Off time. Everyone goes home for a few months and then we pick up touring. This is the only thing I hate… being alone.nextI’ve slept most of the day away and I still don’t’ feel up to getting out of bed. I miss being on the road. Fuck… three more months.
I haven’t touched anything for almost a week now. I’m actually able to function properly, but everything in this house is just cursed. Pictures of her. Pictures of us. Pictures, pictures, pictures. I hate this house!
A few hours later and I’m still in bed. I’m hungry. The hallway towards the kitchen is cluttered with ditry laundry. Dishes lay in the sink untouched for months.
I know she is gone and will never come back. I should move on with my life, but she was my life. Everything we did, we did together.
The guys think I’m stupid for mourning after her. I’m not. I only want to forget. I try and sometimes I succeed for awhile before the morphine wears off, but then it always comes back. And all the time, it’s forever changing.
Laura was killed by JC. -- Justin.
Laura was in a car accident. -- Lance.
Laura committed suicide. -- Joey.
Laura left me. But she still loves me and misses me. -- JC.
Laura…Rumors! Lies! None of which is true! I don’t even know what happened to her! I want to know… But I want to forget. Man. I don’t even know what I want now.
Sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window. I need to know now. It’s eating away at me. I stare at the phone now. Only one person I know could help me out with this… only one.
Dial the number and wait. Southern accent. Happy smile. “Britney. It’s Chris.”
She grows silent for a minute before saying hi. She’s hesitant. “Is Justin with you?”
“No. I’m alone at home.”
“I’m in New York.”
“Nice.”
“Where’s Justin?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh.”
“I have to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“It’s about Laura.”
“Are you sure Justin’s not with you?”
“No. He’s at his dad’s.”
“What about Laura?”
“What happened to her?”
“What? You want white paper? Chris… are you alright?”
“Britney, what happened to Laura?”
“Laura?”
“Yes.”
“Why? You were there when it happened. You should know.”
“Britney.”
“Fuck. Joey put you up to this, didn’t he? Tell him to fuck off, alright?”
“Now the question is, are you alright?”
“What are you on?”
“Nothing. What are you on?”
“Xanax. I think.”
“Right.”
“Yep.”
“Britney.”
“What?”
“Laura.”
“Oh my God, Chris. Can’t you remember?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Chris, I’m sorry. What can you remember?”
“Nothing.”
“You did it. It was your needle. Your morphine. You gave her too much. She --”
I hang up on her. I head back up to my bed and cry myself to sleep. I killed my Laura.