Page 97 of Faux Real
But despite the pain that infiltrated every fiber of my being, I played.
I played my heart out.
What else was there to do? Crash and burn in front of all my friends? My classmates? All the other parents who actually gave a shit about their children? No. I wasn’t about to embarrass myself. I wasn’t going to look sad. Or angry. Or hurt.
What useless emotions.
I soon learned that those unwelcome and cumbersome emotions were a direct result of caring, of having expectations, of wishing for the impossible. So I stopped. I let go of those feelings. I taught myself the art of not giving a fuck. Of having zero expectations.
Zero.
It happened slowly. Every year. I felt myself care less. It started first with my parents. Soon my classmates. Then the world around me. Then myself, I guess, if I’m being honest.
And over time, it became easier. Nothing affected me. Nothing.
Like I was numb. Like I was a vessel with nothing inside.
No heart, no feelings, no emotions.
I know it’s not ideal. It’s not a healthy way of living life. I know that. I really do. I am so fucking aware of that fact. But what else was Isupposedto do? What other solutions were there? Especially for a child? A child that was never lucky enough to experience the joys of parental comfort, love, or pride.
Was I to cry? Beg? Pray for the affection? No.
You can’t be hurt if you don’t care. I’ve known that for years. I’ve lived by that mantra for years. It’s been my shield for fuckingyears.
So why am I disappointed now? Why am I feeling like I did when I was ten years old? Why did Iallowthis to happen?
But most importantly...why isn’t she here? Why isn’t she in the front row looking up at me with those rich brown eyes? She isn’t smiling up at me?
Why isn’t she here? Why?
“Alright! Alright!” the MC hollers, settling down the crowd. “This next band is a hometown favorite, give it up for Catharsis!” “Ready boys?” Jaime asks, glancing at us as he tunes his guitar.
We all nod, and he turns back to the audience. “We got a couple originals for you guys today, and a little treat at the end! Let’s give ‘er!”
And I play.
I play my heart out. Hitting every beat, running all the fills, bashing the drums so hard that my stick breaks. Twice. But I play. Like I’ve always done. Claps, snares, and thuds fill my ears, travel up my fingers, arms, filling my body with noise. Noise. It’s drowning out the clamoring of disappointment that’s running rampant in my brain.
This is what happens when you start caring. This is what happens when you aren’t careful. You start to feel. And feeling? It doesn’t feel good. Not at all.
“This last one isAcquiesceby Oasis,” Colt pants into the mic, shooting me a side-eye.
I nod, jaw locking as Jaime leads us into the intro. The crowd roars as they recognize the song. I scan the front row. Again. She’s not here. The one person whose smile I actually care about. What an idiot. A fucking moron.
The next four minutes are hell. A hell I brought on myself. Like a fucking masochist.
“Thank you!” Colt shouts as the song comes to an end.
I rush off stage, my entire body tense with anger, hurt, pain, and disa-fucking-pointment.
“Oh my God, Ollie!” Raven yells, running up and wrapping her arms around me as I stand stiff as a board. “You were so good! Like amazing! Seriously!”
“Thanks,” I mutter as she pulls away, frowning at me. “What?” Raven purses her lips. “Looks like you need a drink.”
I scoff. “More like ten.”
“Come on then,” she says, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the bar. “Let’s do a shot.”
