This is just the introduction. This story is probably going to be a lot longer than the last one, which...I'm honestly not sure if that is a good or bad thing. If the writing doesn't suck too much then I'll say it's good. :P
It's short, but the actual first chapter is a lot longer. Hope you all enjoy.
He looked intently at the tattered leather-bound notebook before him and scribbled out various lines before replacing them with what he considered quality material, or what he thought looked like quality material. "And someday I'll fly far away, you'll see," he sang silently under his breath before writing down the various chord progressions. "This is pointless," he snapped before shoving his guitar away.
"Whoa Sam, what'd it do to you?" Duncan shouted from the corner of the room. "You got mail, Buddy," he added before the blond could answer.
"If it is bills then throw them away. I can't pay them this month." The dark haired boy grinned while shaking his head and instead tossed a fancy envelope in his direction. "I've been working on a new song for us," he said while running his fingers over the back of the envelope. "This looks important. Maybe I've been invited to headline a famous tour. I'll leave you guys behind, for sure," Sam boasted.
"Not a chance," Duncan cackled. "We're part of the band, Sam. You can't go anywhere without us. Besides, no one outside of the locals know who we are. We're starving artists, Man. We've got the Bohemian crap down." Sam rolled his eyes before turning the envelope over. He felt a breath catch in his throat as the world began to spin. Duncan was immediately seated on the ripped couch beside him.
"I didn't know how to tell you," he offered while looking at Sam, trying to judge him for a reaction. The blond didn't know what kind of reaction to give. He felt his entire world collapsing around him. He imagined his heart would be breaking if he even owned it to begin with.
"You didn't know how to tell me?" Sam whispered, efficiently scaring the band's drummer. "You didn't know how to tell me?" He shouted before raising his head to look at his best friend, maybe former best friend. "You could have thrown it away, Duncan. I didn't have to know about this." In his distressed state he tossed the envelope onto the makeshift coffee table and ran his fingers through his messy hair.
"Sam, you totally did though. You've got to, I don't know, Man, get yourself together. It's been two and a half years now. Things change, life goes on. You have to move right on with it." Sam clenched his fists before reaching out to grab the offensive item. His grip was vice-like, almost threatening to rip the flimsy papers in half.
"Why didn't you throw it away?" Sam whispered again, his voice cracking and his resolve finally crumbling. He was glad that none of his band mates ever showed up on time. He couldn't fathom having to explain to them why he was sitting on their molded couch having an emotional breakdown. He was certain that his friends would question his sanity and then without hesitation throw him into a loony bin.
"You know why I didn't, Dude. All along I've thought you guys were the real deal. I figured maybe this would make you want to fight for things?" Sam shook his head, cleared his throat, and stood up. He stretched, popping the muscles of his back before wiping at his eyes. "Or maybe I thought it would help you to move on, for real this time. You don't fool anyone, Sam."
"I'm going to go, you know, read this in the bathroom or something." Duncan shook his head with worry. "Dude, I'm fine; I'm just caught off guard."
"You guys were together like four years, dude. My longest relationship lasted with a pet goldfish. He died after a week. I don't know what you're going through, but she was special. Even I could see that what you guys had was unique." Sam scoffed before pushing his way past the brunette and making his way to the small bathroom.
He gripped the sink and looked into the mirror and frowned at what he saw. Red rimmed eyes and a broken expression were something he hadn't worn in a long while. He had efficiently been able to make himself believe that he had been emotionless for the past year, but it never really worked. Somehow she would always creep into his mind; their epic love-story ended before it could even really begin.
He sat down on the rusty toilet and lightly picked the envelope open, not wanting to damage the small paper. Her hands had touched that very envelope: those hands that he had longed to hold for years. He pulled out the small invitation and traced his fingers over the fancy script Q of her name.
A sob escaped from the back of his throat as he continued to trace her name. That was supposed to be his name on the invitation with hers, not some Jesse St. James person. "Quinn St. James," he huffed, "it doesn't even have a nice ring to it," he finished off before grabbing a piece of toilet paper and blowing his nose on it.
A part of him wanted nothing more than to go after her and demand a reason for her having to cause him the heartache of having to see that damn piece of paper. She had to have known what it was going to do to him, seeing the wedding invitation. Was it even normal to invite an ex to a wedding? He watched the invitation tremble in his shaky hands before he threw the offensive materials into the sink. With as much strength as he could muster he turned the rusted knob and let the water fall over the envelope. The ink smeared together and formed incomprehensible blobs.
A knock on the dingy door brought him back into his world, the world where Quinn Fabray didn't exist anymore. "Dude, band is here. Are you ready to do these new songs or do I need to tell 'em to come back later?" Sam steeled his nerves and inhaled deeply.
"I'm coming out," he called back to Duncan before letting out a shaky breath. He tugged the door open and made his way to the practice room but was intercepted by his roommate.
"What's on your mind?" Sam gawked at the drummer, unsure of how to answer that. His best friend had been there all along, to see his highs and lows with the girl. Somehow he had the balls to ask him what was on his mind.
"It never got easier, you know," Sam whispered so that the other guys couldn't hear him. "I spent so many days trying to figure it out."
"Figure what out?" His best friend's voice whispered in a moment of genuine concern.
"Everything, Duncan," Sam replied while placing his hand over the young man's shoulder. "And to this very day I've yet to find out where our love went wrong." As soon as he let the words fall out he pushed past the drummer and made his way to his friends, wedding invitations and broken hearts long forgotten.
Or, at least, he pretended they were.
Three hours and too many bottles of beer later found him curled into the fetal position in his small twin-sized bed. His drunken stupor did nothing to hide away the scars and cuts of a love lost. His eyes would slowly shut only for him to see hazel eyes and locks of gold. He had long ago thrown all of her stuff: pictures, t-shirts, and anything in between into a box never to be opened again, but his memory was something that always would betray. He could never escape her.
A knock at his door brought him out of his weary state of mind. He pulled himself up to recline against the cracked wall and sighed when Duncan paced his way over. "Drinking won't make you forget, Sam," he stated while looking around at the empty bottles scattered amongst the rest of his mess.
"No," Sam agreed, "it won't." Duncan shook his head in mild disgust at Sam's antics before turning around to go back to his own room. "Nothing ever will," he added to himself before slinking back into a lying down position. He pulled the covers tightly around him and drifted off into a nightmare-filled slumber.