had to be punished. Punished for still being alive. Why hadn't he been taken instead of her? Why? He continued to sob uncontrollably, remembering how he'd once found her doing exactly this to herself, how the lethal object was hers and that her blood and his were mixed everytime he used it, and with that he drew the blade across his wrists.
He didn't wince and his sobs neither intensified nor abated. He just watched the blood flow, apathetic, letting the crimson liquid flow out of his body without realising that this time he'd cut just that little too deep, that there was more blood than usual and that if he didn't stop this now, he probably wouldn't be waking up when he passed out.
His body slipped to the left and his torso slumped onto the grit encrusted floor. As he lay there unknowingly dying, he remember everything, absolutely everything he'd had with her. People say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. His life, the time he had truely started living, had begun with her.
He remembered how she'd breezed into his world like a whirlwind, the beautiful British accent of hers that had driven him crazy. Her voice was beautiful and he'd kill to hear it again, just to hear her speak. But what he wanted more than that, though it was hard to believe that he wanted anything more, was to hear her sing. Her voice was melodic and husky and harsh and soft and sweet and sour all at once. And she could have been huge. A superstar. In fact, she was a superstar to him. She always had been and always would be. All her perfections and imperfections, she was the most wonderful thing ever to exist.
He knew what was coming next, he knew he was going to remember that fateful night when everything went to shit.
"No. Please… No…" He whispers to himself as his eyes cloud over and the memory begins against his own will. He's too weak to stop it.
"Come on Brenn! Put her down we've got a flight to catch!" Ryan called from the cream leather couch. He heard a rustle and a groan through the bedroom door and rolled his eyes. He wanted to get home. Brendon was lucky, his girl had been able to come with them as the support act, (Not that he didn't like Philippa, he thought she was wonderful and he was as close to her as any of his bandmates) but his special lady was back home. Granted, they spoke daily via skype or phone, but it wasn't the same and there was a longing, an aching for each other and to be in each others arms.
"I'll be home soon honey. I promise. Love you Tori." He muttered to himself, holding onto one half of their golden locket. It was perfect symbolism really, him having half a heart on a chain. For they never quite felt as if they were a complete person when they were apart.
"As if half of my heart was missing, you know?" Tori had told Ryan this some time ago and when he presented her with the lockets, many years later she'd cried and thrown her arms around Ryan, amazed that he'd remembered such a short and seemingly insignificant conversation.
Through the bedroom door that the groaning had issued from, Brendon was lying on the bed with Philippa in his arms. As usual they were just holding each other and staring, lost in each others eyes, overwhelmed by the pure passion they felt for each other. Unlike most couples, Brendon and Rosa had retained the 'freshly in love' feeling and it didn't look as if it would fade fast.
"We should really…" Philippa said reluctantly as she glanced at the bedroom door for a nanosecond before her eyes darted back to her lover, unhappy to be away from the face she knew so well for more than a millisecond.
"Yeah…" Brendon muttered in assent, knowing what she was saying without her having to say it, but not truely paying attention to that. His eyes were too busy tracing the contours her cheek bones and the arch of her cute little nose as his fingers traced wistfully over her pink lips. Then, he grabbed her pail cheek and kissed her suddenly, fiercely, fire burning within him and he knew, in that short but passion filled kissed, that she felt it too. They broke away panting as if they'd just had wild, rough, world shattering sex. They looked at each other and sighed again, melancholy filling those sighs at having to disentangle themselves and release one another as they got up off the king sized golden bed spread, grabbed their bags and headed out to meet Ryan and go home.
