Busted and Blue
Chapter 2: Throwing Shit Around Won't Get You Anywhere
Chapter Track: I'll Be Good - Jaymes Young
The concert begins quicker than I would have liked it to, with people buzzing around me and music blasting in my ears. Even once everything is up and running, the anxiety never leaves me- or the people around me, for that matter. Apparently there's a lot more going on behind the scenes than I would've realized. Then again, a concert is a lot like a play- at least is is in my mind. I've been a theater kid since I was eight or nine years old, and it has a lot to do with Craig, actually. But, I don't really wanna talk about that right now; it was a huge part of my life, something that I don't do anymore.
If you couldn't tell, it's a bit of a sore spot.
But, thankfully, the concert seems to be going pretty well. The band doesn't lip sync yet, which is always a plus. And I've learned that Kenny actually has a pretty good voice, when he sings backup anyway. But the one thing I haven't been able to take my eyes off is Craig. He looks almost... Magical. Like there's nowhere else in the world he was meant to be, like he was born to be on stage. And he totally was. When we were growing up, he was always behind the curtain, never wanting to be seen. He was usually stage crew in our school productions, but I think he really did it to hang out more with me.
And I'm not tooting my own horn or anything like that. I did the same thing, joining sports like baseball or basketball just so I would have an excuse for being at the practices and stuff. I was good enough in basketball, but Jesus, I sucked at baseball. I've broken so many bones playing baseball cause I'd always get hit with the ball or fall trying to catch the ball, and I was always benched once we got to high school. It never mattered, though, cause I knew I'd be spending time with Craig. I guess that's why I didn't really do much my first semester of college; it was my first year ever without Craig doing all the things with me. And I couldn't even talk to him.
The next song snaps me out of my thoughts and brings my attention back to the stage, the slow plucks of an unseen acoustic guitar making the audience go silent. It's a slower song, and none of the other band members seem to be moving or doing anything yet; this is solely Craig. A light shines warmly on him from the row of hundreds of lights on the ceiling above him, highlighting his position on the side of the stage closest to me. The buckles and studs on his leather jacket shine like diamonds, and his gray eyes are almost glowing. He tucks his bass under his arm and positions it so its resting on his back, taking the microphone into both hands before he starts to sing.
It makes all the breath go from my lungs, and it feels like my heart stops.
"I thought I saw the devil, this morning," Craig croons, his voice echoing out over the near-silent arena before him as his eyes fall closed. His face remains blank, but the emotion in his voice is clear: he wrote this song. "Looking in the mirror- drop of rum on my tongue. With a warning.. To help me see myself clearer."
I can feel a lump welling in my throat as his voice falls over my ears, my eyes already starting to sting with tears. I know what this is about. I know exactly what he's saying.
"I never meant to start a fire.. I never meant to make you bleed.. I'll be a better man today." His voice is immaculate, polished and perfect as it blankets the entire concert hall. "I'll be good, I'll be good. And I'll love the world like I should.. Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good. For all of the times.. That I never could.
"My past has tasted bitter, for years now. So I wield an iron fist, grace is just weakness- or so I've been told. I've been cold, I've been merciless. But the blood on my hands, scares me to death. Maybe I'm waking up, today..
"I'll be good, I'll be good. And I'll love the world like I should. I'll be good, I'll be good.. For all of the light that I shut out, for all of the innocent things that I doubt. For all of the bruises I've caused and the tears.. For all of the things that I've done... All these years!
"Yeah for all of the sparks that I've stomped out, for all of the perfect things that I doubt.. I'll be good, I'll be good. And I'll love the world like i should. I'll be good, I'll be good- for all of the times.. I never could.."
I stand up suddenly, nearly knocking over my folding chair and spilling the drink beside my feet. Token calls after me as I turn on my heel, my nails digging into the palms of my hands as I feel my chest constrict. Craig's haunting voice chases me as I push through people, trying to get out. I need to get out. I need to find a bathroom, or a green room, or… or anything. I can't be in this fucking arena anymore.
Finally, I burst out a stage door into a fenced off square of parking lot, beside the dumpsters. My breath is ragged as I pull my hands through my hair, hoping to god no one finds me out here. I can't take this. I can't do this. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. This was a terrible idea, this was the worst idea I've ever had in my entire life. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle seeing Craig again. I can feel the panic rising in my chest, bubbling up like black tar and rooting me in my place. I feel like a chicken without a head, pacing in little circles as I try my hardest to get my breathing under control.
That song was about me. He wrote a goddamn song about me. More precisely, about me leaving. About how he felt like he drove me away, about how he feels responsible. I wrap my arms around my middle, crouching on the balls of my feet against the side of the building and hanging my head between my knees. When we were kids, he'd get himself into trouble all the time at school. Like, a lot. It wasn't rare to see him out in front of the counselor's office. Whenever I'd see him out there, I'd ask him why he couldn't be good. Why couldn't he just be a good kid..? I'm starting to see spots around the corners of my vision, my chest painfully tight as my breath comes to me in gasps. We used to talk with walkie-talkies before we had phones, and that's how we'd sign off. He'd always try to assure me that he wouldn't get in trouble, that he'd be good.
I can still hear his eleven year old voice in my ear, like he was right beside me. Like this is all still happening to us. "I'll be good tomorrow. Don't worry. Night, Tweek, over and out."
Craig wrote a song about me.
Craig wrote a song about how I left.
Craig wrote a song about how much I hurt him when I left.
Craig fucking performed a song about how much I hurt him when I left him, when I left everyone.
Craig fucking thinks it's all his fault.
I beat my fists against the side of my head, squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head, muttering under my breath. I can't breathe. I can't think. The air around me pulses and the arena thumps with sound, though I can't make anything out anymore.
Craig still thinks about me. Craig still cares about me.
I'm spiraling, and I totally know it. I'm having a panic attack; the worst one I've had in a while, actually. There's nothing I can do to help myself. There's no one I can go to, no one who would care enough to help me. The only person who would is on stage right now, singing about how much of an asshole I am.
I need to go. I need to get out of here. I shake my head between my knees, unable to move.
Okay. I need to stop. I need to concentrate on.. On something. Anything. How cold it is. How the cold air seeps into my sweater and sinks into my skin, how the breeze chills through my bones and numbs my fingers. How I wish I would've grabbed my jacket, how useful my favorite pair of gloves would be right now. Anything. Anything other than this.
I don't know how much time passes before I'm able to stand up. I force myself to breathe, pulling the frigid air into my lungs. More time passes, and I'm shivering so badly I can barely pull the stage door open. A gust of warm air greets me once I'm back inside, and the music around me has changed back to its regular upbeat tune. Slowly, I find my way back to Token, apologizing and making up an excuse about being too hot. He eyes me suspiciously but says nothing, clapping and cheering as the song ends.
Jesus. I haven't let myself get that bad in a while. I've had to deal with things like that since I was a kid, so I've gotten pretty okay at spotting the signs and helping myself. This time, though, it came on so quickly. I've never spiraled like that.
Then again, i always had Craig to help me through those episodes as a kid.
It was hard for me to learn to live without Craig. He was a big part of my life for a long time- maybe too long. It was rare to see one of us without the other, like we were a matching pair. Maybe we were too close, I don't know. But it really sucked, for a long time. It's like I had to learn how to live again; I had to learn to live on my own, without Craig having anything to do with me.
This is all so crazy. Knowing that Craig still thinks about me is absolutely insane. And that's coming from me! I've been the resident crazy kid my whole life! I just.. I can hardly believe it. It's been so long, and I was always torn about how I wanted Craig to treat my absence. I was always split right down the middle, my mind going around and around in circles arguing with myself about it. On one hand, I wanted him to move on. I wanted him to blow right past me and forget, to find someone else to be happy with. To be happy without relying so heavily on that someone, I wanted him to learn to live on his own. It's better for him that way, more healthy. But, on the other hand, I never wanted him to forget me. I wanted him to miss me. I wanted him to walk around town and see all the places we used to hang out and feel sad. As selfish as it is, I wanted him to never stop loving me like I never stopped loving him. I know how horrible that is but... I just can't let go of him.
Not yet.
The concert ends fairly quickly after my freak out, the crowd screaming and yelling and chanting as the band runs off the stage- thankfully, on the other side. Token turns to me with a smile so bright it could combat the stage lighting, quirking an eyebrow at me expectantly.
"Well?" He asks excitedly, clapping his hands together as people start to swarm around us once more. "What did you think?"
"Jeez, T-Token, what can I say..?" I start quietly, rubbing the back of my neck. Of course I loved it. Of course I loved seeing my friends on stage, doing what they love and being happy. And the music wasn't half bad either. "It was totally a-amazing, like n-nothing I've ever seen." I finish, wringing my fingers together.
"Awesome!" Token exclaims, jumping into an explanation of their after-concert rituals. Kenny came up with it about a year into their touring rounds, when they were still performing covers in bars and comedy clubs. The whole crew heads back to the busses or the hotel for a round of drinks, and they celebrate with a party for a job well done. Apparently, the band does this pretty much after every show, but the first night is usually the best. If the show goes off without a hitch, Token treats them all to the party; he buys out the club nearby for the night and let's everyone go crazy. Naturally, Token invites me along, saying that I must be good luck or something. The first night hasn't gone so well in weeks. And since I can't think of a good reason to get myself out of it, I agree to tag along, if only for a little while.
We finish everything up at the venue, including the mini meet-and-greet after the show and getting all the proper arrangements for tomorrow's shows. It moves too quickly, and I find myself scurrying around Token like a chicken without a head to get it all done. Then we make our way to the hotel down the street in the busses, which is a production in and of itself; a lot of fans wait after the show for the band to come out, and it took nearly a half hour for security to get them all in line so no one would get hurt.
When we finally get to the bar I decide something: I want to get drunk. I want to get so drunk that I forget about everything. About this job, about my stupid parents, about this band, about stupid Craig and his stupid beautiful song and his stupid everything. Everything has to go. I don't care if I have work tomorrow- everyone else here does too, and they all seem to have the same thing on their minds. Tugging nervously on the hem of my sweater I walk up to the bar and order my favorite drink, a White Russian; they taste like chocolate milk, so I can toss them back quickly, but the vodka in them always gets me. The music around me is pulsing and the lights are flashing as the bartender passes me my drink, and the rest of the crew files in through the front doors of the hotel bar.
"I haven't seen one of those bad boys in years," A voice says from beside me, making me jump a bit. I'm met with a gap-toothed smile and a pair of warm blue eyes, Kenny McCormick's arms stretched expectantly towards me. A soft laugh falls from my lips and I lean forward in my seat to hug him, squeezing him against my chest. Out of everyone else, I'm least dread-filled to see Kenny, and Stan was a close second. I feel like Kenny would get my situation best, that he'd be the last person to make fun of me for it because he lived like I had to for most of his life. He's dressed well, but casually. His jeans are dark and rip-free, and his brown Vans sneakers are new. He's wearing a worn out jean jacket, with iron-on patches lovingly sewn on all over his back. "Still like White Russians, huh? Never could get you hooked on anything else."
"Shut up, Kenny. You know I've always hated the taste of that stuff. " I say, gesturing to the beer in his hand as he hops onto the barstool beside me. I let go of a shaky breath before taking a long sip, earning a quirked eyebrow from Kenny. He stares for a moment before taking a sip from his own drink, raising the bottle to his lips.
"So, you know I gotta ask," He starts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and waving around the bottle as he speaks. "What the hell happened to you, dude? You totally dropped off the face of the earth, no one could find you. Then you suddenly show up here with Token, saying nothing to any of us.. Are you okay?" He lowers his voice at the last few words, his eyes boring holes into my own. I sigh, twisting my body to gently set down the glass on the bar behind me.
"Kenny.. I-I don't really like talking about it.." I say, swallowing thickly. Talking brings up memories, and memories bring up feelings. Very unwanted feelings, actually. "I'll tell you about it e-eventually, but n-not right now.. I'm okay, n-now at least." Kenny says nothing for a while, trying to process what I'd just told him.
"And Craig..?" He asks softly, scratching the back of his neck. I purse my lips, looking shamefully down at my lap.
"H-Haven't even seen him yet." I mutter, glancing back up at him. Kenny's eyes widen slightly upon hearing this and he stares at me for another long while before nodding slowly, pulling a deep breath in through his nose and blowing out through his lips. I feel a knot unwind deep inside me, and I'm able to relax a bit more. Kenny's always had a way with people, especially crazy people; and since we come from similar households, there was always this weirdly unspoken bond between us.
"Alright then, Tweekers. If you say so." The blonde says, holding up his beer in a toast. I roll my eyes, at both the gesture and the nickname. "Why don't we get you out here, on the floor? You were always the best drunk dancer, and you look like you could use it tonight." I stare at him for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Maybe it's a good idea; I did say that I wanted to forget about everything...
"Fine. Throw whatever you can at me, McCormick. I can take it." At this, Kenny's face splits into an impish smile and he orders us another round of drinks as I polish off my own. I've always been a bit of a lightweight, so by the end of this drink alone I'm feeling a bit better about the situation. I start to feel warm and fuzzy, the edges of my mind starting to blur.
Kenny passes me drink after drink, laughing and telling me stories about the band; save the stories about Craig, which I've asked him to leave out. I hate it here. It's new, and I feel like I don't know anyone, and I feel like I'm alone. But being with Kenny for a little while has made me remember what it's like to have a friend- a real friend. Everyone I've met recently are superficial, and I feel like I can't trust them. I never opened up much to them. But with the people I grew up with... It's like putting on your favorite sweater after washing it for the first time in a while. And Kenny is so animated and fun, it makes me feel like I'm seventeen again, before all this shitty stuff happened. Within about a half hour, at least I think it's a half hour, I can't really tell anymore, Kenny has me properly drunk.
I'm on the dance floor suddenly, and I'm swaying to the beat with my arms above my head. The whole club pulses around me to the beat of some techno song, the lights flashing and wavering and changing color. The crowd moves by me in a sea of unfamiliar faces and voices, the patrons all varying levels of drunk; Kenny and I seem to be in the high-middle of the drunk scale at the moment. Kenny always had a better tolerance than me, but he was doing way harder shots. This doesn't seem to be going too bad. I'm actually starting to enjoy myself. Then someone shouts my name and I'm greeted by a bunch of my other friends from South Park- Token and Stan seem to have gathered a majority of them from around the club to say hi. The only ones missing are Kyle, Cartman and Craig.
I feel like I need to be drunker.
I smile, but it feels stretched and forced. Stan catches me when I stumble, holding me up on his arm. I laugh and dig the heel of my hand into my eye, pushing up my glasses. "Hah, s-sorry.. I don't.. I-I wasn't expecting.." I trail off, not really making any sense. Though, it seems like the guys are a little drunk themselves. Stan laughs loudly and pulls me into a tight bear-hug, and I can smell whiskey on his breath.
"Don't worry about it," He says warmly as he lets me go, passing me onto the next person. Clyde appears beside him, looking more drunk than anyone here.
"Tweek, you sly bastard," He slurs, pulling me under his arm and digging his knuckles into my skull. I wrench myself out of the noogie and catch him when he stumbles, and we both laugh a little too loud and for a little too long. Clyde was always pretty good with handling me too; he was almost like a nicer version of Craig. They were really close. "You've been avoiding meee~"
"M-Maybe.." I mutter, slinging an arm around his shoulders. We tap glasses and then I'm on the dance floor again, this time surrounded by my friends. For a split second I could swear I'm back in South Park, in Token's basement on a Friday night. I stumble against the people around me, laughing as I sway my hips in time with Wendy's. Another round of drinks passes by us on a platter and when I take some it sloshes onto my jeans, making me curse before I tip it back.
I'm suddenly off the dance floor, my feet moving on their own accord towards the bar. I don't like whatever I have in my hand- it looks like tequila. I hate tequila. It makes me want to strip naked. Leaning heavily against the bar I order another White Russian, letting my eyes fall closed as I bob my head to the music.
..I feel like someone's staring at me. Squinting, I warily turn around, trying to get my vision to focus enough for me to properly look through the crowd. When I finally see, I wish I hadn't ever even looked.
I see Craig staring at me from across the room- his expression unreadable, his eyes dark, and his lips pressed into a thin line. I feel all the blood drain out of my face, and my stomach drops to my feet. Maybe I shouldn't have had so much to drink. Craig is right next to me suddenly, but I'm not sure which of us moved. The floor feels like jelly, my whole body trembling as I finally get a good look at him.
He's never been more amazing.
He's saying something. I'm watching his lips move, but I don't know what he's saying. I feel dumb and bloated, and my mind is moving too slow to make sense of anything. I press my hand to my forehead and open my mouth to reply to him when he throws his drink into my face, stunning me enough that I fall flat on my ass in the middle of the bar.
It feels like everything stops as Craig strides away angrily, throwing aside his cup as he shoves out of the bar. I want to get up, I want to chase him, but I can't get up. I twist my ankle when I try, hissing in pain as I sink back onto the floor. Tears sting at my eyes, but I'm not sure if it's from the pain. I pull my knees to my chest and rock back and forth for a moment, the lump in my throat welling bigger and bigger.
Angry, I shove myself off the floor and stride outside, looking around dumbly. But he's gone. I knew he'd be gone. He had no reason to wait. I want to go to my room. I don't want to be here anymore.
I realize quickly that I don't know how to get to my room. Finally, I let the tears spill over my cheeks and I pace around outside the entrance, hugging my arms around myself as I plop myself down on the sidewalk. The air outside stings my face and chills me to the bone, the drink all over me making me feel sticky and cold.
This was a bad idea. It seems that I'm pretty good at making those lately. I just feel heavy and sick instead of warm and airy, not to mention the fact that I just ruined everything I might have had with Craig.
So I cry.
I sit out in front of the hotel, alone and cold, and cry my eyes out. I haven't actually done this in a while, not since I first left home. I rock slightly as I sob into my knees, my mind replaying the whole situation. I never thought he'd be.. Mad. That mad, at least. He's never been that mad before, not at me. His face was all red, and it looked like he was going to cry. God, I almost made Craig cry. I sniff hard and dig my hands into my eyes, whining in the back of my throat. I feel like I'm the worst person alive; it's so hard to make Craig cry...
Someone walks out of the hotel and sits down beside me, sighing. "Hey, Tweek, it's okay." Kenny's voice makes me look up in surprise, and I wipe my nose clumsily on my sleeve before I answer. Kenny cringes at the sight.
"N-No, it's not.." I mumble, my voice squeaky and my words strung together. I inhale sharply, my chest heaving. I start to ramble, pulling my damp sweater away from my body over and over again as I speak. "I-I-I ruined it.. Whatever we had- o-or, used have.. to have.. I f-fucked it all up! I-I avoided h-him.. And h-he was so.. Angry! Ke-Kenny, he was angry.. A-at me! He never... He never got angry a-at me.. I'm his.. I'm who.. Jesus, I-i fucked everything up! I mu-made him c-cry, Kenny.." Kenny inches slightly closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders, his expression soft. Feeling alone and sad and drunk, I let it happen, wrapping my arms around his chest and burying my face in his shoulder.
I was never very good at making friends, and Kenny was the only exception to that rule. He was always really open and extroverted, and he kind of forced me into submission. Now, I'm glad he did stick around, that he tried harder than anyone else had. With Kenny, I feel less alone.
He sits quietly with me until i stop crying, rocking me back and forth as I sniffle. This must look absolutely pathetic. A skinny, bug-eyed freak sitting drunk off his ass and crying on the side of a busy Denver road, rocking back and forth as he rambles to a Good Samaritan who happened to find him.
"Okay, Tweek, I think this little pity party is over. You'll freeze if you sit out here any longer." Kenny says quietly, holding a hand out to help me up. I let him pull me to my feet, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting my head fall onto his shoulder as he walks me back inside. I didn't realize how cold and sticky I was until I started walking, and it makes my eyes well with tears all over again. Kenny grabs me a key card from the front desk as he signs me into my room, helping me upstairs. He offers to help me to bed but I refuse, pushing him out the door and reminding him that he has a party to return to.
"A-And tell Token that I-I'm sorry I left," I mumble, leaning against the door as he leaves. Kenny offers me a big smile and a pat on the shoulder, ruffling my hair.
"Don't worry about it, Tweekers. They won't mind. Just get a good nights sleep, okay?" I nod, softly clicking the door shut behind him. I stare at it for a moment, swaying slightly against the doorjamb.
I can't fucking believe what just happened. I don't know how long I'd been sitting on the sidewalk, but it must've been at least an hour or so because I can feel the drinks slowly but surely wearing off. I still feel drunk, but my mind is in a little bit less of a fog. God, my head hurts. And my eyes are all swollen and puffy from crying so much. That must've been a show. I scoff at myself and slog off towards the king sized bed in the center of the room, collapsing onto it immediately. My sweater sticks to my chest and smells like a mix between Jack Daniels and stale sweat, making my nose wrinkle in disgust. Instead of showering, I peel off my dirty clothes and cast them to the floor, curling up into the fluffy sheets.
This sucks. This whole situation sucks. The whole last five years of my life have sucked, so why did I think this would be any different..? Things never work out for me, I should've figured that out by now. I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to fall asleep, drifting off to the distant pulsing music from the club downstairs.
Maybe tomorrow will be a little better; at least, I hope it will. I might actually have to tell Token that it isn't working out, which sucks on so many levels. Then again, what hasn't sucked lately?