Can't Save Me Now
May. 7th, 2021 09:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
midnight_devilFor February Nexus Prompt: 5. The final straw
“Trine! You can't ask me to do this.” Vars was almost screaming into the phone in his hotel room. His bandmates out at the bar and razzing him for staying in to talk to his wife. Now, it was causing the usually unfaltering punk to stumble over his words.
“I wouldn't have married you if I knew you were going to become a criminal.”
Vars stared out the window at the dark city. “I'm not one. I've never done anything. Believe me, please.”
The media had been reporting all kinds of things about his band and their behavior. There had been fights but no one was seriously hurt, just scuffles. Drunk and disorderly here and there. They were punks. It was the scene.
“I saw you on TV in cuffs. My father says you're going to go to jail.”
He panicked in the silence that hung after those words. He had been picked up when one of their concerts were busted and it had been a mistake. He barely made it past the front door of the station before he was let go.
His thoughts are interrupted by a bang on the door and his bandmates asking when he's going to get off the phone with his old lady. Vars doesn't answer them, nor Trine. His mind is swirling and his chest feels tight under the pressure of his wife's tone.
“Oddie, it's your choice. If you're not back before I pack and find a place, you're on your own.”
The words cut, cut deeper than a knife. “Trine, doll, I can't just abandon the band with two weeks left in the tour. Wait for me.... wait for me.” He's begging and knows it. He'd get on his knees for her if he had to. She was everything to him, had been for years since they met in school.
“All I do is wait for you.” The snap in her voice caused his hand to shake on the receiver while he listened. “Now, you're a fucking criminal too. What kind of life is this going to be for a family.”
The words were gone, sucker punched right out of his mind by her voice. She was actually going to leave him. He hoped that was his mind and not reality. God! It couldn't be reality.
“I'm the same person. I'm sorry I left you there but you didn't want to come with us.” He knew it bothered her on the first tour they did away and he had saved money to be able to afford to have his wife travel for this one, but she rejected it. “Don't leave me alone, baby. I'll give you anything, everything. You know I will.”
“You left yourself alone. Just stay with those bastards and go to jail. I don't want to see you. Just stay away.”
The phone went dead and Vars held on to it with a death grip. His eyes locked on his battered boots and the spikes on them before they drifted to the phone in his hand. His bandmates were still banging on the door. He should go home but then he might never work again. He was trapped. Even if he left now it might take days to get a plane and travel back to Norway.
He turned and dialed her again, waiting with his heart in a knot while it rang and rang. He wasn't going to stop until she was back on the phone. It must have rang for five minutes because his forearm was shaking, muscles exhausted from the way he was holding the phone. There was nothing and he grabbed the whole thing, ripped it out of the wall and threw it at the door. It silenced the knocking.
“Vars? Are you alright in there?”
It was the other guitarist, drunk but concerned in the hallway.
“FUCK OFF YOU BASTARD!” Vars screamed at the door while trying to vent the pain before he cried. He couldn't cry, not here, not around the band. The lamp followed the phone. The delicate white glass of the base flying into shards across the floor, falling like glittering snow in the reflection of the city lights outside.
“Hey?” The guitarist opened the door slowly. They all knew the bassist could fly off the handle sometimes but usually not in an empty room. The stare from the bassist cowered the other punk at the door frame.
Vars grabbed his leather, pulling it on as he headed for the door. “Let's fucking drink.”
He needed to drown, wanted to die. Everything had gone dark in his mind. He was sinking in the pain but put on a cocky smile. “You fuckers didn't drink the bar yet?”
The guitarist smiled and shook his head. And Vars went on into the bar, smile on his face and laughter in his voice but his inside was broken beyond repair.
“Trine! You can't ask me to do this.” Vars was almost screaming into the phone in his hotel room. His bandmates out at the bar and razzing him for staying in to talk to his wife. Now, it was causing the usually unfaltering punk to stumble over his words.
“I wouldn't have married you if I knew you were going to become a criminal.”
Vars stared out the window at the dark city. “I'm not one. I've never done anything. Believe me, please.”
The media had been reporting all kinds of things about his band and their behavior. There had been fights but no one was seriously hurt, just scuffles. Drunk and disorderly here and there. They were punks. It was the scene.
“I saw you on TV in cuffs. My father says you're going to go to jail.”
He panicked in the silence that hung after those words. He had been picked up when one of their concerts were busted and it had been a mistake. He barely made it past the front door of the station before he was let go.
His thoughts are interrupted by a bang on the door and his bandmates asking when he's going to get off the phone with his old lady. Vars doesn't answer them, nor Trine. His mind is swirling and his chest feels tight under the pressure of his wife's tone.
“Oddie, it's your choice. If you're not back before I pack and find a place, you're on your own.”
The words cut, cut deeper than a knife. “Trine, doll, I can't just abandon the band with two weeks left in the tour. Wait for me.... wait for me.” He's begging and knows it. He'd get on his knees for her if he had to. She was everything to him, had been for years since they met in school.
“All I do is wait for you.” The snap in her voice caused his hand to shake on the receiver while he listened. “Now, you're a fucking criminal too. What kind of life is this going to be for a family.”
The words were gone, sucker punched right out of his mind by her voice. She was actually going to leave him. He hoped that was his mind and not reality. God! It couldn't be reality.
“I'm the same person. I'm sorry I left you there but you didn't want to come with us.” He knew it bothered her on the first tour they did away and he had saved money to be able to afford to have his wife travel for this one, but she rejected it. “Don't leave me alone, baby. I'll give you anything, everything. You know I will.”
“You left yourself alone. Just stay with those bastards and go to jail. I don't want to see you. Just stay away.”
The phone went dead and Vars held on to it with a death grip. His eyes locked on his battered boots and the spikes on them before they drifted to the phone in his hand. His bandmates were still banging on the door. He should go home but then he might never work again. He was trapped. Even if he left now it might take days to get a plane and travel back to Norway.
He turned and dialed her again, waiting with his heart in a knot while it rang and rang. He wasn't going to stop until she was back on the phone. It must have rang for five minutes because his forearm was shaking, muscles exhausted from the way he was holding the phone. There was nothing and he grabbed the whole thing, ripped it out of the wall and threw it at the door. It silenced the knocking.
“Vars? Are you alright in there?”
It was the other guitarist, drunk but concerned in the hallway.
“FUCK OFF YOU BASTARD!” Vars screamed at the door while trying to vent the pain before he cried. He couldn't cry, not here, not around the band. The lamp followed the phone. The delicate white glass of the base flying into shards across the floor, falling like glittering snow in the reflection of the city lights outside.
“Hey?” The guitarist opened the door slowly. They all knew the bassist could fly off the handle sometimes but usually not in an empty room. The stare from the bassist cowered the other punk at the door frame.
Vars grabbed his leather, pulling it on as he headed for the door. “Let's fucking drink.”
He needed to drown, wanted to die. Everything had gone dark in his mind. He was sinking in the pain but put on a cocky smile. “You fuckers didn't drink the bar yet?”
The guitarist smiled and shook his head. And Vars went on into the bar, smile on his face and laughter in his voice but his inside was broken beyond repair.
