Gabrielle Magliano

Intro to Creative Writing

Professor Oates

February 4, 2009

Shotgun Romance

I've often wondered, what's it like to be a rock star? Do they party every night after their shows, bringing random girls back to their dressing rooms? Do they have a plethora of groupies to call in every city? Maybe they abide strongly by the "sex, drugs, and rock n' roll" lifestyle made famous by some obnoxious eighties hair band. Whatever it was, I had pondered it for the longest time. I was so positive in all my time spent thinking about it, that I had it down to a science. No questions asked; I knew how a rock star lived. They all probably had the desire to find a busty blonde at the end of every show, there was no way any average woman would pass with one of them. It had to be near impossible. There was no way that any rock star could be with an average person. They probably didn't even have average friends, which is why I found it so hard to believe that one of them, could get involved with someone as average as I had been! There was no way I would have believed that a rock star, mister guitar god himself, would prove to be the one to sweep me off my feet. But he had, and proved me wrong he did.

I remember clear as day, the night he walked into the bar. He was six foot two inches of pure sex while I stood at a measly five foot three behind the bar serving drinks. He caught my eye immediately. It wasn't his brown disheveled hair covered in a fedora cap that caught my eye, or his slightly sunken in brown eyes, or even the four similarly dressed men that stood around him. No, it was none of that. It was his damn smirk. He wore a smirk on his face that told the bar and all of its occupants that he was better than them. That damn smirk was directed at me. He was covered in head to toe in what the epitome of a rock star should look like. Skinny torn jeans covered his long legs and a black button up shirt hid his torso. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing every inch of his colorfully inked and toned forearms. He had high cheekbones and thin lips, and his nose sparkled with the faintest of nose rings. His deep brown eyes were smudged in kohl black eyeliner, every woman's most essential tool for a makeover. Plain and simple; this man was gorgeous.

I remember him standing in front of me, placing his long, calloused, inked fingers on the bar while sliding into one of the barstools. He ordered a shot of Jack Daniels and a beer. The first of many for the two of us; me and my rock star. His friends had dispersed throughout the bar but he remained fixated in the same stool in front of me. My eyes couldn't help but gaze over him throughout the night, as if they had a mind of their own. Every time I saw him his eyes were staring at some part of my body, most noticeably the gap of exposed flesh between the hem on my black halter top and waistband of my low rise jeans. At that point I had caught his eye and began walking over to him, a smirk of my own plastered to my face. He grinned back, showing his slightly yellowed teeth; this man was a smoker. Oh, he was a rock star indeed, and he was my rock star. I smiled back, closing the gap between us, leaving only the bar in my way. His eyes roamed up and down, stopping to rest on my face. Without words spoken we had gained the keys to each others hearts. It was our own shotgun romance.

Our relationship moved fast, almost too fast, but we wanted it that way. I had given up my job at the bar in a matter of a month, becoming the personal barmaid of one, Synyster Gates; or as I knew him, Brian Haner. My parents thought I was crazy; his parents absolutely adored me in every sense of the word. Apparently we were crazy to fall in love so fast, and at such a young age, but at the age of 25 there was nothing juvenile about our romance. We were real, the Barbie and Ken of the rock n' roll world; the Sid and Nancy of our generation. We did anything and everything, and we did it in excess. He brought me on tour with his band which quickly threw me into the spiral that was his world. He was a guitar god, worshiped by the masses, but at the end of the night after the lights went out his god like presence evaporated and he was no longer Synyster Gates. He was Brian, the man that stole my heart with a single shot of Jack Daniels. I had become the epitome of the rock star's girlfriend. Teenage girls all over the world envied me. Some of them wanted to be me and I'm sure there were a few that desperately wanted Brian and I to break up. We knew better than anyone that we weren't breaking up anytime soon, and those few girls that wanted me out of the rock n' roll scene would have to suffer in silence.

We looked at everyday as an adventure of sorts, and we took every night as an opportunity to party. Countless nights were spent at parties where we took everything but the alcohol for granted. We threw money around like it was confetti on New Years Eve, we just didn't care. It was around this time that we all started to notice things getting a little out of control. Not just Brian and I, but the rest of his band and their girlfriends; everyone but their drummer Jimmy. He had a real taste for living his life in pure excess, and it seemed like no one was going to be able to stop him. It all started around the time the band released their third album and the money began flowing like wine. At this point small plastic bags, credit cards and wads of cash began making regular appearances at all the parties; compliments of Jimmy. While we tried our hardest to steer clear of all things drug related, but sometimes one of us would slip; more so Brian than I. The money was our most prevalent feature, and since I was the epitome of the rock star's girlfriend, I was handsomely rewarded with a large diamond ring and beautiful white dress. The celebration consisted of more alcohol than you could get your hands on and, for nostalgia, a few bottles of Jack Daniels. As the night wore on small plastic bags began roaming around the room, seeming unnoticed by those friends and family members that saw nothing more than the happy couple. In one short year I had gone from the perfect rock star girlfriend to the epitome of the rock star wife.

We spent days on our own, just too wrapped up in each other to care about anything else. We were both seeing the world for the low, low price of nothing. Everything was paid for by some kind of management or record company; all we had to do was enjoy the ride. All Brian had to do was live his dream. There were days we spent doing nothing. We would stay at home tangled up in each other on the couch, watching TV or reading, it was as if the rest of the world didn't exist. It was times like this where people could possible believe we were a "normal couple." But somewhere in the back of my mind I knew the shit would hit the fan, it was only a matter of time. I refused to believe it for as long as possible. It was on most quiet days that we would be interrupted by the shrewd sound of the doorbell, or a loud rapping at the front door. Brian knew who it was and so did I, and as soon as one of us would get up to open the door the house would be filled with the sounds of his band mates, carrying cases of beer and towing their wives or girlfriends behind them. We were one big family, we ate together, drank together, and sometimes got high together.

When was it that our little family began to rip at the seams? I couldn't put my finger on the exact date, but I could tell you how it started. It was the day Jimmy brought a bag of small white pills into the house. I found it funny how everything seemed to be white, the purest of colors, while we were anything but pure. I didn't think much of it at that point, it wasn't the first time we had tried something new, and I knew it wouldn't be the last. If we were going for what we strived for, it was everything we wanted in the name of that small white pill. I watched as Brian chased one down with a beer, a small smile on his face as he saw me look down at the one that Jimmy had handed to me not moments ago. I looked from the pill to the people sitting around the room, and finally to my petite blonde friend Valary who was sitting next to me. Her motions were somewhat similar to mine, as she looked from the pill to her tall, muscular husband Matt who was sitting next to Brian. I slowly shook my head and handed the pill back to Jimmy, and watched as Valary did the same. I remember Brian frowning at me, and all I could do at that moment was mouth the words "I'm sorry" across the room and watch as his face lit up in a brilliant smile as I took the beer that was offered to me.

I don't remember how long the pills lasted, but the other girls and I did our best to stay away from them. I slowly found myself drawing an invisible line of defeat, Brian and the pills were on one side and I was on the other. It was only a matter of time before one of us reached that line, and ultimately crossed it. I didn't have to wait long. I didn't expect to hear what I did when I answered my phone, but Matt was on the other end crying for me to come home. It was so difficult to picture a six foot tall man, who was covered in tattoos from head to toe crying, but he was; and that was what scared me most at that moment. All that was said on his end was "you have to come home." I had never driven that fast in my life, but my foot seemed glued to the gas pedal. I turned so fast into the driveway that I left skid marks on the street, but all that mattered was getting home. I had practically thrown the front door off its hinges, not giving it a second thought as I ran into the living room. Brian was sitting on the couch surrounded by his friends; he was shaking and sweating, in a visible fit of hysteria.

Matt was sitting in the chair in the corner, tears still spilling from his eyes, and Valary was sitting with him.

"What happened?" I whispered.

"He took too many pills," Valary answered, placing her hand on my shoulder. "And he did a line."

"Oh my god!"

I could feel my eyes cloud over in anger and the heat rise in my cheeks as I stormed back over to the couch, pushing past the three remaining men in my way. I knelt down in front of him and placed my hands on his shaking thighs, trying my hardest to get his attention. His head slowly came up and his hazel eyes, glazed over with drugs, briefly focused on mine before he spaced back out again.

"Brian, please Brian look at me." I said, just loud enough for me and him to hear.

He kept shaking, only placing his sweat drenched head on my bare shoulder. I looked around at his friend's; all these tough rock star's had looks of pure panic on their faces. I caught Jimmy's eye briefly, my husband's supposed best friend, and watched as he grinned at me like the Cheshire Cat.

"This is entirely your fault," I growled, staring up at him. "You and those damned drugs you insist on carting everywhere!"

"How is it my fault?" He whispered back.

"You brought those stupid white pills into my house! You're his best friend Jimmy and now look at him! He's hysterical!"

"See, that's my point." He chuckled.

"What point?" I shouted, pulling Brian closer.

"My point is that hysteria is impossible without an audience, panicking by yourself is the same as laughing alone in an empty room. You feel really silly."

I couldn't believe him, or what he was saying. He used the pills as a joke, a joke to see how far he could push someone until they finally cracked.

"Get out of my house."

"What?"

"Get out of my house!" I screamed.

I waited for the slam of the door before the tears that were lining the inside of my eyes spilled over onto my cheeks.

"Someone call an ambulance." One of his friends said, and it was that moment that chose to remind me that we weren't alone in the house. It wasn't just me and Brian like I had thought it was.

I could hear one of the guys on the phone, Matt and Valary in the corner crying, the screech of tires from in front of the house. Then there was us, silently crumbling apart, like cookie crumbs falling from a child's hands. I was holding my husband as he silently fell apart, until the EMT tried to pry me away from him. I watched in a haze as they wheeled him out of the house on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. I watched as neighbors watched on in horror, some whispering to each other, others ushering their small children into the house so they wouldn't have to watch the horrific scene unfolding in front of their eyes. My husband was that horrific scene. I quickly handed the keys to my car over to Matt, and sat shotgun next to him while he drove at breakneck speed behind the ambulance. I felt like we were racing the clock, a drag race even. My car and the ambulance against the deadly tick and tock of the clock. That clock, the time it would take us to get to the hospital, could make or break the five lives in the car, but more importantly the man lying in the back of the ambulance.

I had never felt the clock move so slow before. We raced into the emergency room behind Brian, watching silently as they wheeled him through the double doors and into one of the rooms. My husband's life was in God's hands, and I could only hope that after all we had done that God was kind enough to give him a second chance. The silence in the waiting room was deadly, almost too much to bear. The slow click and tick of the clock mixed with the pacing of shoes against the worn out tile floor were the only sounds we heard for hours. I was starting to fear the worst, and somehow I had almost prepared myself for this. It was at this point that I remembered my invisible line of defeat, and how we had finally crossed it. I was hopeless, and despite that I was sitting with four of my closest friends, I felt more alone than ever. Until the doors swung open and a doctor walked out.

He looked between Valary and me, and then quickly asked which one of us was Mrs. Haner. I stood up so quickly I thought I was going to fall over, but felt Matt wrap an arm around my waist as he stood also. The doctor took his sweet time giving us the play by play of the procedure, when all I wanted to know was if my husband was alive or not.

"Is Brian alright?" I asked, finally.

"He was quite intoxicated Mrs. Haner, he had an excessive amount of drugs in him, but we were able to flush them from his system," The doctor said, slowly, as if we wouldn't be able to completely understand him. "He's stable and sleeping right now, he should be fine in a few days."

I quickly thanked the doctor after finding out that we would be able to visit him, and headed towards the elevators to make my way to the third floor. Once I was standing outside his room, I found myself too scared to turn the knob on the door.

"You go first," Johnny, the short bass player said, nudging me forward. "We'll wait for you so take your time."

I took a deep breath and opened the door slowly, stepping inside and letting it fall shut behind me with a soft thud. The only sound now was the slow and steady beeping of the heart monitor and the monotone drip of the IV. I sat down in the chair next to the bed and took Brian's pale hand in mine, slowly running my thumb over the top of it. I had never been much for religion, but I knew I had to thank God in some way, shape or form, for keeping him alive. I knew that our lives would change considerably after today, that the band would most likely go on some sort of a hiatus until they sorted everything out, and I knew we would all do it together. I was prepared for all of that, prepared for some sort of rehab, but I knew it wouldn't be that easy.

"Samantha?"

I looked over at the bed and saw Brian's beautiful hazel eyes blink open and try and focus on the room around him.

"Hey babe." I smiled back at him, holding his hand tighter than before.

He grinned and gripped my hand, looking around the stark white room with confusion etched all over his charming face.

"What the hell am I doing in the hospital?"

"You uh, you took a few pills and did a line of coke."

I tried hard to fight back the tears that where threatening to fall at any given moment, and succeeded only with the distraction of Brian's voice.

"So, Jimmy came over then right?"

"You don't remember all the guys being at the house?"

"I remember Matt and Val coming over with Johnny and Zacky to talk about putting Jimmy in rehab."

"Then can I ask why you took the pills if you wanted to put him in rehab?"

"See, that's the thing, I don't remember taking them. I remember asking for aspirin because all of Zack's yapping was making my head spin."

"Who gave you the aspirin?" I asked, almost fearful of the answer.

"Jimmy did I think."

It was then that I remembered what he said to me in the house that afternoon. Something about hysteria and an audience; Jimmy wanted to watch Brian have a fit and then watch me freak out over it. He did this for kicks. I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of the door opening and Val rushing into the room. She started whispering in my ear at lightening speed, so low that only I could hear her.

"Oh my god."

"What's wrong Sam?"

I looked at Brian with the saddest expression, and he could tell something was definitely wrong. I followed Val out of the room and into the hallway where everyone was just as panic stricken as I was. Johnny and Zacky looked scared beyond belief and Matt was crying again.

Jimmy had killed himself. A shotgun romance.