Every Night (David/Tico, no sex)
David's drinking again.
He's got a bottle of vodka that he lifts to his lips every minute or so - not exactly a minute, but less often than every couple of seconds and more often than every five minutes - and takes a couple swallows. He stopped wincing at the burn, stopped feeling it, maybe ten minutes ago. The bottle's half gone, but David's all gone. Has been for a long time.
In another ten minutes or so, Jon or Richie will come in from wherever it is they are and whatever it is they're doing. Whichever one it is will sit next to David, wrap an arm around him, slide the bottle from his fingers and set it aside. He'll rub David's back, talk quietly to him - if it's Jon he'll talk to him about music, if it's Richie Dave'll get the usual "women are bitches, what you need to do is drown yourself in groupies, not alcohol. Better for your brain and your dick, that kind of drowning. More fun, too." He'll slide an arm around David's waist, help him off the couch and out of the room, to get him in a limo and back to the hotel so he can sleep this bottle off before he gets a chance to start on the next one. He'll shoot me a look when he pulls his alcohol-soaked bandmate through the door. Richie's eyes ask me why I don't stop him sooner, why I just sit and watch and let him do this to himself. Jon's gaze holds so much pity I can hardly stand it. He's supporting his friend who can't even handle the reality of life anymore without a ridiculous blood alcohol level, and I get the pity.
When they get back to the hotel, Jon will stay with David all night, there to hold his hair back and help him brush his teeth and offer him a glass of water, there to hold him tight when he's done emptying his stomach until he falls asleep, crying. Richie will just let him into his room, calling or stopping in every hour or so to make sure he's still alive. Richie can't handle seeing David cry.
I overheard Hugh talking to Jon about me once, about how I sit and watch David drink himself numb and don't do anything, He doesn't approve, I guess. Richie had to convince me that if I sent him flying headfirst into a wall the resulting search for a new bassist would be more trouble than it was worth. He deserved what I wanted to do to him, though. Who does that fucker think he is, what the fuck does he know?
He doesn't know fucking anything. There was a time when, if David even looked like he MIGHT be hurting, I would have been the first to his side, consoling him and finding out what was wrong and growling vague empty threats in the general direction of anyone who might be causing him pain.
There was a time when all David had to do was say "please" and I would have moved Heaven and Earth to give him whatever he wanted. When I lived for the way he felt in my arms, the way his hair smelled, the way his skin tasted, the way his breath ghosted over my neck as he slept. He was taller than me, but he would insist on curling up in my lap to sleep during those long nights on the bus. He'd smile that smile of his when Jon giggled about how ridiculous he looked, and I would just melt.
There was a time when I couldn't think of anything more wonderful than the way he would arch against me, cling to me, moan my name like it was the only thing keeping him from drowning. Nothing made me happier than the way he would sigh "I love you" as we lay tangled up with each other, so much emotion in his voice that I could never doubt he meant it.
Then came the night when he was sitting on the bed when I got out of the shower, clutching a pillow, tears in his eyes. He wouldn't look me in the eyes as he told me he couldn't do this anymore, couldn't have a relationship that he had to keep hidden, couldn't handle feeling like something that made him so happy was wrong. I thought he was telling me he wanted to come out, to make some kind of announcement. I would have been fine with that. I never really liked the idea of keeping it a secret, and honestly anyone who would stop listening to Bon Jovi based on who the drummer was fucking and who was fucking the keyboardist and the fact that they happened to be the same person probably didn't get the music the way Jon wanted them to anyway. But that wasn't what he wanted to say at all.
David had decided to go back to his high school girlfriend. He told me he was probably going to marry her, start a family when the tour was over. He wanted to give normalcy a shot. I guess it had stopped mattering to him that I made him happy and he made me happy and we were in love. When the tour ended, he flew off to his normalcy and I went home. I married Eva because she reminded me of David. I divorced her because she wasn't David. I married Maria because she wasn't David, and I'm never home because she has the same mannerisms.
I went through the "drown my sorrows" phase for a long time. I was always drunk, and I'd curse out April and anything to do with her at every opportunity. Richie told me once I was too hard on her. It was right after Ava was born, and I asked him how he'd talk about someone who came and pulled her out of his arms, holding her just out of his reach, while he knew the whole time she wanted him to hold her. He didn't bring it up again.
At some point between Eva and Maria I started sleeping with Jon. He arched against me and clung to me and breathed my name, and he'd sit in my lap or lie tangled up in me and the sheets for hours after the fact. He wasn't David either, and I faulted him for it. He did get me to stop drinking, though - one night he confronted me about letting go of David, and the vodka in me didn't do much to stop me from slamming him against a wall and screaming at him until he cried. And I remembered the only time David and I really fought, when I threw him against a wall and screamed until he cried, and spent the next week doting over him because I can't handle David crying.
I poured that bottle of vodka down the sink and haven't been drunk since. Jon stopped sleeping with me after that. Partly because he knew if I had him I'd never let go of David because I could hold on to the parts of Jon that reminded me of David. He knew if I had someone who would put up with it I'd have no motivation. Then, of course, it hurt the Hell out of his pride that he'd always be second best no matter what he did. He lost the fight before it started, and he didn't want that. I don't blame him, and I don't hold a grudge.
Glass shattering yanks me out of my thoughts. Neither Jon nor Richie have come in yet, and David finished the bottle, letting it slip out of his fingers and shatter against the concrete floor. I don't think he knows he dropped it, because he raises his hand towards his lips again. The confusion on his face, the way he blinks as if he thinks the bottle will appear if he closes and reopens his eyes, it's familiar. He looked the same way when he first woke up many mornings. It's still adorable - he's still beautiful, even if April got rid of the David I used to love - who am I kidding, the David I still love. He might be in there somewhere, but I don't think he wants to let me look.
He never really loved her. He didn't when they got married, and from what Jon told me he never got to that point. He liked her, he appreciated her, they got along fine, but he never really loved her. But when she left it killed him, because he gave up a lot for her.
Not just me, not just the relationship that made him happy. He and Jon used to fool around all the time and he gave that up, gave up a lot with Jon. They'd been friends since high school, inseparable for years, but April was jealous so David cut way back. The solo albums he made weren't what he would have done if she weren't so possessive of his off-tour time. He wanted to do something so much bigger, more elaborate, but she wanted him home so he recorded there and put out an albums that were beautiful, but simplistic. So much that he didn't ever start doing, or he stopped doing for her, and then she left. Not just left, but she's after his money and wants to limit the Hell out of his time with the kids. She never appreciated how much he sacrificed for her, and that knowledge drove him right into a bottle.
Jon comes in and stops when he sees the shattered glass on the floor. He glances over at me and I shrug. He sits down and wraps his arm around David, but the night doesn't proceed as usual. David sniffles, then whimpers, then begins to shake with full-fledged sobs. He just folds up into Jon's arms, and I want to get up and go over there, pull him against me and not let go until everything stops hurting - for both of us.
Instead I stub out my cigar and leave the room. Once upon a time I could have helped him - once upon a time he wouldn't have been hurting this much in the first place.
Fuck once upon a time. That was forever ago, and I sure as Hell don't have a time machine.
He's got a bottle of vodka that he lifts to his lips every minute or so - not exactly a minute, but less often than every couple of seconds and more often than every five minutes - and takes a couple swallows. He stopped wincing at the burn, stopped feeling it, maybe ten minutes ago. The bottle's half gone, but David's all gone. Has been for a long time.
In another ten minutes or so, Jon or Richie will come in from wherever it is they are and whatever it is they're doing. Whichever one it is will sit next to David, wrap an arm around him, slide the bottle from his fingers and set it aside. He'll rub David's back, talk quietly to him - if it's Jon he'll talk to him about music, if it's Richie Dave'll get the usual "women are bitches, what you need to do is drown yourself in groupies, not alcohol. Better for your brain and your dick, that kind of drowning. More fun, too." He'll slide an arm around David's waist, help him off the couch and out of the room, to get him in a limo and back to the hotel so he can sleep this bottle off before he gets a chance to start on the next one. He'll shoot me a look when he pulls his alcohol-soaked bandmate through the door. Richie's eyes ask me why I don't stop him sooner, why I just sit and watch and let him do this to himself. Jon's gaze holds so much pity I can hardly stand it. He's supporting his friend who can't even handle the reality of life anymore without a ridiculous blood alcohol level, and I get the pity.
When they get back to the hotel, Jon will stay with David all night, there to hold his hair back and help him brush his teeth and offer him a glass of water, there to hold him tight when he's done emptying his stomach until he falls asleep, crying. Richie will just let him into his room, calling or stopping in every hour or so to make sure he's still alive. Richie can't handle seeing David cry.
I overheard Hugh talking to Jon about me once, about how I sit and watch David drink himself numb and don't do anything, He doesn't approve, I guess. Richie had to convince me that if I sent him flying headfirst into a wall the resulting search for a new bassist would be more trouble than it was worth. He deserved what I wanted to do to him, though. Who does that fucker think he is, what the fuck does he know?
He doesn't know fucking anything. There was a time when, if David even looked like he MIGHT be hurting, I would have been the first to his side, consoling him and finding out what was wrong and growling vague empty threats in the general direction of anyone who might be causing him pain.
There was a time when all David had to do was say "please" and I would have moved Heaven and Earth to give him whatever he wanted. When I lived for the way he felt in my arms, the way his hair smelled, the way his skin tasted, the way his breath ghosted over my neck as he slept. He was taller than me, but he would insist on curling up in my lap to sleep during those long nights on the bus. He'd smile that smile of his when Jon giggled about how ridiculous he looked, and I would just melt.
There was a time when I couldn't think of anything more wonderful than the way he would arch against me, cling to me, moan my name like it was the only thing keeping him from drowning. Nothing made me happier than the way he would sigh "I love you" as we lay tangled up with each other, so much emotion in his voice that I could never doubt he meant it.
Then came the night when he was sitting on the bed when I got out of the shower, clutching a pillow, tears in his eyes. He wouldn't look me in the eyes as he told me he couldn't do this anymore, couldn't have a relationship that he had to keep hidden, couldn't handle feeling like something that made him so happy was wrong. I thought he was telling me he wanted to come out, to make some kind of announcement. I would have been fine with that. I never really liked the idea of keeping it a secret, and honestly anyone who would stop listening to Bon Jovi based on who the drummer was fucking and who was fucking the keyboardist and the fact that they happened to be the same person probably didn't get the music the way Jon wanted them to anyway. But that wasn't what he wanted to say at all.
David had decided to go back to his high school girlfriend. He told me he was probably going to marry her, start a family when the tour was over. He wanted to give normalcy a shot. I guess it had stopped mattering to him that I made him happy and he made me happy and we were in love. When the tour ended, he flew off to his normalcy and I went home. I married Eva because she reminded me of David. I divorced her because she wasn't David. I married Maria because she wasn't David, and I'm never home because she has the same mannerisms.
I went through the "drown my sorrows" phase for a long time. I was always drunk, and I'd curse out April and anything to do with her at every opportunity. Richie told me once I was too hard on her. It was right after Ava was born, and I asked him how he'd talk about someone who came and pulled her out of his arms, holding her just out of his reach, while he knew the whole time she wanted him to hold her. He didn't bring it up again.
At some point between Eva and Maria I started sleeping with Jon. He arched against me and clung to me and breathed my name, and he'd sit in my lap or lie tangled up in me and the sheets for hours after the fact. He wasn't David either, and I faulted him for it. He did get me to stop drinking, though - one night he confronted me about letting go of David, and the vodka in me didn't do much to stop me from slamming him against a wall and screaming at him until he cried. And I remembered the only time David and I really fought, when I threw him against a wall and screamed until he cried, and spent the next week doting over him because I can't handle David crying.
I poured that bottle of vodka down the sink and haven't been drunk since. Jon stopped sleeping with me after that. Partly because he knew if I had him I'd never let go of David because I could hold on to the parts of Jon that reminded me of David. He knew if I had someone who would put up with it I'd have no motivation. Then, of course, it hurt the Hell out of his pride that he'd always be second best no matter what he did. He lost the fight before it started, and he didn't want that. I don't blame him, and I don't hold a grudge.
Glass shattering yanks me out of my thoughts. Neither Jon nor Richie have come in yet, and David finished the bottle, letting it slip out of his fingers and shatter against the concrete floor. I don't think he knows he dropped it, because he raises his hand towards his lips again. The confusion on his face, the way he blinks as if he thinks the bottle will appear if he closes and reopens his eyes, it's familiar. He looked the same way when he first woke up many mornings. It's still adorable - he's still beautiful, even if April got rid of the David I used to love - who am I kidding, the David I still love. He might be in there somewhere, but I don't think he wants to let me look.
He never really loved her. He didn't when they got married, and from what Jon told me he never got to that point. He liked her, he appreciated her, they got along fine, but he never really loved her. But when she left it killed him, because he gave up a lot for her.
Not just me, not just the relationship that made him happy. He and Jon used to fool around all the time and he gave that up, gave up a lot with Jon. They'd been friends since high school, inseparable for years, but April was jealous so David cut way back. The solo albums he made weren't what he would have done if she weren't so possessive of his off-tour time. He wanted to do something so much bigger, more elaborate, but she wanted him home so he recorded there and put out an albums that were beautiful, but simplistic. So much that he didn't ever start doing, or he stopped doing for her, and then she left. Not just left, but she's after his money and wants to limit the Hell out of his time with the kids. She never appreciated how much he sacrificed for her, and that knowledge drove him right into a bottle.
Jon comes in and stops when he sees the shattered glass on the floor. He glances over at me and I shrug. He sits down and wraps his arm around David, but the night doesn't proceed as usual. David sniffles, then whimpers, then begins to shake with full-fledged sobs. He just folds up into Jon's arms, and I want to get up and go over there, pull him against me and not let go until everything stops hurting - for both of us.
Instead I stub out my cigar and leave the room. Once upon a time I could have helped him - once upon a time he wouldn't have been hurting this much in the first place.
Fuck once upon a time. That was forever ago, and I sure as Hell don't have a time machine.