A/N: Hello! This was just a random idea that popped into my head, so I had to write about it. Be warned now, this is a very sad story. But I hope you enjoy it. I do not own anything.
He put that bottle to his head
And pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had
To get up off his knees
-Whiskey Lullaby
As the bus wound its way down the paved city road, Ray thought of his fiancée at home in their small apartment. The pair had not seen each other for a year, and they had planned to get married once he came home from Afghanistan.
Just five years ago, Ray Beech and Stella Yamada were mortal enemies back in his native hometown, Mesa, Arizona. She was the headstrong, independent lead guitarist of Lemonade Mouth, a hugely popular band that rivaled his band, Mudslide Crush. But during the beginning of their sophomore year at Mesa High School, the two began to develop feelings for each other. So they dated, shared their first kiss, and told each other 'I love you', by the time they came out of 10th grade.
By the time they graduated, Ray and Stella were deadly serious in their relationship. But, he had signed up to serve in the Army, and a week after graduation, he was drafted to go to Afghanistan. She missed him dearly, and hoped each day that he would come home.
He pulled a picture of her out of his bag, staring at it in wonder, asking himself if she would really be happy to see that he was home. The picture showed Stella and Ray at their graduation party later that evening after the ceremony, sharing a kiss. She looked so beautiful, he thought to himself. He could even recall that night in his head.
"Hey, Mo, could you take a picture?" Stella asked her best friend. She handed Mo the digital camera and wrapped both of her arms around Ray's neck, looking at him with soft hazel brown eyes.
"Yeah, sure," Mo replied, holding the camera up to her face to focus the lens. "Are you guys ready?"
"Yeah," they both said simultaneously. They leaned closer, their lips meeting just as the camera flashed, capturing the moment in time.
"Hey, buddy, you're home!" one of the soldiers shouted to him, breaking him out of his daze.
"Oh, thanks!" he replied, carefully folding and placing the photo into his uniform pocket. Ray stood up and walked down the aisle of the bus, grabbing his bag from the top compartment. But he was stopped by the driver, who was a kind old man.
"You're home, son," he said to Ray, prompting a nod from the blonde-haired soldier.
"Yeah, it's good to be home," Ray replied, gazing out the door to his apartment building.
"Is there a Mrs.?" The driver asked him.
"She's about to be," Ray said giddily. "Thanks."
"No, thank you, son. Thank you," the driver said, tipping his cap. Ray stepped off the bus, looking up at the tall, brick apartment building he lived in. Just four stories up, Stella was in their apartment, probably anticipating his arrival. He walked up the stone steps and walked past the double doors. The familiar scent of cigar smoke and peppermint greeted him as he entered the lobby. Ray kept walking to the elevator, and pressed the up button to the fourth floor. Once he stepped off, his apartment was right in front of him. So, still possessing the key to their apartment, Ray opened the door, greeted by the smell of burning candles.
"It's good to be home," he sighed to himself as he dropped his bag by the door. Wanting to surprise Stella, he gently closed the door to the apartment, locking it carefully. As he walked down the hall, he could hear small laughs coming from their shared bedroom. So when he opened the door to the bedroom, he was in shock.
His girlfriend was in bed with another man. Her eyes widened once they met Ray's electric blue.
"Ray, I can explain," she pleaded, climbing out of the bed.
"No, save it. I don't want to hear it," he said, already walking out of the room. He continued to walk out of the apartment, with Stella following him in a bathrobe, begging for a second chance. He made his way down to the parking lot behind the building and drove off in his car, leaving her in the dust. There was no way she would catch up now; he was gone.
The next few months were hell for the both of them. Ray ended up living in a homeless shelter on the other side of the city. He became an alcoholic, drinking whiskey every day and every night, never stopping. He went to the nearby bar every night, always getting in a drunken fight with another patron. Ray fell into a deep depression, which worried some of his friends down at the homeless shelter. They tried to put him in rehab, but he kept refusing every time they brought it up. He continued drinking into the early winter months, still trying to drink away the memory of Stella.
Then, tragedy struck. One morning in January, two of his friends found him lifeless in his cot, holding an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his left hand and a ripped piece of paper with scribbled writing on his chest. The note read six simple words:
I'll love her until I die.
His funeral was held at the local Mesa Protestant Cemetery, where all of his friends and family were gathered. Stella was also invited, standing next to the American flag covered coffin as the pastor read the sermon. Nobody, especially Stella, would've ever thought he would die from alcohol poisoning.
The minutemen's shots rang into the air, making her jump slightly. He was buried underneath a willow tree, which was the only one in Mesa. After the funeral, she flew back to Los Angeles and continued to live in her apartment.
Then she began to drink nonstop. She continuously went out on dates with complete strangers, and ended up sleeping with them. This would happen almost every night. But she couldn't get rid of the memories she shared with Ray. Stella kept throwing the men out of the apartment, drunk and frustrated. She always kept a bottle of Jack Daniels on the dresser, and even drank it from the bottle itself.
More tragedy struck. Her neighbors found her dead in her bathtub, holding onto the exact same picture that Ray had in his pocket the day he came home. A bottle of whiskey lay on the tiles next to the bathtub, and a sharp knife was found at her feet, with everyone believing that she cut herself while in a drunken depression. She couldn't take it anymore; she couldn't get rid of his memory, so Stella figured it was the only way out.
In Mesa, she was buried right next to Ray, under the willow tree. Mo, Charlie, Olivia, Wen, and even Scott attended her funeral, mourning the loss of their best friend and bandmate. They all left flowers for her, leaving her to rest in peace.
Some say, that during spring nights, you could see their souls haunting their gravesites. But, what they really couldn't believe, was that if you listened closely enough, you could hear angels singing a lullaby. A whiskey lullaby.
We laid her next to him
Beneath the willow
While the angels sang
A whiskey lullaby
Such a sad story. I'm sorry I had to kill off Ray and Stella. But I hope you enjoyed this story. Thanks-Channy321