Crawl

The music was blaring and angst-ridden. Jed's ala mansion place looked a little less than a hurricane-torn area. The feeling of euphoria mixed with a bit of anxiety filled the room. People in rave clothes came filing in and out. Some were building up their own private conversations in the corners of the room, laughing quite loud, just trying to get a social reputation or maybe it's just the work of alcohol. Either reason, the whole 'euphoria' of this party was making my head ache.

I've been sitting by my lonesome self again in one of the less populated areas of the room. I shifted in my seat, trying to get into a more comfortable position. And in the process, I spilled some beer on the floor. Goddamned bourbon, I've been fucking holding this can for about an hour or so. I looked down at the spilled content then onto the can. I shook it a bit, then more of the content spilled on the floor and some on my shoes. Shit! Clumsy. I placed the goddamn can down in the corner so no one could accidentally spill it. It wasn't even half empty. Well, I've never been at good terms with alcohol anyway. Ben seems to have this obsession with it though. He says it serves as some sort of an escape from whatever problem he has. "'Escape' my ass." I said quite loud. Good thing nobody heard me. Dammit, I tend to do that more often nowadays. I have my own 'escapes', as Ben would like to call it. But mine works 10 times better. It's 10 times more expensive as well but then, fuck, it's very much worth it. It's probably more dangerous though, and the hangover's pretty devastating itself. Hell, I can't compare. I haven't really tried getting into alcohol that much. Well, I tried having a drinking spree with some friends once, but I didn't like it a tinge. I remembered throwing up from the pub all the way to the house. Shit, I thought I was going to die. I had a pretty major hangover the following day, but that's nothing to what I felt after distancing myself from the drugs for about a week. I felt like I was falling apart, like as if I wanted to end it all. I don't want to call myself addicted to it. I'm not that keen anymore into having it, but then my body and my mind sort of unconsciously developed this dependency on it.

Addiction, Dependency... what the fuck, it's all the same. I feel like I fucking needed it now. That's probably the main reason I'm here. Jed invited me to this party. Yeah, he sure does throw one a hell of a party but heck, I'm not your party-kind of guy. I've never been in any way. I've been to countless of parties but I just stay the hell out of the crowded areas. I fucking hate crowds more than anything else.

Just then, a girl with jet black hair and pale, pale skin sat down beside me on the couch. She seemed like one of those anti-social gothic chicks, wearing knee-clad boots and weird accessories that looked like Celtic crosses and black clothes, black make-up, and everything. It was an opportunity to start up a conversation about the realm of the unknown... well; she looked like she was into witchcraft and all.

I opened my mouth to speak when she smiles at someone coming her way, "Come here baby...," she said rather sleazily. Then she pulled this guy from out of nowhere and started kissing him. I rolled my eyes. The floor suddenly caught my attention. I could distinctly hear soft moans coming from the couple beside me. This was so fucking embarrassing. No one seemed to notice them though. I looked around the room and I counted at least 5 couples making out and practically going down each other's throats. It's sickening.

Sure I've gone intimate with some people but I don't make out in public. Not that I had any choice anyway. If the press caught me doing that to someone, then it's an instant headline. Then I'll be bombarded with stupid questions for one whole week, month even. Then out of this world rumors would start spreading. Then the whole fetish tongue in cheek fete would destroy me again. Goddamned media. Why can't they just leave us the fuck alone with our own fucking businesses and fuck themselves. There was a tinge of anger in my eyes and the way I gripped my hands on the chair's arm made my anger even more evident. I just knew it from the few odd stares I received from a group of people passing by. That or maybe it was the couple who's getting pretty intimate beside me.

I stood up from my former position. It was good to know my feet haven't numbed off from sitting for about an hour or so. I stretched my hands and yawned. Great, the ultimate signs of boredom. I felt a kick on the back of my leg. I looked back at the couple. They've completely occupied the whole couch. Then, by impulse I guess, I got the half-empty beer can I was holding a while ago and poured its contents on them. They immediately stopped and I received annoyed and angry stares from them. "Why don't you just fucking get a room." I replied and stormed out of that place.

I can't help but sigh at the beautiful beach scenario. I was in the back porch, which faced the sea. Away from all the noise and the ironic merrymaking. Away from stupid bourbon cans and pale, cheekily sardonic females clad in fake Gothic looks. No one was there except of course for myself. Finally, peace and quiet. There was a long bench located in the farthest right of the porch. I approached it quietly and sat myself down. Why do I keep on doing this? I know moments like these would only bring back unwanted memories. A cool ocean breeze suddenly passes me by... yeah, very timely. I felt like I was in one of those stupid soaps on TV. Speaking of soaps, I'm fucking hooked to one... Neighbors. It's not that I really like it. I started off watching it just for the sheer fun of laughing at it, but then, I don't know but it got me hooked in some strange way.

I sighed again. Fuck, I really should stop doing that. I'm starting to annoy myself. Two tall torches on either sides of the porch lit up the place. Real cool. Jed gets all these ideas from flying to Ibiza. I'm not sure if the 'party-capital of the world' did sport such torches, but they were cool anyway. It was somewhat cold and I was starting to wish I had my jacket with me. I tried rubbing my arms, like as if that would help. I looked down on them. It's like as if they're not a part of my body. Like as if those arms weren't mine. They had small black dots on it, most probably from the syringe. I didn't notice them until now.

I just remembered, I've been going around town wearing tees because they never seem to get out of fashion. But really, Ben or Chris could've noticed these marks or if worse, my parents. I retraced the events. So far, I haven't seen my parents for about 2 months or so. I'm planning to keep it that way until I do something with these marks. I could easily wear long-sleeved shirts but then it'll be too obvious. He started towards me, then putting the empty glass down on the bench he reached into the pocket of his black corduroy pants and dug out a smoke. He motioned the cigarette box in front of me, casually asking if I wanted one. I shook my head and tried to direct my gaze into a distant part of the ocean. "Pretty huh?" he managed while still having the cigarette stuck to his mouth. I watched as he flicked on his lighter and lighted the cigarette. Immediately small lines of the almost translucent smoke rose from it, circling around him for a while before being completely blown away by the ocean breeze. He gave me this odd look. "You're obviously not yourself today." He stated as he sat down on the empty space on the bench. I answered with a short sniffle in a mocking sort of way. He took a long drag, before releasing the smoke. Again, I turned to another direction. I wonder why people kill themselves through smoking. I expected him to say something, but he didn't. It was fine by me. I wasn't asking for his company anyway. I just wanted to be alone.

"So, you came here for the smack?" his question came from out of nowhere. I was actually beginning to forget about it. And from the tone of his voice, he didn't seem too hesitant about blurting it out loud. I mean, for me, drugs and all is somewhat like a sensitive matter. I figured, he's so used to them that it becomes almost too casual for him. I wondered if he ever got put to jail for drug trafficking. I guess not, not with his goddamn money. He'd easily bail himself out of everything.

I can't help but feel a bit envious about his lavish and worry-free lifestyle. Yeah, we do get enough financial support from playing in the band and record sales and stuff. But I've never really been into that whole substantial living. I guess I never really thought about it and I just wasn't into it. I hate being pampered by wealth. I know they're all temporary so I don't resolve to that. Whoever formed that whole theory about money solving your problems should be hanged, cursed even. Just take a good look at me. I am so fucked up that everyone thinks I'm hopeless, even my friends and family. I think they've completely given up on me. I'm on my own I guess. Oh yeah, me and the smack. Maybe we'll venture through life together. Shit, I'm a fucking sleaze. Yeah, it really adds up to that whole rockstar façade.

I heard Jed clear his throat, catching my attention. I forgot, he was still waiting for an answer. "Oh, sorry mate." I grinned to myself. "So?" There's that haughty lilt in the way he said it that just made me want to bash his head. I just had to stop the urge. "Yeah, I guess." I replied rather nonchalantly. I saw him shrug from the corner of my eye. He easily rammed the cigarette onto the ledge of the porch, eliminating the small bulb. He stood up and walked away. Halfway to the doorway, he paused. "Are you fucking coming or not?"

I winced as we entered the noise-laden room again. "Jed!" came a high, piercing voice. I literally cringed as I saw a woman, in her mid forties bounce up to us. "Oh Jed, when will your parents come home? I've got so much news to tell them..." Jed was looking pretty calm. Maybe he knew the woman personally. Maybe she was his relative or something. I can't really tell the resemblance though. She had dark auburn hair pulled up to a bun. She was wearing a black top with matching skimpy leopard printed skirt and black stockings and heavy stilts. And she had way too many gold on her neck and arms. With her make-up, I think she looked somewhat like Morticia Addams or some Goth queen. She was a pretty weird mixture of Goth and Glam, well, a trying-hard Goth/Glam queen to be precise. I just snorted at her whole image. I didn't want to look rude, but I added a little emphasis and shook my head in a pitiful manner. She didn't seem to notice.

I watched as she scooted away with rather incoherent ideas, at 1000 words per minute. Jed didn't seem to mind. He was smiling anyway. And he nodded and answered in short intelligible phrases. This was starting to get boring. I looked across the hall. At 2 am, it was surprisingly still filled with people. I eyed them rather incredulously. Some women were wearing Versace-inspired clothes with plunging necklines. Some were conservative enough to wear leather-fitting pants. Others were modeling heavily printed garments.

Ties and coats seem to be the main trend with the guys. It was some sort of a clash between hippie and avant-garde fashion. A weird but pretty interesting combination. I looked at what I was wearing. A pair of huge black slacks and the Syracuse shirt. My hair was in disarray as usual. And my thin features made me look like a teenage kid still stuck in the grunge era that somehow managed to stage his way to this sleek-cheek social revelry. I felt like a total idiot. I didn't belong in this particular genre of the society. I delved my hands into my pockets. I almost wanted to pull out my avy shades to at least put in some buoyancy in my rather dull outfit. I dropped the idea. Shades at fucking 2 in the morning? I was beginning to feel tired. I heaved out a loud heavy sigh, well, a bit louder than I had intended it to. Jed apparently noticed this.

"Listen," Jed said patiently to the older woman. "um... I have to run a few errands then I'll get back to you, ok Aunt Marisa?" The woman smiled at him, "Risa." She corrected him. "Oh, yes, Risa." Jed repeated. Before she could say anything more, Jed turned towards me. "C'mon." he said, that stupid smile still plastered on his face.

The loud party-noise ceased as we walked down an empty hall to the staircase. There were simply too much vaguely shaped articles and furniture in Jed's house, mansion rather. And oh so much white. His motif was clearly the minimalist type, with a tad too much modern feel to it. But I liked the look anyhow. Well, actually at this point, anything but the run-down off-white colors of the walls of my house would do. Jed was a few steps ahead of me. I heard him sniff a bit then giggled as if he was sharing a sick joke to himself. I never even bothered to ask what it was.

I paused once we reached the base of the staircase. It was winding, and it reminded me a hell lot of the DNA structure. Just by looking at it spiral its way up made me dizzy. I started climbing it. "So, who was that?" I asked Jed. I never really wanted to know who she was, I just asked to break the goddamn silence that was severely building up. He snorted. "That was my mother's cousin, Aunt Marisa." He plainly answered.

"What was she saying about some bank account?" Hey, I never knew I was actually listening to their conversation but apparently I was able to squeeze out a bit of info from it.

"You know, eavesdropping could be lethal." He laughed. I was about to say something but he cut me off. "She's one of those trying hard socialite bitch. Wants nothing but money. The only reason as to why she's still sticking her ass onto our business is cus she knows she could squeeze out money from us." He paused. "Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. People nowadays are so rude don't you think?"

I remained silent. I was actually fixated on the winding staircase. I'm quite embarrassed to say it but that staircase was giving me the creeps. "I heard you intentionally spilled beer on Casey?" He spoke up again.

"Huh?" I answered back. I had no idea who Casey was.

"She's that odd looking girl. You know, the one sporting that whole... uh..." he staggered a little, trying to find the right descriptive word.

"The goth-chick?" I cut in.

"Yeah. If you'd put it that way. The Goth-chick daughter of Aunt Marisa" he explained.

"Oh." I didn't want to delve in too much in that topic. I remembered spilling the beer on them. It was quite a laugh actually.

"She's pretty pissed you know." He continued explaining.

I hardly even noticed it but we were already on the second floor. We were at once greeted by a huge hall. "Whoa!" I blurted out. This place was larger than I've expected. I heard Jed laugh a little. Goddammit, can't he just keep his mirth to himself. Either way he talks or laughs, it always resembled him being a rich stuck-up.

"This way." I followed his lead. I can't help but stare at the abstract iron sculptures that adorned the hallway. "Don't tell me you haven't been up here before." I think he noticed my puzzled expression. "This is where I keep the smack kiddo." I rolled my eyes at the whole 'kiddo' bit. And why the hell does he have to keep on calling it smack. I don't know, it's just the way it sounded like when he says it. Fuck, could he just settle for the word heroin? I just kept the thought to myself. Besides, he's been into this whole drug dealing business since, hell, I don't know. But obviously, he knows more about these things than I do.

A particular sculpture caught my attention. It had no particular shape or whatsoever. For me though, it looked like a horse. I grinned at myself. Good thing I still had some imagination left in this awful brain of mine. "I sculpted those you know." He stated, that haughty vent raising a notch higher than usual.

"Oh. They're great." I mumbled as I continued to fixate myself on the sculpture.

"Are you coming in or not?" I looked at him. He was holding the door to this room open. I approached him and entered the room rather precariously. I was greeted by a very different setting. It was more Renaissance in a weird kind of way. The floor was covered with a red carpet with intricate designs. There were realistic paintings of some medieval dukes and duchesses hanging on the walls. It was pretty striking. I seated myself in one of the metal chairs while Jed disappeared into the back of the room. I scrutinized the place. There were tall windows on both sides and some towering shelves with countless of books. I figured that it was the library or something. Yeah that whole Renaissance feel to it added the warmth needed to snuggling up with a nice book. I looked at the windows again, then gazed at the door. I planned my route of escape just in case he turns weird on me and do something inapt. Things could happen you know. He just might reappear with a shotgun in hand. Or if not, he might lunge in on me or something. I'm not saying he's a psychopath or he's queer. But still, I hardly know Jed. I shook the thoughts off my head. I was being paranoid again.

He reappeared just in time to see me shaking my head. "What's up with you?" he asked. Then he approached me, carrying a two ziplock bags in one hand and a drink in another. I wondered if he'll ever drop dead because of over intoxication. I never saw anyone drink that much in a day, well, except maybe for Ben. Oddly enough though, he could still manage to stand and keep his head straight. He shuffled the bags in front of my face and dropped it suddenly onto the empty seat beside me. I looked at it strangely. I was certain that the almost gooey stuff in one of the bags was was heroin. But I wasn't sure about the white powder.

"Crack cocaine." Jed spoke like as if he read my thoughts. Just when I was about to reach for it, he grabbed it away from me. He was studying it oddly. "Wanna try?" He asked, again with that intimidating smile on his face.

"Uh..." I staggered. I really didn't want to get high here and now. But the white powder looked so inviting, so did the heroin.

"Ow, c'mon Dan. You haven't had fun for days. I was watching you a while back and you didn't seem like you were enjoying yourself, looking gloomy and all." You're goddamn right, I wanted to say, but held back the statement. "C'mon have some fun first before you leave." I was so fucking tired, but then I complied by nodding. I could almost see that glint in the conceited eyes of his.

He disappeared again, leaving me debating with myself. This was a bad idea. But then why did I comply to it. I guess I really don't have control over my actions. Jed returned immediately, burning something with a lighter. He got out this rubber tube and started tying it to my arm. He tied it quite tightly, that made me wince a bit. I turned away, not wanting to see the procedure. Shit, I shouldn't be doing this. I fucking know the consequences if I get hooked to this. I might even die... but then, who'll miss me? Fucking hell, who'd miss Mr. I'm-Just-Too-Fucked-Up rockstar Daniel Johns anyway? The fans? They're just so goddamn superficial. My friends? Fuck! I don't think I believe in friendship anymore. I'm starting to doubt Ben and Chris too. They just pretend they care. My family? No, for the record, they're the ones who're shoving me off, sort of disowning me. I guess they can't deal with a family member with suicidal tendencies. Wait, suicide? How did that subject enter this? I don't want to fucking die. Well, I don't want to commit suicide anyway. It'll be so... cliché.

I think it's bad enough that I look a whole fucking lot like Kurt Cobain, but staging it with suicide is simply too much. But if I died accidentally, like I fell off a cliff or rammed my body against some rocks while surfing then it would... I paused. I suddenly got distracted from my rather dense trail of thoughts. My eyes shot wide open as I felt a small pain move through my arm. It was nothing though, just a prick. Then it got immediately replaced by immeasurable euphoria. I sunk low in the steel chair I was sitting on. The metal hurt my back but I didn't fucking care. This was Nirvana.

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