Hold Me Now - Alive and Kicking

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Before you read this I just want to talk about the ending of... let's call it part one.

There were both personal and narrative reasons for the way it ended. I actually started writing this story like 2 years ago, and by the time I was able to finish it I just couldn't manage to get B and Harrison together in my head. Things happen for me IRL that make certain things hard to face even in my perfect imaginary worlds sometimes. Harrison has a little too much of me in him, and I wasn't sure if I could write about the places I saw him going, especially not with poor B being strung along for the ride. I have been in a bit of a weird place trying to finish it, and just wanted to put something out there because it's been so long. The funny thing was, I actually didn't realise how much of a controversial ending that would be... I'd been in my own head for a long time about this and I think I kind of forgot like... the POINT of the prose I put out here.

Besides my own personal reasons for Bailey moving forward, I think it was really important for Bailey's journey to go through a relatively healthy break up. This story is about him growing up, and part of that was opening himself up to the vulnerability of saying 'I love you', but another part of that was learning how to deal with uncomfortable situations, and seeing that life still has meaning. There was so much of him so scared to live life to the fullest because he was scared of it going sour, and losing Harrison helped him manage that in so many ways. I think some of you saw that, and saw the beauty in understanding that there is no one perfect person and that love doesn't just start and end- and for anyone who was ok with that, that's basically where I intended to leave it and you don't need to read this.

Having said that, I've set up a precedent of writing love stories with X + Y = True Love Forever and breaking that was definitely a choice. I can see why you'd be disappointed and annoyed. I always try to write a HEA for my characters because the real world is bleak enough, I wanna read happy stories about hot people fucking who get married and adopt two children and five dogs. My audience does as well, I assume that's why you read my work over infinitely sexier stuff ha ha. So I am sorry. I also want to say most authors read all your comments and being disappointed by the end of a story is one thing, and being kind of an ass who suggests I have no talent and did this to you intentionally is another. (I might be talentless but it's not because I couldn't give two fictional guys one happy ending...)

Finally, on a different note but it comes up over and over again in my comment sections.... I know my dialogue tags SUCK. I honestly work so hard to fix it but it's an uphill battle, ha ha. I come from a screenwriting background- dialogue, shot for reaction, dialogue, close up, et cet... That's why I fuck it up all the time. Working on it though. Feedback is valuable- I'd never have even realised I do that all the time if people didn't point it out. I'm not averse to feedback, even when it is tearing the end of a story to shreds ha ha. Go off, speak your truth, I'll cope (and hopefully be a better writer for it).

SO; I'm sorry I broke these guys up after like 7? 10? 12? pages of build up, I totally get why that's incredibly unfulfilling to read (even if I did try to create the nicest, sweetest back up option ever... maybe Basil needs his own story...). But it's ok, now that I've read your feedback and have a bit of space from the story I can see that I could say more. So here is where we left B, from Harrison's point of view. Hopefully you hate me a bit less after this 😅 no bait and switch I promise (although part of me thinks that would be the funniest thing ever: can you imagine I did a whole redo and on the last page gave Bailey a third perfect man?! but I PROMISE I won't, even for the bit).

TW though, Harrison's in a bad place. (It's one of the reasons I wanted B to find someone else.... You can make characters do whatever you want them do; but if you don't let them go down the path they're trying to go down sometimes, they come across as insincere.) Harrison is dealing with substance abuse. If you don't want to read that, skip to the bit that's headed "What's it gonna take to make a dream survive?". It's still mentioned but you don't have to go through it with him. There is also mention of self harm and suicide between "What you gonna do when love burns down?" and "What you gonna do when the flames go up?".

As always, thanks for reading. Can't promise when the next story will be out because I'm like, consistently a wreck and I don't get paid for this but there are like 50 stories in my drafts so one of them will make its way here one day.

Ka kite anō!

-----

--- What you gonna do when things go wrong? ----

Don't do it.

Don't do it, Harrison.

You don't want to know.

You don't want to see him.

This is stalking, and it's gross, and it's lame, and it's been like, years, and you need to move on.

Too late.

Ughhhhh why do I do this to myself? I stared blankly at Bailey Green's instagram. I open it probably once every six months. I don't know why. Because he left me probably. He left me and I didn't know why, or how the fuck he moved on so seemingly unharmed. I mean, I suppose it was mutual. Actually, I think I might have even proposed it. But I never actually expected him to agree. I certainly never expected him to meet someone else. Some fucking asshole who'd popped up on his instagram about two years ago and seemed to be gearing up to marry the love of my life. I groaned in shame as I stared at Bailey's latest story. Him, and Lou, and Brent, and everyone I'd left in Wellington were celebrating B's latest exhibition. He'd done so well for himself. I always knew he would. He was so determined. The camera moved to show Bailey's new man... no. Not so new now I guess. His fiancé-who was just a knock off version of me, which actually made it sting a lot worse. If B had decided to go back to tall blonde Adonis types at least I'd know for sure he didn't have any feelings left that I need concern myself with.

I winced and closed my eyes. Ok. Options right now were to cry, which was tempting.... Or to jerk off like an absolute loser to some guy who'd completely moved on... Or to put down my phone, get the fuck up and try and do something with my day.

I had a gulp of whiskey to rinse my mouth out as I stumbled out of bed and pulled some trousers off the floor. I avoided my reflection. Sometimes catching my own eye makes me think a little too much about what exactly I'm doing here. I'm not saying life is all bad. I'm the lead guitarist for one of the coolest bands in Australasia. I made the front cover of Gay Times six months ago. Well. The BAND made the cover- but I'm the gay one in the band! So that's still my win. Sure, I still have to work a slightly normal part time job to keep the lights on but I'm basically as successful as anyone has any right to be. And I'm still young, and I'm still hot. I'm doing ok.

I'm mean. I'm doing... ok.

I'm...

I stopped in my tracks as I made it down the stairs and passed the living room. I paused. I turned and took two steps back and stared through the door. I frowned.

"Hey?" I raised an eyebrow. I glanced at my phone. 3.37pm. Not exactly party time. And I'm sure I would have remembered if we were having a party. So what was my whole fucking band, and a some of my my workmates, and Mel from the record store and Stu from Salvos and some random dude I'd never met doing, staring at me, sitting placidly in the living room?

"Hi." The stranger smiled warmly at me. "You must be Harrison." My eyes alighted on the pamphlets spread out on the table. Oh. Oh fuck.

---- --- ---- ---

Bile rose up first, although I managed to breathe through it. I mumbled something about grabbing a t-shirt. If I really had to sit through this I'd rather do it fully clothed. I considered running away. I swallowed that thought pretty quickly. I think when you run away from- ugh. I would have put any money I had on it. This was an intervention. Well, if you run away from it, that intervention suddenly looks like maybe it has a point.

I can't say I was shocked. I mean, it's just part of the lifestyle isn't it? I'm a fucking rockstar! Just because it's been... well. Huh. I honestly don't know the last day I did like, 100% sober. It gnawed away a bit if I let it, but I didn't let it. I mean, I wasn't SO fucked that I was blacked out everyday. Just. Not. You know. Like, not NOT intoxicated. I knew I was drinking more than my flatmates. I knew most people didn't start every day with a joint. I knew the reason I was skint every week was entirely to blame on how fucking easy it was to get your hands on some coke over here in Oz... it was practically impossible back in Wellington. I didn't realise I'd like it so much. It was just parties at first. Then gigs, because it helped steady my hands, then just...

Yeah.

I can't say I was shocked.

So I grabbed a t- shirt and sat down heavily, hanging my head between my knees as I listened to my friends talk about how worried they were, and how out of control I seemed, and the damage I was doing to my brain and body and relationships. I nodded and smiled weakly in acknowledgement as each person finished. I wasn't sure if anyone's words were really having impact. On one hand they were grazing me, like this dull rusty knife that was reopening wounds I'd been ignoring...

But I'm really good at ignoring things. So in another way everyone's pain was just washing over me, maybe rubbing a bit of salt in the wounds, but hardly giving me more damage.

"Harrison..." I felt Skinner sink down beside me. "Are you... hearing this?"

"Oh." I glanced at him. "Yeah mate. Hear it. Lay off the drugs. Et cetera..." I waved my hand blearily and I could feel a collective wave of annoyance against me.

"Harrison." Skinner took a really deep breath and gently touched my shoulder. "This is a little more than 'lay off the drugs et cetera' ok? Not everything is a big fucking joke."

I don't know why that did it.

I can't like, draw a line and tell you when it happened. Part of me wants to blame leaving Welliington, only I'd been smoking weed to a slightly alarming degree even before I moved to Melbourne. It didn't get significantly worse after any significant events. B and I broke up- that was super fucking lame. Dad got sick- also super lame. I don't know. Seasons changed, whatever... there's no like, MOMENT though. It just crept up on me. I'd gone from someone normal- a guy in a band who did drugs from time to time- to someone who got a little stressed and sweaty when he realised he didn't have any. To someone who put money aside each week for narcotics in the same passionless way he did for bills and rent. Someone who needed a joint to start the day and half a bottle of whiskey to finish the day and didn't think a party was really a party unless he felt like someone else.

I swallowed as I looked at Skinner. No matter what kind of a loser you are, no one gets all the friends you've ever had in the city together to say 'lay off the drugs, et cetera'. People only do that when they think something is seriously fucking wrong. And if I wasn't avoiding any internal thoughts or the mirror so hard... maybe I might have caught that earlier. I hung my head again and cradled my knees. I could see the Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet glaring at me from the coffee table. I swallowed the vomit as it threatened to expel itself again.

"Yeah." I gritted my teeth. "Skinner, I hear you ok?" I sat up, gripping on to myself tight. "No, I hear you. I have a problem." That was easier to admit than I'd expected. I glanced around the room. "Not like I think any of you are saints." I raised my eyebrows. "But I've gone a bit overboard. I agree." I exhaled slowly. I reached for the pamphlet. "I can do this." I mumbled. I was talking to myself as much as anyone else.

"That's really good, Harrison." Skinner took my hand. "Because we have some boundaries we wanna talk about with you."

--------

I lay on my back staring at the ceiling.

Lay off the drugs et cetera. Or we kick you out of home. We tell your parents. We get a new guitarist. We tell your boss. Fuck you, Harrison! You're such a loser! You're such a nothing! Such a total waste of space! The world would be better without you in it. The world was always better without you in it. Name one fucking thing that you didn't make worse. What's that? Bailey? You fucking moron. B is a million times happier now you're not around. You fucking waste of space. Waste of oxygen. Waste of time and energy and

My hand was subconsciously reaching for something. Anything.

We talked for half an afternoon, and then I retired to my room to think and cry. There were tabs on me, I could feel it now, so no running away right this second. No hunting down something to numb everything. But lucky for me, past Harrison had some idea something like this would happen. And because past Harrison could occasionally be a slightly obsessive addict, he made sure I had enough treats tucked away to keep me bright eyed and bushy tailed. Past Harrison knew there might be a rainy day and he'd prepared me well.

I took some shrooms to space me out, and spent a few hours scribbling random lyrics on paper and hiding from the doorway which I thought I'd locked but was too scared to check. I had some edibles to calm down the end of my terrible trip.... I really should have put a bit more effort into staging something decent. "You're a loser" was never a good place to jump into psychedelics from. I washed everything down with some vodka and I was just feeling like I could go to sleep when my alarm started to ring to wake me up. So I had more vodka. I had a shower and ate some toothpaste. And I headed to work for the brunch shift. Thank fuck everyone else was asleep. I'd seen my reflection. It wasn't even me. I'd been replaced by a demon from my own nightmares.

--------

I let the roads take me to work. I was barely aware of them, too consumed by my own thoughts. My eyes were red and raw and fuzzy and I'm not even sure they were open. I got there regardless. I only realised it when I felt myself turn the engine off.

It wasn't the first time I'd lost time. It was rare, but it happened; when I'd wake up in the middle of a conversation and know I was drunk, and have no idea where I was or how I got there. I panicked the first time. But things always get a little easier after the first time. There's no point worrying about what you did or didn't do. It was either legal or moral or idiotic or it wasn't. It would either come back to bite you or it wouldn't.

I prayed I hadn't hit anything or run any red lights as I stepped shakily out of my car and into work, waking myself up by slapping my cheeks. By all rights I should have been the Manager of the little local wine bar on Sydney Road by now. I seemed to have a knack with wine, which was somewhat ironic since I barely touched the stuff these days. Let's be real, just because it actually tastes good doesn't mean there's any value for money there. Vodka is definitely the best if you're trying to keep the edge off for as little cash as possible. I like whiskey, and I used to drink proper Islay single malts but I'd REALLY developed a taste for The Famous Grouse- the cheapest shit I could find. You're probably starting to see why I wasn't running the place. I probably could. I could probably do it with my eyes closed if I wanted to... But I have a natural aversion to anything remotely akin to responsibility. I didn't want to. I wanted to show up drunk, or high, or hungover, get paid anyway, and go play gigs in the weekend.

One day I would quit waiting tables and just be famous- but just because Hordes had radio play now, and the odd successful tour... that didn't mean we had it made. The kind of thing we had could all fall apart at any time. AND. I was mildly aware that I was one bad day from being kicked out of the band anyway. Not that they could replace me easy- I might have the lowest self esteem of my life, but even through that I knew I was one fucking hell of a guitarist. I smiled to myself. No way they'd actually kick me out.

I stumbled into work with a fake smile on my face and Jacob greeted me awkwardly.

"Hey mate." He clasped my shoulder. "Glad you're early. I have bad news." He took a deep breath and avoided my eye. "New overlords gentrifying our neighbourhood want drug tests." He handed me a small yellow jar.

I felt the room swim in front of me. New overlords. True, the place has been sold a month ago. The new owners seemed cool though. I wouldn't have expected... I mean. Unless. I felt a wave of shame wash over me. It's funny. You always think you're hiding things ok. Keeping it together. But then again; I'd literally just been party to an intervention. It was pretty likely my boss knew.

I stared at the cup he'd given me.

"Yeah, you know how it is. Just with the times we figured it was better to do three monthly tests, may as well start now, get ahead of it...."

"Jake, I'm not going to pass this." I said flatly as he rambled on. Jacob stopped in his tracks and looked at me. He looked at me properly. He looked behind the shower and shave I'd managed 30 minutes ago. He looked behind the toothpaste and the clean clothes. I think I almost saw a bit of fear in his eyes as he caught a glimpse of the demon that had been possessing me.

"Oh, mate." He sighed. "Hey, you wanna try anyway? I know weed sticks around but..." I closed my eyes. If we tried tomorrow... maybe. But let's be honest. I used daily. That weed wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. I'd had some coke like two days ago which was probably detectable. The shrooms were only just wearing off. And I was way above any legal limit for alcohol, even first thing in the morning. I winced and bit my lip.

"I..." I sighed. Hey, maybe miracles do happen.

That's something I've learned about denial. It keeps you in eternal optimism.

---- ---- ----

"You're home early." Fox greeted me as I trudged through the front door. I imagined myself lunging at him and strangling him. It kind of helped. Then I felt bad. I stared at him instead and shrugged very, very slowly.

"You're home." I commented.

"Night shift." He yawned. "What's the early day for?"

"Sick." I mumbled. Fox looked me over critically and I felt myself heat up.

"Ah." He said quietly. "Is it... you know... withdrawal?" I felt a little light in my stomach. I glanced at him. I nodded. That was plausible.

"I might... need some time off work actually." I whispered.

"Oh yeah dude." Fox got up and went to put on the jug. "Hey man, no worries ok? We are gonna look after you while you go through this." He brushed my hand gently as he moved past me and our eyes met. "I'm real proud of you Harrison." He said. I smiled thinly.

"Thanks." I said.

I texted my dealer as soon as I got to my room, with explicit instructions on how to meet me on the roof. I crushed a pill that was hanging out on my desk which I think was Ritalin. I applied for three jobs, pretty sure Jacob wasn't planning on having me back and smiled at my reflection, avoiding my eyes. I'd be ok. You know what? I'd do a fucking month sober. Just to prove I could. I'd get a new job. Everything would be ok.

---- ----

"You owe me $100 on top of this." Derek snarled as we swapped packages on the top of my roof. I smiled at him.

"Yeah, got it." I saluted. "Next time, boss."

"Harrison." He glared at me. "You've racked up enough debt already."

"Don't you dare remind me." I laughed. "But I promise. I'm just between jobs."

"Between jobs!" He hissed. "Mate! No more until you have an income!"