Page 22 of Breaking the Rules
"You want the main vocals or the backing vocals?"
"Which gets you on stage?" She makes eye contact through the mirror. "You seem more like the backup type."
"Why do you say that?"
"There's a steadiness to you. Like you don't want attention."
"I might be convinced."
"I know a place that does karaoke Tuesdays. No cover. Strong drinks."
And there's that hitch.
At some point, I'm going to have to face the fact that everyone wants to combine alcohol with… everything.
But not yet.
Right now, I just need to get through this.
"I have a card in my wallet. I'll leave it at the counter," she says.
"Thanks."
"I… Uh… I guess everyone feels like that sometimes. Like no one understands them. But this song… when I was a teenager, I felt like no one would ever get how fucked-up my head was. But this song did. It was the only thing that made me feel like someone would understand."
It hits me right in the gut.
She's honest and vulnerable and she's offering that to me.
I should reach out.
Sayme too. I'm still fucked-up. I've been fucked-up since I can remember. I thought it was cool, when I was a kid. I thought there was something beautiful about embracing my misery. About drowning everything I felt under a bottle of bourbon. But when I got over the idea of beautiful damage and realized I wasn't having fun anymore, I couldn't handle that. I couldn't handle shit.
So I drank more.
It was the only way to make everything easier.
Now that I'm sober, everything is so fucking hard again.
And I don't remember what the point of it is.
When does it get easier?
I want to understand it.
I want someone else to understand it.
To understand me.
I say none of that.
Stephanie is brave as hell, laying herself bare like this.
I'm not there yet.
I'm not even close to there yet.
"Is that stupid?" she asks.
