It's like that shining moment in your life when suddenly somebody kicked your ass into a world of perfection. Except in all of your mindless stupidity you forgot to realize that there isn't such a thing as perfection, and those that believe in it are fools. You're supposed to be a realist, get up and start moving on with life. She's never coming back, never looked back when she drove away, and she doesn't plan on calling anytime soon, give up. It's times like these when you finally question where in the fuck you went wrong. One moment you were in a happy bliss with the so-called woman of your dreams, now, you, you're in a bed, drunk, weeping over yourself.
Get. The. Fuck. Up.
You're tired moping isn't going to get you anywhere except exhausted and depressed. Go out, have a good time. Call up your boy Trace and figure out some new club to hit up. You know the photographers will eat up that shit with you all in the hot scene. Hell, go call up Paris, Cameron, maybe even Brit if you wanna start some phone calls real fast.
I don't get it, buddy, you sit there crying and wondering where in the hell you went wrong when you know damn well it wasn't your fault. She wasn't happy, she didn't want to live your life anymore, and she was tired of the limelight. She loved you, yes, but love only goes so far in situations like this.
That's it; get up Justin. Get your two feet on the ground and go take a shower. No, I don't care if the bathroom still smells like Abercrombie 8 and CHI shampoo; throw that shit out. So what if she left her jewelry there, go sell it; I'm sure that engagement ring is worth enough for you to buy another Ferrari.
Once you're done in the shower, go pick out some clothes. Nice job, get the phone and call up Trace and Scott, it'll be a boy's night out. Don't drive either, you've already had too much today.
Walk down the stairs, don't look at the pictures at the wall, and don't look at them! Damnit, Justin, I told you not to look. Now, why do you have to start the tears again? Didn't we just get over that? One foot in front of the other, that's it.
The phone is ringing dumb ass; you left it on the kitchen counter. Answer it; don't sound stupid either. WAIIIT. Breaks buddy; you know whose number that is. You can't talk to her right now; you can't even say the word "Sam" without bursting into tears.
You'll talk to her later, just not right now. You're far too uneasy to confront the situation the way it is right now. Tomorrow, once you're done recovering from your hangover, you should probably hit the studio. Call up Tim and the boys and see what you come up with. Those girls need another club banger, they need another tour, and they need more you. It's time you start moving on with life buddy, and I'll do whatever it takes to get you to that point.
“I think we have another Cry Me a River on our hands dude,” Tim says.
As if you didn’t already know that. You stayed up last night “forgot” as you told Trace to go out and get drunk. When in reality, all you really did was stay up like you wanted to and watch old movies that would remind you of her. Even, I, your mind, told you to move on with life and you sat there and just cried. Pulled out your notebook just to write down the chords and headed into the studio this morning to come up with this so-called ‘greatness.’
She’s going to know you’re talking about her, I hope the little heart down there knows that. But who am I to tell you? I’m just your brain, your thoughts, your conscious. Justin, you know damn well that you can’t say “I was ready to give you my name,” and not expect her to put two and two together.
Although, I must hand it to you, making millions off of heartbreak, society hasn’t seen that since, well, 2002 and oddly enough you wrote that, too. The beat is hot though, not really a Cry Me a River like muscles over there thinks, but it’ll get the point across none the less.
Now don’t go reaching in your pocket for that phone, you’d know that ring tone anywhere and you know whose on the other line so why are you going to torture yourself some more.
“I’ve got to take this,” you tell Tim even though you know that it’s the dumbest idea you’ve ever heard.
“Baby, I’m sorry, come home,” you say when you should just be banging your head against the wall repeatedly. It’s okay, I can take the damage, apparently I don’t have that much control over you anyway.
“Don’t call me that,” she spats, “I just want to come and get the rest of my stuff.”
I told you so, Justin. Never listen to me though, why the fuck would you do that?
“Can’t we work this out?” You plead, but you already know the answer before it comes out of her mouth.
“Look, I don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s someone else.”
The organ that once moved only for her has stopped, your pulse starts to race again as you finally realize what she’s said and suddenly the only thing you want to do is break something.
“I’ll box up your things and have Lonnie send them over.” You suggest.
“Actually I’m already here, I just want to make sure it’s okay with you before I take anything.”
And with that, you tightly clutch the phone and release it so that it slams into the wall and you already know it’s broken beyond repair.
I had hoped anger would’ve been your first emotion, you know so you would be so driven to give her everything back before moving on, but I’ll settle for second best. You know as well as I do that seeing her again isn’t going to help, yet you get into your car and head home. Speeding down the freeway, you manuever around tons of cars only to reach your home where the one you bought for her is parked in its usual space.
Slamming the door shut you search around your house to find her taking some of your things as well.
“Why in the hell are you taking my stuff?” You question.
“I’m only taking back the things I bought for you,” she responds.
I knew this was going to happen, I told you so. You know what you have to say now, just do it. Tell her you want all of your shit back to even though you know she’d have nothing if it weren’t for you. She’d still be that poor little college girl who was trying to make it big.
“Give me the keys to your car, the keys to your apartment, the keys to this house.” And the key back to your heart, you silently think to yourself.
“You can’t do that, J!” She states.
“Oh but I can, you see, you’re taking back all the stuff you got me. It’s only fitting that I take back everything I bought you. You’re not going to continue living off my bank account while you fuck some other guy.”
Woah, J, even I’m impressed.
“Fine, Justin, if that’s the way you want to be, you can have it all back. I don’t give a flying fuck anymore you selfish son of a bitch, I hope you rot in hell.” She states while getting out her cellphone.
“Baby” she says into the receiver, “can you come and get me?”
Now you’re over the edge. That man is coming to your house, oh hell no. Do something, Justin, do something.
Taking her things, you throw them out on the front porch. Pointing to the door you tell her to get the hell out of your house. She does, willingly, and heads to the car waiting for her.
“Have a nice fucking life, Sam.” You exclaim and slam the door, only to find your one friend, the bottle.