The place was empty now, except for a few loners who stayed in the dark corners of the lounge. Plastic cups and crumpled tickets littered the ground. Dead leaves were blown in, covering tables and chairs.
Strange. They were early.
One couple, the only couple, sat at a table against the velvet wall. They were quietly laughing.
Brian looked away and faced the bartender.
"What can I get you Mr. Slade?" he asked.
"Scotch and soda."
He saw someone approaching. It was Mandy.
"Um, hey." he called the bartender. "Make that two."
"Sure."
"Brian." Mandy said, almost whispering.
"Hi." he responded, trying to sound happy.
"I—uh heard you had a show, so."
"Here's your drinks." the bartender butted in.
"Thanks." Brian took the glasses from his hands eagerly.
He took a sip. "You're a little late."
"Could care less about that. Just wanted to see you, really."
"Well here I am. Not much still."
"Are you with anyone?" she asked, pointing to the second glass of scotch.
"Oh, no, these are both for me. You want a drink? I'll order another one."
"Actually, yeah. I'll have what you're having."
"Hey bartender, give the lady a scotch and soda."
"Coming up."
"So, how was the show?" Mandy started, as soon as she got her drink.
"I thought you didn't care about that." Brian reminded her.
"I couldn't think of anything else to say."
"Well, I gave them what they wanted. Everything but me."
"Somehow, I don't think so." she said, before taking a drink.
"Why is that?"
"Cause you wouldn't be miserable like this. Though this is preferable to an empty shell. Still, maybe you shouldn't have done this show."
"If I hadn't done this, you wouldn't know where to find me."
"But did you want to do this?"
"Would it have made a difference if I did?"
"You look so tired." she said, ignoring his question. "Always doing what you have to. Do what you want for a change. Find someone."
"I don't need anyone." he said, finishing his second glass.
"Are you telling me or are you telling yourself?" she asked. "Look at me, and say it." she said, turning to face him.
He wouldn't look up. He concentrated on the empty glasses in front of him. When he finally turned, she was gone. He took her drink, which she barely touched, and downed it straight. He then fixed his eyes on the stage.
There was a band still playing. And they played with so much energy, despite the lack of audience or the time. Brian looked around for a clock. Nobody seemed to care about time anymore. Unable to find one, he just gave up and decided to give the band a listen.
The lead singer started slowly.
Well I found you
A perfect excuse to be alive
You were walking
Heat in your eyes, heart in your hand
Drop the bottle, drop the glass
Pick up the pieces
Drop the bottle, drop the glass
Pick up the pieces
He dropped on the stage floor and started thrusting his hips up. This was strikingly reminiscent of…of….
Cut me out of you
Deeper and deeper, don't stop till you die
Harder and harder, don't stop till you die
Cut me, he screamed, almost out of breath.
stronger and stronger, don't stop
Then he got on his knees and bent his head, looking like he was singing to the floorboards.
And you passed me
Something inside me died
Sacrificed me
Those Good Mornings meant Good Byes
His body crashed on the floor again.
Drop the bottle, drop the glass
Pick up the pieces
Drop the bottle, drop the glass
Pick up the pieces, he sang, his head dangling up-side down from the stage.
Cut me out of you
Deeper and deeper, don't stop till you die
Harder and harder, don't stop till you die
He rolled around, back and forth.
Deeper and deeper, don't stop till you die
Harder and harder, don't stop till you die
He squirmed violently, as if he was trying to crawl out of his skin.
Cut me
stronger and stronger, don't stop, he screamed again, louder than the last time.
Never apologize
Never explain
There was heavy breathing.
Could he hear him from the stage? No. It was his own breathing.
Brian sat still on his stool, eyes blank. He closed them. There he was, jumping and spreading glitter on his chest. He opened his eyes quickly and darted them to and fro, from the stage to where he sat.
He clapped. Then he left.
"Whoa, wasn't that Brian Slade?" asked the lead singer of the band.
"I think." said the drummer.
Note: I actually own this chapter's song, because I wrote it (surprisingly)! I like to call it "Shards of Glass."