“Stop! I just want this torture to stop…” I cry out and fall to my knees to crawl towards the toilet.
I lift the lid just in time.
Leaning over the toilet, I empty all the contents from my stomach. It isn’t much considering I skipped dinner and only had alcohol all evening. My eyes are watering and aching, and my throat is burning from the acid.
I hear Aaron Lewis singing about addiction and missing the one he loves. It makes my heart race and makes me crave a high only coke can give me…one that will help numb my mind, ease my sadness and stop the voices of my past .
Tears are still sliding down my cheeks when I pick myself up off the floor. Picking up Cane’s t-shirt, I slip it back on and make my way over to the sink to splash some water on my face and rinse my mouth out as I try to rid the taste of the vomit stinging my throat.
Turning off the music, I pad across the bathroom and head back into my bedroom. Stopping at my bedside table, I open the top drawer and retrieve my old cell phone before climbing back into bed slipping under the blankets.
Turning the phone on, I go to saved voicemails and scroll through to find one and hit play.
The sound of Cane’s voice makes butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach and causes a lump to form in my throat as I choke on a sob.
“Hey babe, just calling to say I love you and miss you so much. Soon enough I’ll be back home and driving you absolutely crazy. I hope you have a great day; I’ll call again when I can.”
That was the last voice mail I ever received from Cane. I can’t listen to it enough. Whenever I hear him say I love you it sends chills through my entire body.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I push the tears out that have been pooling in my eyes; I feel one slide slowly over the bridge of my nose and drip onto my pillow. I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve fallen asleep this way, and how many tears have stained my pillows since Cane was taken from me.
Sometime after four A.M. I finally fall asleep with Cane’s dog tags, and my phone held tightly against my chest. It’s all I have left, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let them go.
I Hold On
It’s been six days since my one night stand with Jordon. Tonight will be the first time I’ll see him, and I am a bundle of nerves. Normally, I can hook up with a guy and care less if I see him again or not. Jordon has crawled into my head and refuses to get out.
I’m nervous that it’ll be weird or uncomfortable when we’re around each other after rehearsals for tomorrow’s concert. This is the main reason I do not sleep with anyone I work with; I hate being stuck in awkward situations. My concerts are the one escape I have from the fucked up world I live in, and now, thanks to Mr. Sexy-as-sin-with-fuck-me-blue-eyes, I can’t stop stressing about this tour and seeing him tonight at rehearsals.
Hell, I’ve already changed my clothing three times!
I resorted to calling Roxie to help me pick out something. She immediately sensed something was going on and grilled me until I caved and spill all the dirty details from Saturday night.
She freaked out when I told her that I felt more than just a great orgasm when I was with Jordon. She’s been trying to get me to start dating again for years, she even resorted to making me a fricking profile on eHarmony!
Now that she knows I felt something when I was with Jordon, she is all aboard the Jordon train and driving me completely insane.
She keeps telling me to toss my rules out the window, and have as much meaningless sex with Jordon as I can. If something more comes from it that will be an added bonus.
I told her even if I did, in the end, it would cause drama on our tour; which I do not want. ‘Friends with Benefits’ always turns messy. It ends with someone getting hurt even if you start out with the best of intentions, because normally one of the two end up developing feelings that the other doesn’t reciprocate.
I doubt Jordon would want to hook up with me for the entire six month tour. Especially when there will be a million hot chicks begging to have a one night stand with him.
Everyone keeps telling me it’s been eight years since Cane’s death; I should get out there and date, have some fun. Not just have random hot sex.
No one understands me or what the hell I’m dealing with.
Christ! Even in his letter Cane told me he wants me to live a fulfilled life and to love again, but I just can’t find the strength to let go of him and move on.
So I keep holding on to my love for Cane with both hands, terrified of what will happen if I let him go and take that leap of faith by opening myself up to someone again.
Of course, the man-whore who happens to be the guitarist for my opening act, is the one guy, in all the guys I’ve met in eight years, to make me feel again?