Andy was in a bad place. A very bad place. He would even go as far to call it his own personal hell. Its not that he did't deserve it, in fact, he knew he did. It was that he couldn't take it. He was too weak to accept his karma like a man. He stared out the tour bus window with a blank expression. His hair wasn't good for covering his eyes like this so he kept his head down. He couldn't let anyone meet his eyes. He knew if they did hey would see the dull grey eyes that held no life at all. His pale complexion was slowly turning translucent, blue green veins showing through easily. His yellowing nails were covered in nicotine left over from too many cigarettes lit on far to many stressful nights. He felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. It wasn't that he felt sad, or angry, or upset, he just felt absolutely NOTHING. On the rare days he felt a fleck of emotion it was hardly pleasant. Happiness came in the form of alcohol filled drinks and thin hollow needles. It was a fucked up thing, he knew. This shit had almost killed Nikki, the numbness, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Juliet had taken enough of this. She had packed her things and left. There went the engagement. Andy knew he was a selfish motherfucker, that he had no damn right to feel as empty and dead as he did, but it couldn't be helped. He had money and comfortable surroundings and a brilliant job and somehow he thought That HE, of all people, had a right to feel this way. So he went to seek more needles and more drinks and occasionally a white powder that lingered on his dollar bills. Matt was worried, came by the Black Veil Brides tour bus every chance he could get. He hadn't started staying with them yet, thank god, but he was pretty damn close.
Andy hadn't called his mother in weeks, because he knew if he did, she would be able to tell things were wrong in the way mothers could. She had finally gotten settled down, thee was no drama, and everyone was happy. He wasn't going to rock the boat back home.
At one point Matt got desperate. No, they both got desperate. Andy was desperate to feel and Matt just wanted him to get better.
get better, oh my God, please just get better
He whispered it when he crawled into his best friend's bunk on his own bad nights and pulled off the too tight clothes, to count ribs. Andy wasn't stupid, he knew what it looked like. But truthfully, he never meant to loose weight, it was just with the numbness came the lack of hunger. When the sharp pangs and soft rumbles did come, he could stretch it out for a while and feel something. He should probably feel bad about using his best friend for sex, but at this point their fuckbuddy status was what kept him around the bus more, instead of being in a shady bar somewhere in search of the next hit or drink. He knew Matt didn't mind, but he didn't do it for his own pleasure. He did it because he thought it would help Andy would get better. Or at least stop him from contracting AIDS.
He could tell the rest of the band was worried too. They never let him go out and party alone. Andy knew it was because the suspected the drugs, wanted him to stop. They always sent CC or Ashley, or Jake on a night where those two couldn't go. Jinx avoided the party scene, but he made an effort to go with Andy. The only thing it did was make it harder to get his supply. When he came back sober he could hear the surprised whispers that circulated. When h came back wasted, which was more often, he saw the concerned glances at exactly how buzzed (high) he was. They plotted and planned behind his back, but he didn't care.
He drank and smoked and shot up far to often and he dragged his best friend into bed to find some form of sick pleasure almost always. He knew the inside and out side of Matt far better than he knew himself. The only problem was that he could hear the words that spilled from his swollen lips when he thought Andy was asleep.
please don't do this, don't leave me, oh god, oh please god