Forty-Eight (Danny); Whirlwind.
The newspapers are mounting on my porch, but I don't want to read them. I don't want to put myself through the pain again. I don't know, and don't want to know what's happening in the world right now. Or ever. It's just far too much for me right now. Fuck, when did I become so weak? Such a sap? Such a failure? God this sucks. There's glass everywhere. There's blood on the glass. My blood.
Partly accident, partly not.
I knew picking up the glass with my bare hands was a stupid idea, but I did anyway. God, I should stop fucking around like this. At least I'm sober enough to have bandaged my hands. Can't screw them up too badly; I need them. I sigh and look down at the bandages. They're like a testament to what a fuck-up I truely am.
My phone starts ringing, and I look at it. I don't particularly want to answer. It could be Tim, checking up on the score, or the other Tim, wanting to talk about him and Amy. And I don't want to know!
Click
"Can't get to the phoe right now. Leave your name, number, and even a message, and I'll get back to you."
Beep "Danny? It's Heather. If you are actually there please pick up the phone! I have to tell you about this! It's about Fevered Sleep and the gig and stuff and I know you'll want to hear about it because it concerns Boingo and-"
"Stop babbling and get to the fucking point already!" I snap as I snatch up the phone.
"Danny!" she sounds so ridiculously estatic to hear my voice that I wince. Why is she so happy? It's only me... "Danny we've got a record deal!"
"Am I supposed to understand what the fuck you're rambling about?" I question acidly, not caring whether I upset her or not. Why the hell should she be so happy when I'm so fucking depressed?!
"Stop being bitchy." Heather says firmly. My my, she's come a long way from the shy little girl who found it practically impossible to string words together in a sentence to me. "I wanted your permission to do Boingo songs because my friend's started a tribute band and we had a gig last night and there was a guy in the audience with a record company and he wants to hire us and stuff!"
She sounds wildly happy again, and part of me desperately wants to pull her down, tell her I won't let her have permission for any more performances, but I can't quite bring myself to do that to her. Heather's like one of those little kittens in a petshop window, the ones that look really innocent and helpless, wide-eyed and trusting.
"Go and enjoy yourself." I shrug, making out I don't care.
"Thanks Danny! I really appreciate it!" She once more sounds completely genuine. She must be one heck of an actress; people don't appreciate what I do, it just doesn't happen!
"Yeah, whatever."
"Look, I've gotta run, but I'll let you know how it goes! Thanks so much Danny, you've no idea what this means to me! I won't forget this!"
Click
The sound of the dialling tone. There she was, gone. She swept through my mind, all cheer and happiness and promise of good, now she's left and everything's dusty and forgotten again, empty and silent. I didn't realise it until just now, but Heather was taking my mind off Amy, off my own shortcomings, and now she's gone they're all I can think about. God I'm such a mess! I push myself up and walk heavily back down to my studio.
Guess this is all I've got left.
Chapter 47 ; Contents ; Chapter 49
