Page 140 of Filthy Beautiful
I was fucking thrilled about it, but even then, I had no idea how it would change the course of my life.
The four of us gelled incredibly well. Cary and Gabe were so prolific, so energetic in everything they did together. They wrote a whole album for us in three months. We cut a demo and played local bars, and we got picked up by a record label within that first year. We recorded our first album in two months, and then we were off touring in support of it.
Alive climbed the charts and we got pretty famous, fast.
By the time I was twenty-six, Alive was at the top of the charts and Cary, Gabe and me were inseparable. The three of us did everything together. Dean usually tagged along, but he was kind of in his own world. The three of uswereeach other’s world. We were climbing a mountain, together, and we couldn’t do it without each other.
I’d had a lot of friends over the years, good friends, but Cary and Gabe were my best friends. They were the only true brothers I’d ever really had.
Then Gabe died while we were on tour, and Cary never really recovered. Alive went on hiatus, then just… dissolved.
Quickly or slowly, everyone went on with their lives. Except Cary.
He was still my best friend, even if I rarely got to spend any time with him. I loved him, but I didn’t know how to help him. And that was not an easy thing to live with.
Gabe’s death wasn’t an easy thing to live with.
And Courteney’s book brought it all back. The good. The bad.
So many memories…
So many fuckingfeelings.
And I knew if I let it, all that shit would eat me up. Just like it ate Cary up.
I typed her out a quick email, choosing my words carefully.The book is really good, Courteney. You write well. Keep at it.
Lame, but it was all I could manage.
I sent the email and put down my phone. In the silence of my room at night, in the dark, my head was a storm of memories. Pictures and colors… voices and sounds.
Music.
Gabe.
My chest felt like it was about to burst. Like the way you felt right before you cried like a baby.
Fuck, though. I was not gonna cry. There was no point in crying over something you couldn’t change. No point feeling shit that only made you suffer.
What the fuck good were feelings?
Who needed emotions?
Look what they did to Cary.
I didn’t like feeling all this shit. I wasn’t a fucking monster or something. I wasn’t a psychopath. I felt.
I just didn’twantto feel.
So instead, I tamped my emotions down and went on living. Or at least, I fucking tried to.
* * *
The next day, I headed back over to Cary’s place knowing I needed to step away. Before all this shit took me down.
I could keep as much of an eye on Cary from my place downtown as I could from his poolhouse. Or at least, I was trying to convince myself of that. That he didn’t need me here. That I wasn’t helping.
Because I needed some space.
