Vivid Fears

Jonas
These applications were going to be the death of me.
A long, grueling jab in the eye.
But this was necessary. Astrid was applying to college, Rhys was planning visits, and Beck was on the verge of stardom. Our group would have to make some very hard decisions soon and I wanted to be in the best position possible. That was why I was only applying to standalone scholarships unaffiliated with any specific school.
It wasn’t something I’d shared with anyone yet, it was just something I’d wanted in my back pocket in case I needed it. I’d also learned my lesson. No heartfelt life lessons spilled onto unforgiving computer paper.
I still needed to check out the journalism department at DU, but I’d been putting it off, hoping I could talk Astrid into joining me.
Shaking my head, I shut my laptop. A much-needed break called my name, and the grumbling of my stomach led me to the outdated kitchen.
For all intents and purposes, this was everything I had wanted to run away from.
Poverty. Trailer trash. Dead end jobs that barely supported anyone.
Funnily enough, this place wasn’t the reminder I had expected it to be. Instead, I was growing fond of the shag carpet and stained linoleum floor. I snickered to myself. Okay, I wasn’t actually fond of those particular things, but the trailer was now associated with Beck, and well…
I couldn’t hate Beck. He wouldn’t let me.
Speaking of, he crashed through the front door, and I was certain the doorknob left a dent in the thin wall as it made contact. Beck didn’t seem to care though. In a rumpled shirt, stained jeans, and slightly frizzed hair, he looked like he lost a fight with life. I couldn’t decide if I thought he’d had a bad show and drowned his sorrows in a deep bottle, or if he’d worked late, ran into his mom, then proceeded to drown his sorrows in a deep bottle. Either were a crap shoot.
He stumbled to the counter, clumsily opening the cabinet door and then pulled down a plastic cup. I was impressed he had the coordination to turn on the faucet with his other hand, but the man played guitar like a god. He might as well be ambidextrous.
“You okay there, Beck?” I edged closer and my nose crinkled from the stale alcohol seeping through his pores.
The last few weeks he’d been off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Nothing had really been out of the ordinary, other than the stress hovering around his body like a visible force field. I thought it was because he had gone viral, like it was too much pressure. Now, seeing his hands shake, and listening to his unintelligible curses, I didn’t believe that was it.
“Beck,” I said louder, dropping a hand on his shoulder.
He stiffened and set the cup on the counter. “Jonah. It’s late, you should be in beds.”
Using a small amount of pressure, I turned him around to face me. I was almost afraid of what I’d see. Living with substance abuse was no stranger to me, but it broke my heart to see the beginning threads of it catch onto Beck.
No sooner than I had a glimpse of his full face when he spun back around to the sink.
Instead of trying again, I responded to his comment. “It’s barely eleven. Not really the time we go to bed on the weekend.”
Grumbling, he tossed the cup haphazardly across the counter and splashed the cold water across his face. His place was on well water, and the slight mineral smell drifted over to me as the water pelted out of the faucet.
“I didn’t catch that. I’m going to assume you didn’t have a good night?” I took a step closer and hesitantly laid a hand on his shoulder again. It was weird, and we weren’t really the affectionate type. Scratch that, I wasn’t, but Beck was goofily touchy feely. In this case though, he seemed like he needed some kind of support.
“Fuckzzzz. I can’t even think right now,” Beck slurred as he ripped a paper towel off the ring and scrubbed at his face. “I’m going to bed. Tell Astrid I love her.” Then he stomped, quite sloppily, down the narrow hallway.