A/N: Well, hello y'all...I know it's been a while and I'm sorry for that. There's many reasons for my posting drought but none of them are worth really discussing, so we'll leave it there. This piece came to me this summer and the first person I shared the bare bones skeleton form with was my twin, DevilsDaughter8. She saw this from the very beginning and shockingly we both ended up writing similar lines and such without even noticing it. When she had sent me her latest chapter of Bittersweet to beta-read I had texted her alluding to the similarities, however, she didn't get a full sense of just how similar our pieces of our writings were until she actually read this and it shocked her as well because we had never even discussed what we were writing with one another. It was a mere TWIN BRAIN situation that happened here neither one stole the idea from the other we're just so closely aligned that we have a similar thought process when it comes to Deyna I suppose. And I because I felt bad that she wouldn't have anything new to read I wrote her a short, yet special flashback just cause I know she loves them so. I hope it works within the context of the story...FINGERS CROSSED. Anyways, that's the gist...so if you find similarities to her piece we're sorry it wasn't intended OR planned.
Also, just a heads up this is Deacon first person POV fic centered around him dealing with his addiction after his fifth stay in rehab, and it does not follow the exact story that the writers have laid out for us in regards to Beverly and everything else. Enjoy!
6 months. 26 days. 15 hours. 42 minutes. 51 seconds.
Since my last drop of my alcohol, it was the longest I'd gone without alcohol since I was eightteen. During the past six month period, I was holed up in some inpatient clinic, one that I'm not totally sure how I got to. The memory is a bit hazy, Coleman was there, I think. But all I could remember, all I could think of was the way herhair smelled of coconut, the way her smile lit up her entire face, and the way she nearly crowded me off the bed on more than one account. As detox started though, all those memories were skewed, and every time I closed my eyes all I could see was her tear-stained cheeks, her blazing blue eyes, and the silver band she threw at my feet. Inhaling, I blink and glance up, wondering briefly how I managed to walk myself to the shit hole bar that I was now stood in front of. Pausing for a moment, my fingers curl into my palm, jagged nails scraping against the skin, as I clench my fist.
I had needed to get out of the house because I felt like I couldn't take a complete breath, it was as if I was suffocating; she was everywhere. The knick in the wall, that had showed up after a night of passionate celebration, the turntable, that still had one of her favorite vinyl records in it, and my wrinkled flannel, that I rarely got to wear, still had her scent clinging to the plaid. Although I could tell that she'd been there while I was in rehab, the open and empty dresser drawers giving her away, she left behind pieces of herself that she probably didn't even realize. Or maybe she did. Hell if I know. Maybe it was her intent to leave things behind to torture me. To make sure I suffered as much as she did when I spiraled into an alcohol fueled rage, destroying everything that dared to step foot in my path. Or one of the many times I had stupidly wound up in the emergency unit. Vince and I, we were best friends, but terrible influences on one another. We had drunkenly taken my, rust bucket of a truck, out joy-riding in winter and as we hit a patch of ice, the truck spun out. With my lowered inhibitions I lost control, landing the truck nose first in the ditch on the wrong side of the road.
For the last 26 days, 15 hours, 43 minutes, and 29 seconds I've avoided places like this. I don't count my six month stay in rehab because infusing back into the real world was more complicated and tricky than any of the sponsors would admit to. There are triggers and temptations around every corner. Especially for me, what with her face splashed all over the gossip rags with her new hubby as they dubbed him, her skin glowing, and her stomach swollen and covered by a somewhat baggy shirt. She is maybe even more beautiful than I remembered, but some days like today, seeing her, like that with him, makes my heart ache because it is a harsh reminder of the life I wanted with her. A Life That's Good, complete with our cabin and little ones that are replicas of their mother. Kids. We'd talked about having kids of our own one day and how we'd raise them better than ours did, that I'd never be my Daddy or hers. That dream all but died the day I got the news, that she'd married Theodore Conrad.
I had been about three months into my fifth rehab stay when I received the news. The wedding announcement in black and white glared up at me, shooting bullets into my heart with every word. She wasn't mine anymore, and in that moment, I distinctly recall wanting to check myself out and make my way to the nearest bar. But I didn't. Instead, I cried myself to sleep that night clutching on to a crumpled Polaroid of us. It had been a candid that Vince snapped of us, and forever one of my favorites. Her smile was wide, blue eyes sparkling with life, as I encircled her waist bringing her body flush against myself as I buried my face in the curve of her neck, lips brushing soft kisses there. Our fingers were knotted together tightly with no inclination of being separated unless by force, and of course her shiny silver plated forever bracelet. We weren't forever, no, she married another man. We were over, so over. And I wept for the future we would never have together, now that she and Teddy had a little one of their own on the way. He or she would probably have their Mama's eyes and their Daddy's hair, ten tiny fingers and toes, and no resemblance to me.
Even though that news slapped me in the face and thoroughly gutted me, I stayed for the remaining three months and eventually came to grips with the fact that she'd moved on. Now if I could just get myself to do the same, and move on, but as I was discovering that was easier said than done. Any troubled or untroubled memory with her was triggering. Of course, I know that as an addict you're suppose to avoid triggers and temptations at all costs; I probably know that more than most, considering this last time had been the fifth time I cycled through rehab. This time though, I was determined to master those twelve steps and make them my bitch. But maybe, just maybe not tonight.
Albeit all the hard work and dedication I'd clocked in thus far, I still pushed open the door to that bar. Stepped inside the cloud of smoke and noticed that there were only several patrons taking refuge at this particular watering hole. Assessing my options I sat myself down on one of the ripped barstools right along the bar.
"What can I get ya suga?"
My eyes barely flick up before my lips were responding to the bartender's question. "A shot of Jack, please."
It was something I'd always done since I rolled into town with Beverly in my rusted out Ford, a vehicle I worked my ass off to buy by working on our neighbor's farm. I saved every single penny I could in order to buy that hunk of junk, along with countless packs of guitar strings and picks. When Beverly and I finally tore outta Natchez we didn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of but hell that didn't stop us. After our grandpa died I acquired his most prized possession, a guitar that had more dents and pick scratches in the wood then polished wood, and that was quite literally all the more encouragement we needed. We left. The two of us had come into Nashville with high hopes and larger than life dreams and were just barely scraping by living off tips alone, until I applied for a barkeep position at the newly opened Bluebird Cafe. It was there that Beverly and I would play whenever, and soon enough wherever, we could, and as our gigs began to become a regular occurrence we formed a ritual of sorts. Every time before a scheduled gig we would toss a shot or two back. Bev and I would toast to making it big, glassware clinking together wordlessly vowing that we would always be a duo, a packaged deal. Blood is the thickest bond, Beverly reminded me, almost mockingly, as broke our pact and I ventured out on a tour that ultimately flipped my entire life upside down. Of course, I had told her to come with me, but she refused and instead went back home to rework her dream without me in it as a solo act. Bev has always denied it, but I know Rayna was a huge part of why she left, she'd said it in not so many words. I didn't care though, I was so dazzled by Rayna and her whole world she'd swept me off my feet.
Looking back on it, her Daddy, Lamar Wyatt, never liked me much and sometimes I think, just maybe, that was part of the rush. It was forbidden, we were from different worlds, different spectrums. She was supposed to follow in her sister's footsteps and attend some prestigious Ivy League University, and I was from a troubled blue-collar family that didn't have two pennies to rub together. She wasn't meant to fall in love with music, and dropout of high school at sixteen to follow a path her mother never got to. She was suppose to be a respected member of the Belle Meade country club, but music had changed that whole route for her, and luckily for me too. When she was suppose to be having brunch at the club she'd, instead, be cutting her teeth in smoky honky tonks where I'd have to fight the urge to punch some drunk who felt the need to holler show me your boobs, to her from a stool perched at the bar. It wasn't just the audacity of the guy that barked at Ray, it was the countless men that I'd witnessed treat her just like that, like a piece of meat that was what really set me off.
I remember the first time I had asked her out, outside of our newly forged music partnership, my hands had been shaking so badly as I quietly stumbled through my carefully crafted invitation. Much to my delight she had agreed and although it was outside of our gigs, that night had ended up with both of us sat cross legged in the grass somewhere while I cradled my trusty guitar and she tapped a pen against a journal page, sure, it hadn't been the date I had intended but any extra time with her I cherished. Soon enough, it became a weekly Friday Saturday tradition, and for weeks, on Friday's and Saturday's, I'd wait for her outside of the gates of Belle Meade and we'd head down to the airport. There was this hole in the back fence that we'd stumbled upon one night and from then on we'd sneak through the separated wires of the fence and watch the 747's come in. It had only been about four seconds of entertainment, and the thirty or forty-five minutes in between we'd fill with learning more about the other while simultaneously writing songs, until that one night where things forever changed the course of our relationship. A day that I'll never forget...
Johnny Cash blasted out of the speakers as my truck plowed down the one lane country road the lights and congestion of the city fading away. Out of my peripheral vision I saw Rayna's hand curl around the window crank before she twirled it down, which yielded an instantaneous reaction as her hair blew around obstructing her view of the road before us. We both ignored the bright yellow reflective No Trespassing sign, not for the first time, as my truck barreled around the hole in the fence and tore down the gravel field opposite the line of huge planes.
After I placed the truck in park Rayna wasted no time and hopped out stretching her legs as she admired the view around us. My eyes followed her as she rounded the back of the truck while I dropped the tailgate and pushed myself up onto it. Soon enough, Rayna came and joined me, we easily slipped into conversation waiting on the next plane to come in. The more time we spent sitting there side by side learning an array of things about one another I couldn't help but notice that the pair of frayed cut offs she wore she filled out perfectly. Her long tan legs swayed on the tailgate practically hypnotizing me. God damn, the things I'd like to see those legs wrapped around. All the time we had been spending together outside of our gigs was testing my self-control. Late afternoon faded out as the sun sank in the sky, and the sky was painted with streaks of pinks, purples, and oranges that bled and swirled into the normal blue tint of the sky making the clouds look like pink cotton candy. The all too familiar sound of a plane coming in filled the air and caused Rayna to tip her head back as she admired the plane as it lowered in the sky, bringing with it a rush of air as it descended onto the landing strip. I couldn't take my eyes off her, she truly was a sight and slowly my hand began to jet towards the side of her face, this was it, I was gonna make my move. Almost as soon as the plane had landed sirens rang out over the top of the idling plane engine as it came to a halt on the tarmack.
Pops of reds and blues gleamed around us flickering in our vision as the loud sirens put a an end to our conversation mid-sentence and effectively cutting my advance short. Cursing under my breath and shaking my head I inhaled deeply as the unmistakable smell of peaches wafted in the air between us Rayna's hair skidding over her shoulders as she eyed the cop cars. I watched her jump from the tailgate and gaze directly at the swirling blue and red lights which waltzed across her facial features. Joining her, I hopped off the tailgate paying careful attention to her and noticing that there was something reflecting in her eyes, something that I'd never seen before. Her blue irises shone from the nearly blinding lights on the police cars looking similar to something reminiscent of freedom, as she directed her eyes toward the open field and began skipping off in that direction. Reading into her thoughts, I walked up behind her and latched onto her hips from behind, at the risk of overstepping invisible boundaries we'd set in place in order not to complicate our writing partnership. A giggle erupted out of her at the feeling of my hands bringing her body back against mine. Apparently the risque contact was welcomed, as she curled her fingers around mine and lifted them off her hips only to carefully twine them around her midsection. At the sudden contact, which she'd initiated, she inhaled sharply, the ends of her hair skimming against my forearms and clothed chest as she tipped her head back and said just above the sirens, "we could run...it'd make for a helluva story."
When I'd heard her declaration I shook my head, I knew she was only joking, but I also knew good and well that she was right; we could run for the hills and never look back, but in my experience it was best to just deal with law enforcement head on. Running would ultimately be the wrong move, it would most definitely lead us to more trouble than necessary. Shrugging back into my embrace Rayna beamed as my arms slithered out of her vice grip and curved around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," whispered through coils of copper hair, "I'll get us outta this...I promise." Giving her shoulders a slight squeeze for emphasis I gently released her from my arms and at the sound of car doors slamming I watched as she spun away from me wearily observing the cops.
Tangling her fingers through her hair Rayna inhaled deeply before throwing her slender arms in the air and taking a step backward as the police officers stepped out of the car hands curved over their gun holsters ready to utilize their weapons if need be.
"Evenin' officers what seems to be the trouble?"
"Hands on the car." One officer shouted as he began to approach them.
Compiling with their instructions Deacon curved his palms over the hood of his truck, watching in amusement as Rayna strutted towards the officers with a confidence he'd only witnessed from her when she took the stage.
"Got a light?" Drawled out from between her lips, lips I had yearned to kiss, as she leaned in toward the officer she had directed her question to. Discreetly flaunting her chest in his direction, making her assets more than just a little distracting and oh-so appealing, as immature as it may seem, I couldn't help but want to get more acquainted with that particular body part of hers. Hell, I wanted to explore every single one of her body parts.
Even with my face tilted to the side on the cold metal of the truck I could still clearly hear what Rayna requested from the officer and it caused me to chuckle, which only infuriated the police officer detaining me. Shaking my head I stumbled backward as the officer tugged me off the side of my truck and forcibly steered me toward the back of the police car.
"Wait, no why- why are y'all arrestin' him?" Was her worried inquiry, I just barely heard his response before the cop placed me in the back of the car and slammed the door.
"That's none of your concern ma'am."
"Actually it is my concern, and don't fuckin' call me ma'am." With the sirenes silenced it made it easier to hear the foul mouth on Rayna as she pushed back against the officers desire to detain me and not inform her why.
"Ma-Miss, put your hands behind your back."
"You've gotta be kiddin' me." Watching intently from the backseat I saw her spin around so that her back was facing the officer reluctantly twisting her arms behind her back. I could see the metal slice into her tender skin as the officers cuffed her pulling back on the metal to make sure that they were secure on her wrists. Letting out an exasperated breath I strained against the cuffs catching sight of Rayna sighing as her feet were forced forward by the pressure of the police officer's hand on her back. The police officer's lips were moving and I could just barely make out his words, but I was almost positive that he was reciting the Miranda rights.
"What are you even fuckin' chargin' us with?"
"You have the right in an attorney if you can't afford one, one will be appointed to you." The officer continued as he led her towards the back of the cop car where I was already cuffed and waiting. Opening the door the officer waited there for a moment as Rayna ducked her head and clamored into the backseat next to me. "Do you understand these rights as they've been read to you?"
"Yeah, yeah…I got it." Rayna nodded her head and puffed out her chest as the police officer nodded his head and then slammed the door locking us in the caged back seat.
"You okay?" I asked curiously tipping my head to the side; our eyes meeting between the continuous pops of red and blue.
"Oh yeah, I'm good." Concluded Rayna as she nodded her head almost to reaffirm her own statement
"I'm sorry bout this."
"Don't be, I willingly went along knowin' we were breakin' the law."
I shrugged my shoulders to that sentiment, she was right after all, this had hardly been the first time we snuck through that hole in the fence to watch the planes. "What'd you think they're talking bout?" Nodding her head to the offending officers that were conversing outside of the vehicle I rolled my neck and bit down on my lower lip.
"They're probably discussin' what a girl like you is doin' with the likes of me."
"Pftt shut up!"
"I'm serious."
Our eyes held one another's and Rayna shook her head at me causing the two of us to laugh together at our own antics. Bumping her shoulder against mine Rayna tipped her head to the side her soft hair brushing against me. "So, outlaw ..ya wanna talk about what almost happened back there, ya know before they pulled up."
"Oh, darlin' you mean this?" Leaning in closer to her the gap between us closed rapidly. Her blue eyes feverently ricochet across my facial features before they landed on my lips before slowly trailing back up to my eyes. She inhaled sharply, and my heart thudded quickly as if it was desperate to break out of my chest cavity, this was it.
"Alright y'all we're gonna take ya down to the precinct." Boomed from one of the officers as they both filed into their seats and closed their doors causing us to spring back a part.
"Y'all have the worst timin' ya know that?" Complained Rayna which only caused a deep throaty laugh to rumble out of my mouth and an eye roll from the officers.
To this day, I can't help but laugh at what transpired that night. Lamar had called in a favor and was the reason we got caught and arrested at the airport. Sure, the police let us go without prejudice, however, that one night set off a chain of events that I hadn't foreseen even in my wildest dreams. Business tycoon Lamar Wyatt kicked his sixteen year old daughter out because she wanted to sing country music professionally, and bless Watty White who had been the one to get her that paying gig that changed both of our lives. That one gig was the sole reason Lamar put his foot down he told her no, that she couldn't accept the gig because she lived under his roof, and so she had to abide by his rules. And that was all she needed to hear because she packed one large suitcase and her Mama's guitar and left. I remember how small her voice sounded through the cold plastic of the landline phone. She sniffled and fought back tears as she explained how sorry she was to call me like this, out of the blue, but she hadn't known who else to call. Somehow I'd managed to get her tell me where she was before her time ran out on the payphone she was using and headed to her straight away.
At the time, after Beverly had headed on back to Natchez, I had been crashing at a house filled with bachelor's all trying to make it in music city, and sure I only had a small bedroom off the kitchen, but I had offered to let Rayna stay with me there. Sleeping arrangements were a compromise, for a while she refused to sleep on the mattress while I set up a sleeping bag and camped out on the floor. Much to my dismay she made us take turns sleeping on the floor and days when my back screamed of pain from countless nights on that floor I couldn't fight her on that. Some nights we'd lay in the darkness and just talk, she'd tell me all of her deepest insecurities when it came to her music and I would in turn tell her mine. From then on, our relationship slowly progressed, transitioned into more, almost, without either one of us really noticing or even making some profound statement about our feelings. Of course we'd write songs in which I'd sprinkle my feelings for her into, and I like to think she did the same, hell I know she did the same.
I was her first, her only ever, well until now. And even after all these years, I swear I can still taste a hint of her cotton candy lip gloss which she'd been wearing the day we shared our first kiss. Her innocence and hesitation made me fall for her all the more. When our lips parted I had made some lighthearted jab at her flavored lip gloss musing that it seemed a little immature for a 16 year old. To which she slung back with, well, if you really don't like it don't kiss me again. And just like that she'd called my bluff, I loved it, couldn't get enough of it her kisses were as intoxicating as booze. That first kiss only ignited an addiction in me that I'm not positive I'll ever be totally free of.
Once out on tour with Rayna the alcohol was a common companion, and quickly the one or two shots before a show to calm the nerves, or whatever bullshit I was telling myself that day became 6 or seven. At first, she found it exciting, I think, I mean we'd do a couple shots and then her face would get a little flushed and she'd give me that come-hither grin. And after that all bets were off we'd become a mess of slightly sloppy lips, hands frantically shoving aside unnecessary clothing, dueling tongues, backs slamming against walls, as pads of fingers stroked over slick folds of flesh testing the waters before our bodies fused together and we succumbed to our passion. But it had been, what feels like ages, since those days, even before my six month stint in rehab it'd been a long time since I'd seen that Rayna. It was because of me; I know it was. That's why she stopped drinking before shows like we had always done, that's why she resisted the urge to buy anything alcoholic when we'd be out at dinner. And for the life of me, I can't remember when exactly she stopped enjoying it, and that's probably because I was so wrapped up in my own hurt, my own guilt about Vince.
Shaking the thoughts from my head I smile gratefully to the bartender as she places a foggy shot glass in front of me before lifting the half full bottle of Jack Daniels to the glass pouring it, filling it up right to the brim. She's older, about mid-forties, I'd say and for a moment I wonder if she knows. Ever since I left rehab I feel as if I am wearing a big ol' sign that reads, alcoholic, my father was one too, and I guess he was right; I turned out just like him. I hurt the only woman I've ever really loved, hurt her so bad that she married another man and is pregnant with his child.
Fill the shot glass to the brim
Twist the cap and pour it in
Turn it up and then fill it up again
Staring forward at the ounce of dark brown liquor in front of myself. The dryness in my mouth is replaced now with an excess amount of saliva, it has been 6 months, 26 days, 15 hours, 46 minutes, and 10 seconds since I last tasted the sweet nip that my good buddy JD offers. I was beyond tempting myself. Frankly, I don't know if I was entirely ready for this, to stare the devil right in the face and not give in to his temptation. At the moment, I wouldn't be surprised if someone would have mistaken me for a dog, minus the tongue outstretched and panting as it waits to receive a treat for good behavior. Keeping my sobriety for this long warrants a reward right? One little shot, one little taste wouldn't hurt, no, it couldn't possibly. Reaching out, the rough pad of my index finger traces the smooth circumference of the shot glass. My finger feels moist as I circle the glass which hums a high pitched noise in response, and that's when I realize that there's a bit of liquor residue on the glass. It would be so easy to lick the wetness that has just slightly coated my finger. However, I know myself, and the lack of willpower I have when it comes to alcohol. Sure, we used to be practically inseparable and because of that I lost everything. So instead, I retract my hands wiping them against the denim of my jeans. What on earth was I thinking coming here? Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply thoroughly taking in the aroma of the bar, which reeks of cheap cigars swirled with sweat, blood, and a little bad decision.
Choking back the fumes I gaze absentmindedly at the collection of bottles on the back wall of the bar. The corners on some of the labels are peeling back curling into themselves, and some look as if they haven't been touched in too long. There's a clatter behind me, the sound of a pool cue stick dropping to the wooden floor. Giggling fills the air soon after coming from a lady who had more than her fair share of booze. Being here, in some twisted way, comforts me that is until quarters drop into the jukebox and my voice slithers out of the speakers and across the room, hers wasting no time and chasing close behind. It was one of the last performances we did that I remember clearly. One of the last performances before I went off the rail and drank myself into such a stupor that I didn't even know what day it was, or in what state we were in.
Turn this misery on it's ear
Make a memory disappear
Maybe then I'll switch to beer
Till it reappears
As our song continues to play, I feel as if it's taunting me, smugly standing back and reminding me you had it all, but fucked up and now you got nothing, you are nothing. Tentatively my fingers wrap around the glass, it would be too easy to give in. Too easy to throw away 6 months, 26 days, 15 hours, 49 minutes, and 05 seconds. Lifting the shot off the bar top, I painfully slowly bring it to my lips. Letting the cool glass rest there, just for a moment, as I inhale deeply. The smell nearly burns my nose hairs off, I can't believe how immune I used to be to it. I close my eyes and lower the glass back to the bar top breathing out a stream of long suppressed air.
All I can see is her. Her shoulder length hair curled into perfect ringlets, her lips singing words we had written on one of our trips to Mexico, the microphone the only physical item separating us as her body inched subconsciously or un-subconsciously closer to my own, to this day I'm still not sure which one it was. Filling my lungs with new air I swear, it smells just how it always does-did after sex with her. Licking my lips, my eyes snap open and I find my hands gripping the edge of the bar, holding on for dear life.
"Not your kind of music son?"
"Huh?" Is my eloquent response, the bartender bringing me back down to earth.
"The song."
"Oh, no just-" shaking my head I finally look up at her, I wouldn't dare discuss Rayna with this stranger, wouldn't let her in on the fact that I am the male voice in the song filling the bar. "I-just, uh, this song has a lot of memories for me." I conclude with, praying that she'll drop it and go bother some other patron.
Wish I could hold that girl like I can hold my liquor
I'd rather be with her tonight
No offense to you, bartender
Guess you could say that I'm the king of all pretenders
Thinkin' I can hold that girl
Like I can hold my liquor
If I had only stuck to my 12-step program after that first trip to rehab maybe I'd still have Rayna. But instead I disobeyed the rules, tried to make it all up to Rayna showering her with one epic present, her dream house. Ultimately, sure, I bought it for her but it was more of a token, a beckon of hope for the future. One that without vocalizing said, I believe in us, and that I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, sure, I wasn't down on one knee with a sparkly diamond but my commitment to her was there. If only I would have had the same commitment to my recovery then and hadn't skipped that meeting, letting Vince convince me that I was "cured" and that it'd be totally fine to go with him to that bar. The night had ended with both of us sat behind metal bars, with black eyes and bloodied lips, at the Nashville detention facility. Rayna refused to come in, at whatever God awful hour I had called her, and it wasn't until about noon that I saw her. Almost as soon as the door clicked closed an argument broke out. Rubbing my temple, I had hung my head and let her lay into me, feeling even more ashamed for falling off the wagon. The shame didn't last long though because within a short frame of time I was back to my old tricks, sneaking in drinks whenever I could, and desperately trying to convince her that I could handle it all. Convince her that I wasn't an addict.
That might have been easier had I not convinced Vince to drive us home that one night after being well over-served. With already one DUI under my belt I wasn't suppose to operate a vehicle, let alone be drunk. The terms of my conviction were that I would abstain from the use of alcohol for the duration of a year. I barely lasted 3 months before I was sneaking swigs off my boot flask and stumbling my way through gigs and bars alike. After that night everything was forever changed and it had all been my fault, I made Vince drive. He veered the truck down the road and we were both laughing together as we rehashed the evening's events, the two of us had jumped on stage, successfully stealing the show as we sang several outlaw country classics, terribly, before Vince had some brunette macking on him. Her name was Ca-Cari, Carson...Carmen, or something like that; she had been his friend with benefits, they never were exclusive, but just like me that night tilted her world upside down.
Bright lights reflected painfully in the side mirrors which caused us both to curse out loud. Vince's tongue threw out more expletives which were all directed toward the car that had been tailgating us. I had encouraged him to let the other car pass, he didn't listen. Instead he baited the other driver slowing down to an almost snail's pace, which warranted a flash of headlights in the rearview mirror, and caused Vince to slam his foot down on the accelerator. Lighting up a cigarette, I inhaled deeply gripping the ol' shit handle as Vince flew down the road. The other car backed off then, just for a moment, as I passed the lit cigarette over the middle console to Vince my eyes found the other car riding alongside of us at that point, taunting. Taking the cigarette between his lips Vince inhaled taking a long drag before blowing the smoke out and clouding the cab of the truck momentarily. We drove that way for a while, the vehicles' neck and neck, Vince not giving the other car enough of a chance to pass us. As we continued to speed down the two lane country road the laughter had subsided and there was an intensity in the chilling fall air. A new set of headlights blinded us as an oncoming car barreled down the road, causing the other car in the wrong lane to swerve and sideswipe the truck.
"Fuck," had been the last word that I recall Vince uttering as he used both hands to crank the wheel with the hopes of avoiding a head on collision with the oncoming car. Tires gripped the pavement and squealed in response as he lost all control of the truck. The truck jetted off the side of the road gravel rattling against the underside of the truck as Vince pumped the brake to no avail in an attempt to save us from slamming into a big maple tree. His futile attempts didn't result in the desired outcome though, we instantaneously rammed into the tree. Bark curled upward, metal twisted and crunched around us, glass shattered, and there was a distant screeching of tires as an excruciating pain pelted at me full force. My eyelids blinked rapidly my heartbeat pounding relentlessly in my ears drowning out everything else around me.
Based on what I felt, the entire front of the truck was crunched in pinning my legs to the dash and floorboard. The seat belt had been tight and restricting, binding me to the seat as the exploded airbag completely caged me in place there. It started to get foggy at that point, and I remember blinking several times, trying to clear the fuzziness that has gathered around the corners of my vision but nothing seemed to do the trick. All that surrounded me was black. Everything. My hands reached up and crawled at the seat belt which felt as if it was causing my lungs to collapse and slowly closing my airway. I was boxed in the cab, internally freaking out, "Vince?" My voice had barely whispered out as I attempted to wiggle my arm over to Vince's lifeless body.
Sticky blood clumped my, longer than usual, hair to my forehead, trickling a path down the side of my cheek. Everything hurt, every limb, every muscle, every intake of air. A choked cough rumbled out of my lungs causing my entire body to shudder. My eyelids fluttered then, as it got increasingly harder and harder to keep them open, I had started to fade in and out. The final thing I remember distinctly before I slipped into the darkness was an, urgent, unfamiliar voice. And that car crash had been a fatal one, taking Vince's life. He had been just about an inch or so taller than me which was why he died.
When the truck collided with the tree not only did the front crush in, like an empty soda can, but the roof caved in. Since Vince had been taller, when the roof collapsed the pressure to his skull had been enough to break his spine killing him immediately. The funeral had been a haze; I was day drunk through the wake into the service, and refueled my drunken state as we moved to the processional and burial. Rayna was right by my side, nearly breaking every bone in my hand, from the moment I woke up with a neck brace and a casted foot in that harsh blindingly white hospital until I pushed her away, sometime after Vince's funeral. At first, she gave me my space, but she was never really gone, at least I don't think she was.
The next several years, were spent in a drunken fog and when I was lucid enough to know what was going on sex had been a great form of distraction. She'd beg me mercilessly to let her in; to open up to her about the accident, but instead I used sex as a diversion, and I don't remember her complaining about that, but maybe I never bothered to listen. However, the moment I couldn't maintain an erection long enough to get her off with me ended that diversion, she knew I was finding shelter in a bottle, seeking that to numb the pain. And for a while there, it did until my tolerance had built so high that I needed something more, and that was when I started taking pills. Even though I thought I was fine, and that I was handling my life in a healthy way, she knew, knew what I wasn't ready to admit to anyone, let alone myself, that I was an addict. Saying it out loud, admitting it to myself was next to impossible because that was saying that I had become my father. And from the time I was ten years old, there was nothing else that I had feared in my life more, than becoming just like that piece of shit, poor excuse of a human being. Sure, my first stay in rehab I had gotten up and said, "my name is Deacon and I'm an alcoholic", but even as the words left my tongue I didn't believe them. I didn't have a problem, no, everyone else just didn't know how to drink like I did. Couldn't handle their liquor the way I could. Man, had I been wrong.
Foolishly I'd assumed that after the 72 hour no contact hold was up that she'd be there. If not physically, maybe in a phone call, a letter; but no call came the fifth time around, and not shockingly enough, no letter ever came either. She'd finally decided to quit me, cold turkey style, something I had never been able to do, where booze, pills, and her were concerned, without intervention. She had finally reached the end of her rope. I'd finally pushed her into the arms of another man, one that was more worthy of her. Apology after apology couldn't help me win her back, not this time. She'd heard them all before, and by consistently not keeping my word to her I let her down time and time again, breaking her heart into a million pieces each time I'd free-fall back into that rushing whiskey river. After a series of unanswered letters, I accepted that my words no longer meant anything to her and the final letter I wrote, one I never sent, explained that I understood why she couldn't believe in me anymore, why she lost faith in me. Today, that letter is sealed and tucked somewhere in a drawer that once contained her things and still has the faintest trace of her perfume.
For the past 6 months, 26 days, 15 hours, 51 minutes, and 37 seconds, I have learned to live without alcohol, pills, and if being in this bar is an indicator that is no easy feat, and everyday is a battle against myself. However, breaking my Rayna habit is a whole other beast that I'm not sure I'm strong enough to overcome. How can I see her at our old stomping grounds and not pull her into me, so I can feel her silky smooth skin against mine? Not kiss her lips and taste a hint of raspberries that she'd snuck from the neighbors bush?
I told her someday I'd lay it down
I guess I never got around to that one fast enough
So set me one more up
Rayna waited for me as long as she could, I know she did. She was there all the while waiting, and I just dragged out promise after promise that I never could make good on. It's no real surprise that she gave up waiting on someone whose words she never could fully trust. Twisting the watch around my wrist the face glints against the full shot glass that's patiently awaiting me on the bar top; the hands on the clock slowly tick away, a glaring reminder of all the time I wasted wallowing in a bottle instead of burying myself in her. I'll never hear her voice laced with drowsiness uttering wake up sleepy head, as she nearly crowds me off the bed successfully stealing all the covers from my side. It was all my fault, every fight, every empty bottle and pill prescription, I let an angel slip away; tears chasing down her cheeks as she stepped over my beers and walked out the door. Closing my eyes briefly, I find myself haunted by one of the last lucid memories I have of us before it all goes blank, before it all goes black and there's only flashes of people, of moments.
Laying completely still I will the effects of a seven day binge not to assault me too harshly, the hangover of the century I'm sure is about to tear me apart and I'm gearing up for the battle. Shifting ever so slightly, I am quite surprised to find myself in a bed, and not just any bed...our bed, instead of the normal hard wood floor that I have a tendency to make myself comfortable on. Not making any sudden moves I could feel a body solidly curled against mine. Daring to peek through my eyelashes, I take a deep breath sure that I'm going to find a stranger laying in her spot, however, I am delightfully surprised when I see her auburn hair blazing soft curls down her bare back. What the hell happened last night? I think to myself rubbing my temple I shiver while squinting down at the sheets which were all bunched up around her only providing me with a merger corner to cover my naked lower half. Of course, I think to myself laughing silently, trying to avoid waking her up, she looks just like an angel her lips twitch into a smile and I just watch her, wondering briefly what it is that she's dreaming about.
It takes all of me not to touch her and eventually my willpower falters and I reach forward brushing her hair away from her face. A smile upturns my chapped lips at the mere sight of her like this, so at ease...so peaceful, I've never seen anything more breathtaking. Leaning forward, I can't help myself and brush a featherlight kiss to her shoulder. Rayna stirs beneath my lips mumbling something incoherent but cuddles in closer to me and I just hold her thinking for a brief second that she is the only drug I could ever need. I wonder how I ever thought whiskey and pills were the answer, when her, this...was the answer all along. How could I have been so blind? She is all I could ever need, all I could ever want…how can I convince her that all I want still is our Life That's Good? And I just got lost for a little while, but I'm back now and I'm not going anywhere again, not this time.
"Wake up sleepy head," whispers off my tongue partially because I can't remember the last time I woke up to her naked and in my arms, and I want to savor every minute of it, utilize all the free time she may have for the day.
"Hmpt," is the only verbal response she offers up, however, she hooks her right leg around mine and it's a dead give away that she's more awake than she's letting on. Sure, I can't remember how we ended up here or exactly what happened last night, but she never has to know that.
With whiskey still on my breath, my lips cover hers planting a thorough good morning kiss to her unsuspecting lips. It takes maybe less than a millisecond for her lips to respond to the pressure of mine and return the kiss her hands coming to rest on my cheeks pulling my face closer to herself. When we part breathlessly her eyelids flutter open and blue eyes meet blue eyes and I know she knows, knows I was drunk last night. She gives me a disapproving look that has a hint of disappointment mixed in for added measure, but she never says a word probably afraid that she's already exhausted the subject. Reaching forward, my fingers curl around her hip and I bring her naked body flush against my own.
"Ya know, we'd make cute babies," I say randomly without really thinking of the words spewing from my mouth, about the damage they could cause. It had been something we'd talked about before, before Vince had died, but just this morning watching her reminded me of that, of the family we could have together, the life we could have together.
"Babies?" Her voice cries out seeming almost shocked by the thought.
"Yeah," shrugging my shoulders I opted for dangerously charming and adorable as I propped myself up with my hand and gazed down at her.
"Well, I ain't having your babies till you put a ring on my finger Claybourne...if we're gonna do this thing...we're gonna do it right."
"Is that so?"
"You're damn right," a smile cracks over her lips and by the way her eyes are twinkling I know she's thinking about it too. Thinking about what it would be like for us to have kids, to build a family together, to build a life together.
"Come on, let's start tryin' to make a baby." I plead mischievously peppering her bare shoulders with kisses.
"Oh, no, no, no... I told you, I need a ring before we get into any of this baby makin' business." She reminds as she lightly resists my advances.
"Aw, come on baby...you're killin' me!"
"I am sure you'll get over it."
"Nope," poking out my lower lip I take a play from her handbook and she giggles at me squeezing my cheeks.
"Stop it," leaning forward she places a brief peck to my lips before pulling back and scrunching her nose up. "Go take a shower...you smell like you bathed in cigarettes and stale beer."
"Wanna join?"
"No thanks, I'm good."
"Your loss."
"Whatever you say…" She had responded as I gave her a long sloppy kiss before begrudgingly making my way to the shower. I was almost certain to what I'd find when I emerged from the shower and I was mostly right. Rayna had snatched one of my worn and frayed Johnny Cash t-shirts to wear and then barely peeking out from underneath the hem was a pair of flimsy lacy panties that I had the urge to tear in two. A wave of nausea hit as I walked into the living room, she'd made us brunch and the smell alone made me want to hurl. The thought of eating food made my stomach churn, I could however go for a little hair of the dog, that always seemed to curb a hangover, more booze. I resisted the urge though and plopped myself down on the couch and switched on some football game that I couldn't even pretend to care about.
Carrying in two plates piled high with the perfect collection of breakfast foods, Rayna smiled and took a seat next to me on the couch placing our plates on the coffee table in front of us. "Thank you baby."
"You're welcome," leaning over she kissed my lips and smiled brightly at the minty fresh scent that greeted her. "I know how to take care of my man," she added bumping my shoulder before diving into her brunch.
"You sure do," watching her for a moment I smiled elated that I had been blessed enough to find a woman like her, and to have her still standing by my side after everything. She was right, I needed to put a ring on her damn finger before someone else did.
We ate in silence pretending to care about the game that was progressing on the television before us, but neither of us really were all that interested in the football game. I barely managed to scarf down half of the food on my plate leaning back against the couch was my signal, my white flag. Rayna had pushed herself up off the couch collecting the dishes before taking them back to the kitchen. Rubbing my head, I fought the desire to close my eyes this hangover was going to be hell if I lived to speak of it. I vaguely remember hearing her clamoring around making all sorts of noise before she suddenly appeared in front of the television set holding one of my old guitars. I perked up then, at the sight of her in my t-shirt cradling my guitar holding it upside while she attempted to play it dancing around our living room.
"What are you doing?" Desperately trying to contain my laughter I gazed up at her.
"I'm Deacon Claybourne...guitar slinger."
"You're crazy…." watching her like that as she strummed out nonsense and sang random phrases laughing at herself made my heart beat wildly.
I remember it all so vividly, that was exactly what I had decided I wanted to see and hear everyday for the rest of my life, but I had done fucked up. Instead of going out and buying that engagement ring, that I knew she wanted and had subtly hinted at for months, I went and blew everything up by going to some shit hole bar. It was at this nothing bar where I drank so much that I didn't even remember my own name. And sadly, even then she was there...she saw me at rock bottom and loved me inspite of it. She was always there, in one way or another, and now she's not...she's moved on, without me, and I don't know how to breathe properly anymore. It's just she has always been the one, and now, she's the one that got away all because I held the door open for her. 6 months, 26 days, 15 hours, 54 minutes, and 18 seconds. I internally recite before my eyelids fluttered closed.
Wish I could hold that girl like I can hold my liquor
I'd be in her arms
Not in this bar on one more bender
Guess you could say that I'm the king of all pretenders
Thinkin' I could hold that girl
Like I can hold my liquor
Until the day I die I realize, as I sit in this bar, she'll always be the one regret I can't work through. No matter how hard I try, I won't be able to fully get over her. Rayna was it-is it for me. She was my life, my best friend, my every reason to wake up, it all revolved around her. Whether that meant making her happy, being in her sideshow, or simply just being her confidant. Closing my eyes tightly I will the tears not to fall, not here. Even though it's the place to drown your sorrows, this is the one place I absolutely cannot drown my sorrows at, I've been there done that too many times to count and that's ultimately why she isn't still by my side.
As if it's completely out of my control, my arm reaches forward, my fingers curling around the shot glass. Cradling it carefully, the glassware rests snugly in the curve of my, slightly, trembling palm. As I lift the glass, naturally, my lips part in what could only be described as anticipation. They know what comes next, a smooth liquid burn that slithers across the tongue before scorching the back of the throat, and trickles down until it reaches the belly igniting it. Hell, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to take the shot, because I know the burn that whiskey gives is just about the only thing that can mask the absence of her kiss. Breathing in through my mouth I can almost, just almost taste it.
6 months, 26 days, 15 hours, 57 minutes, and 22 seconds.
Fill the shot glass to the brim
Twist the cap and pour it in
This was the first time I faced my demon head-on, looked it in the eye and, as tempted as I might have been, I laughed in it's face and walked away. For the first time, the shot of Jack Daniels sat on the bar top completely full. I dug deep into my pocket and retrieved a ten dollar bill and dropped it onto the bar next to the full shot.
Later that night, I finished Liquor. A song that, like all the others, was about her, for her.
6 months. 26 days. 16 hours. 00 minutes. 03 seconds.
A/N: The song which is the title of this piece and also the centered bold text throughout this story is "Liquor" by Matt Mason and y'all it is a fucking gem. I've literally had it in my Deyna playlist for the past 4 years just waiting for the perfect scenario to use it and I hope that I did it justice...I hope this all made sense. Reviews, mea the world! (: