Nirvana Ch. 06

Noel waited five minutes, and then followed him to the men's room, where he saw him writing something on Purple Mohawk's forearm. The guy left, saying he would definitely call him, and Owen turned to Noel with a pale face, incoherently explaining to him that he was a bassist and he wanted him in the band. He had to write his number on his arm because his phone had died, and he swore he'd never seen him before. But Noel didn't seem to care about any of that, and perhaps his nonchalance hurt Owen more than anything that had happened that night.

"Are you alright? You really snapped at Jacob there."

"Snapped? Oh, he's fucking lucky I'm not in the mood tonight." Noel was ready to speak again, but Owen interrupted him, "Did you know I'm half Irish?"

"Are you?"

"Yeah, my mother was Irish, born and raised. But Jackass didn't ask where I was from, because I look white and Carl looks vaguely Asian even though he's more American than I'll ever be."

"Don't be silly. Yes, I know Jacob gives off bad vibes. He's not the most likable person when you've just met him, but he's not racist."

"He is!"

"Stop this, now!" His stern tone gave Owen a stomach cramp. "This is not about Jacob, or Carl, or anybody. Now, I will ask you again, are you alright?"

Owen sighed, "Someone in the audience straight up called me a clown."

"And why does that bother you?" Owen slit his eyes at him. "Is it because you felt like one?" Eyes slit tighter, they were almost closed. "I don't think you're a clown. However, what I do think is that you're going down a very toxic path. I'm worried that one day, you'll sit upon your throne of success and rock-stardom, asking yourself: now what? You're so focused on the goal that you're missing out on the journey."

The only thing he was focused on was how badly he needed the day to end. He couldn't care one bit about his supposed rock-stardom, or the journey of pain and pestilence. If only Noel could take him in his arms -if only he had the courage to ask.

"I'm sorry." He pressed his fingers to both temples, "Today can fuck off."

"Today isn't over. It can be redeemed." He shifted closer to him and held his hands and kissed them, he then cradled Owen's head in his hands and drew him into the crook of his neck like a perfect fit without resistance, resting his cheek on top of his head. "Spend the night with me, yeah?"

With his ears pressed against Noel's neck, he heard the words resonate within his breathing tube in a raw, brassy sound that didn't leave room for rejection. Owen sighed and nodded, inhaling his aroma, and exhaling chaos.

"I'm sorry you had a bad day."

Their lips pressed together with aching hunger, and Owen's sigh echoed loudly. Noel kissed him longer, harder, with sensual adoration. His teeth tightened around his bottom lip, mirroring the tightening in his trousers. Tongues slipped past one another, one was stronger, more assertive, and harbouring a heavy taste of brandy and hard cider and Owen wished, during his haze, that he could share just one cocktail. The thought crossed his head like a bullet and frightened him. He was suddenly aware of the alcohol and his current state of vulnerability and how detrimental it was for the two to coexist. He stopped the kissing right away and buried his face against the side of Noel's neck.

The door swung open, and Carl and David barged in with no regard to what might possibly have been going on, and without giving Owen the chance to scurry away and adjust himself.

"Was that true about Saddle Creek?"

The look on his face was enough for an answer. Noel excused himself, and Carl guarded the door, crossed his arms, and stared defiantly.

"Well? Speak up!"

It was true. He had been approached by a scout, and asked to send some of their demos. They didn't have anything recorded that he thought was of acceptable quality, so he decided not to send anything until their material improved, to avoid long-lasting bad first impressions that would cost them the loss of a once in a lifetime opportunity. He also decided not to tell the others because he thought they weren't ready, but what he said was "we weren't ready."

"That's bullshit."

"You mean we aren't ready." Carl gestured at himself and David, "You mean we aren't good enough, while you think you're the next Mick Jagger."

"Carl, listen."

"No, you listen, dipshit! I've had it with your mood swings and your inflated ego, and now you're making decisions for the rest of us? I don't even know why I have to take any more of your shit. That's it, I'm out. I'm leaving."

"Yeah, fine! Do you think I can't find a bassist in all of New Jersey that can at least play bass?"

"Find a drummer while you're at it." David said, much to Owen's surprise, but Owen didn't falter.

"I can replace you with a machine!"

"Good luck, asshole." Carl said, "You think we're weighing you down? Fine, we're out. Let's see you spring up like a catapult."

He shouted back that it was fine, that he didn't need them. They were a liability, and they'll crawl back when no one else would take them except retailers. He waited until they left, and punched the wall three times. There was no possible way the day could get any worse, but he was proven wrong when he saw jay's arm over Noel's shoulder, and his other arm practically between his legs. He thought if they weren't going to have any modesty then neither should he. He snapped his fingers in Noel's face, scowled and shouted "we're leaving", and on the way there he didn't utter a single word, neither did he attempt to even feign smiling.

Noel suggested food and drinks; he suggested a shower or some music even though he didn't have the means to play it. Nothing he said or done seemed to shake Owen's jaded expression. He took off his shirt, and pulled Owen closer by the necklace and kissed his neck.

"I know today didn't go well but," he planted more kisses along his neck muscles, "try and leave it behind. Take the good and let go of the bad." He held his chin and looked him in the eyes, "We're here now."

The fact that Noel was oblivious to why he was angry only angered him even more. His lips were unresponsive, frozen with doubt as he filled the space Jay had been filling just minutes before. He could see a shadow of his hands all over Noel like phantom limbs, and wondered if the bittersweet taste in Noel's mouth was one he picked up off him.

"I'm here now."

His back was pushed gently against the bed, and his stomach bared. Noel left curved lines and lip prints on his skin and Owen was wondering how often the two slept together. He was certain they had during that week where he didn't hear from him. If not, then he'd definitely slept with someone else as he seemed quite popular in the bar. His head span like a carousel and Noel, on the other hand, didn't seem at all disconcerted by anything that threatened their monogamy.

"Have you gone off me already?" Noel's hand rested upon Owen's unreactive crotch.

"Sorry. I'm a bit distracted."

"It's been a long day. We can do this another time."

That wasn't what he wanted. But, he couldn't go on without having his doubts cleared. He couldn't welcome a touch that belonged to someone else, and he couldn't lie. He straightened up, and asked Noel if he and Jay were a couple. His wording may have been inaccurate, but he got the point across. Noel had a hearty chuckle and told him that they absolutely were not.

"But were you ever?"

"No! JJ's a good friend. We were intimate several times in the past, but we didn't date."

"What about Jacob?"

"A couple of times. We didn't connect. Why do you ask?"

"Exactly how many men have you slept with?" he said with a scowl and an accusatory tone.

"Whole lot more than I care to count!" He shot back, "I will not allow you to speak to me like this. My god, I thought you were different. I thought you were above this, but I should have known better. You're finally starting to act your age." He walked to his kitchen for a drink in his usual evasive manner, rendering them detached by about ten feet of floor and miles of miscommunication. The damage had already been done, so Owen thought he should at least get some answers.

"You saw me giving my number to a guy in the men's room, and you didn't acknowledge it."

"What did you want me to do? Beat him up? Be jealous?"

"Yes! It's not fair because I am, okay? I'm weak, and I'm jealous, and I'm so fucking pathetic whenever any guy goes near you. And I feel bad because I don't know if I should feel like this." He paused to give him a chance to respond, but Noel only rubbed his forehead and drank perfunctorily. "I don't know if I have the right to feel like this. I'd like to know what we are because I really fucking like you, for god's sake. I'm not-"

"Whoa, stop!" He held out one hand and his face twitched in an effort to hide disdain. "You what?"

"Noel, I'm not saying we should get married. I only-"

"God, Owen, Stop!" He visibly shuddered, and jumped off his chair to the fridge. Cider just wasn't doing it; he needed something stronger -and so did Owen. Noel's truculent reaction left him offended and lost for words. They sat in deadly silence for the period of time it took Noel to finish half a bottle of Malibu.

"I followed you to the men's room," he emphasised, "because I was concerned. Not to stalk you, or spy on you, but to make sure that you were okay. Now, I don't care-"

"You followed me," Owen interrupted, "to scold me for being rude to your boyfriend." It was gratuitous, imprudent, and juvenile, but he couldn't stop his foolishness from spilling out. Right away, he regretted it. He even regretted it before it came out, but to no avail. He had to sit there and watch Noel smiling ominously and tapping his fingers on the kitchen top.

"I'm not having this." He squeezed the bridge of his nose, "If you're so desperate to know what we are, we're two adults who met and spent a couple of nights together. Put whatever label you please on that one, but make sure it's past tense, yeah?"

Owen gaped incredulously.

"It's late now, sleep here tonight. But I want you gone in the morning."

"That's..." he husked, "That's not fair. What did I do?"

"I was ready to be friends with you -real good friends. But you-" He made a vague gesture and Owen wondered what he had done that was so horrible beyond words. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

"Fine, great." He pocketed his phone and keys, and headed out.

"Owen, it's not safe out there."

"Good!" He slammed the door impetuously and heard the crack of something falling -possibly a plant pot that shattered by air pressure, and he wished he could open the door and slam it a couple more times to break the rest of his pots.

Storming out was not a calculated decision, and it wasn't the most mature thing to do, but he wasn't going to stay for one minute if he wasn't welcome -not if it was out of pity. It was his only retribution; his retaliation against the one man he had thought was his saviour, his sanctuary, his treacherous sweetheart. He cut through dark alleys in the middle of the night, planning to walk all the way home recklessly, not inviting danger but not avoiding it either. If something were to happen to him, Noel would always blame himself. "Fucking good," he thought.

David's van was still suspiciously parked outside Jersey Devils with all its lights off, and a shadow in the driver's seat. Upon looking closely, he realised it was, in fact, David, with his head over the headrest and a cigarette in his mouth. He knocked on the window, startling him, and then hopped in the passenger's seat.

"You really crossed a line there, O." David finally said after moments of silence.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Didn't want the house to smell of smoke," he took a long drag and exhaled violently, "but you're here now, so it doesn't matter. You know that was fucked up, right? What you've done? I know this is your band and all, but out of the three of us, you're the one that needs it the least. I mean, I really love the band. It was a whole lotta fun all of us together, and I thought we were really getting somewhere. But, all of that aside, I've gotta pay mortgage. And, Carl has his student loan and god knows what else, but you..."

"I pay-"

"Rent, yes. But if you didn't, I won't kick you out. And, your dad pays for your credit cards so you don't have to worry about getting a job but have you thought, Owen, when you were screwing us over in secret, have you thought for one second what would happen to us? Do you know how hard it is living off minimum wage? Bagging groceries? Tending bars?" He stopped his rant and looked up at him in surprise, "Weren't you staying with Noel tonight?"

"Yep."

"So... Why are you here?"

"Have a guess."

It took him a couple of seconds. Not that he hadn't seen it coming, he just didn't know it would be that day, out of all days. He didn't ask what happened, and he surely didn't reproach him for not listening when he warned him, figuring it was painful enough to learn his lesson the hard way. He put out his cigarette in a full ashtray, asked him to buckle up, and drove home in silence.

Owen knew what he was going to do for the night -he had it all planned out. He hung around in the kitchen, had a quick snack until David went to his room. David always had beer in the fridge, maybe champagne and some wine, but beer was always guaranteed at least after he was comfortable enough with having it around him. So, Owen waited until he heard the light switch flicked in David's room, and then grabbed a bottle and sneaked into his own.

His bed was cold and revolting. His head hurt, arm ached, and inside his chest was a torturous whirlwind, but it was all going to end very soon. The clink and fizz sound had his heart pounding, and first rush of dopamine flooded his circuits. It was him and the bottle, and five (nearly six) months of sheer perseverance thrown out the window on a whim. His demons leered from every corner, ready to reach up and claw at his sleeves; to welcome him back where he had long forsaken. The bottle stared at him like the eye of Mordor, and he thumbed the butterfly on his chest. He took it between his thumb and forefingers and felt its purple and blue and yellow.

"I'm sorry, Maddie. I'm sorry, Dad."

The rim of the glass brushed against his lips, and his breath hitched in a gasp. The smell stimulated his neurons to the point of electric burns.

"I'm so sorry."

The phone buzzed in his pocket, and he bellowed like he'd been running a marathon. It was his father. He lowered the bottle and answered, slightly worrying why he would call so late at night. From the other end came his baby sister's tiny tired voice, slurring every word she said. They had promised her that she could talk to him if she'd done all her chores, and she did, but they were working late and only just came home. She wanted to tell him she had a Wonder Woman dress that she was going to wear when he would go see her -making sure to use the word "when".

"I'll come and see you very soon, baby girl." He said, but what he wanted was to scream 'thank you, thank you, thank you!' He discarded the bottle on his desk, and chatted to her until she fell asleep. He slept shortly after, with his back turned to the bottle.

The first thing he had an impulse to do when he woke up, which was a grave mistake, was to check their band page online, as well as that of Coverfield. Reviews were overwhelmingly negative, as expected, however, some people got very personal with their insults to a point that disgruntled him. He used all his might to stop himself from responding.

"I couldn't hear them over the sound of John Lennon turning in his grave," someone wrote. "The lead singer," another wrote, "sounds like a vacuum cleaner that needs it's bag emptied!" To which another replied, "Whoever called them clowns should of got the tip jar instead."

"How about you all learn fucking grammar first." Owen mumbled to himself, and threw his phone against the wall -another fit of rage to add to his chain of regrets. It suddenly hit him, what he had done the night before, and he cringed. All his anger towards Noel had subsided, and only his sense of guilt remained. He had to speak to him again, explain how much of an irrational child he was being, and that all the silly things that came out of his mouth had been the outcome of a stressful day and a twinge of unwarranted, senseless jealousy.

He was just rising out of his bed when David barged, warlike, into his room, eyes only looking for one thing.

"I didn't drink." Owen said. David took the bottle in his hand, observed it as if he was looking for prints. He sniffed and tasted it, and after he was convinced that Owen was telling the truth, he sat next to him. "Are you going to spiral down whenever we hit a minor obstacle?"

"I didn't drink!"

"What's this doing in your room then?" He stared at him for a long period of time then continued, "I've spoken to Carl. We'll get the band back together but he says you have to apologise to him first."

"Like hell I will."

"He played the whole set with a broken hand, you know? He had to go to the hospital last night." He waited to see the pang of guilt conveyed on Owen's face. "How about we take a break? We all can do with one, especially Carl. Yeah, we're booked on Tuesdays, but let's not take anything else until we know what we're doing."

Owen knew what he was doing -or at least what he was going to do. He put some clothes on, and hurried to Jersey Devils where Noel was supposed to be. "Sonofabitch took the day off," his replacement said. She didn't know what shifts he was doing, and she doubted Noel himself even knew.

Fair enough, he thought. Let's play the waiting game, Noel, you're on.

It took him exactly twenty four hours to crack. He wrote a letter telling him he was sorry for being irrational and asking if they could please have an adult-to-adult conversation. He then scribbled out the 'please', and it turned from sounding pathetic to demanding. He slipped it under his door, and practically ran back home. Two days went by, and still nothing. Owen checked under his door every hour or so, and made sure to check under every window, as well, to no avail. He tried to kill time by joining David and Carl in light rehearsal. Carl borrowed a keyboard to play with his left hand until he recovered, and during one of their casual conversations, he mentioned that he had seen Noel at the bar the other day with "White Bob Marley".

Very well.

If it weren't for the last ounce of dignity lingering within him, Owen would be standing at his door at all times until he let him in. He wouldn't care if he ignored him or kicked him out, he would stay there until Noel agreed to listen to his feeble retorts. However, the only thing he had the courage to do was go to the bar and hope that, somehow, Noel would cave. He sat there one morning, locking eyes with him, while Noel paid no attention. The next day, Noel took the evening shift.

On Tuesday, Owen made sure to spend all day at the bar. He told his band mates to catch up for their gig at night, and sat at one of the tables, pretending to text. Noel was there, being his normal charming, genial self, unaware that Owen was torn from the inside out, watching him smile at every guy that walks past and exchanging phrases with that abominable being with dreadlocks. He couldn't stand the sight any longer, so he walked up to the bar and casually ordered a coke. Noel regarded him with a nod and a smile, and mechanically poured his drink. When he handed it to him, Owen placed his hand over his, softly but sternly, to immediately get his attention.

"Anything else I can help you with?"