The clock on the wall read three am.  A small lamp in the quiet room was all the light provided for its occupant.  A few notes of the song “Chop Sticks” was played on the beautiful grand piano before frustrated hands banged the keys.

JC Chasez massaged his temples in slow circular motions hoping to relieve some of the pressure lingering behind his eyes.  He wasn’t getting anywhere.  His leather-bound notebook sat on top of the piano in front of him; the page it was open to remained blank.  It had been blank for several weeks.

Whether JC sat down at the piano or with a guitar, the notebook page remained blank.  No words were coming to him.  This wasn’t the first time that he had had writer’s block but this time was particularly frustrating.  It’s never gone on this long.  He had always managed to find inspiration rather quickly to rid him of his block.  Not this time.  This was turning into an entire wall that towered over him ominously.

It was a balmy September night.  JC abandoned his notebook and piano to sit on the balcony.  Rather than just pouring himself a glass, he grabbed the whole bottle of bourbon from the bar off of his living room.  He stared out at the hills and bright city lights below his LA home.  The city noise below faintly drifting towards him.  He took a long pull straight from the bottle.

The last several months of JC’s life had been a roller coaster of emotions.  While he was still working steadily, there were projects and opportunities that kept slipping through his fingers.  Opportunities that he was excited about, projects that he couldn’t wait to share with the world.  In an instant, they were gone.

The all girl group that he put together was all but defunct.  Nothing ever really came of them gaining any success, especially in the US.  They had gained some ground in the Asian market but it was short lived.  Some of them were trying to make music on their own.

The most recent blow came when the musical he was supposed to be a part of was abruptly cancelled mere days before they were to debut.  Out of the blue it seemed.  All the blood, sweat, and tears poured into it was all for nothing.  The rug yanked out from under everyone involved in the project.

The bitter taste of failure was nearly choking JC.  Now he couldn’t even get words onto paper.  He froze anytime he sent down to an instrument.  A tightness would pull in his chest and his breathing would come in short, shallow puffs of air.  Writing always got through him through the tough times.  Once the word were out, he could move forward.  This time, nothing made it to paper.

And then there was the subject of JC’s love life.  Or rather lack thereof.  He hadn’t seriously dated anyone in well over a year.  The random hook ups didn’t fill the voids within him as he hoped they would.  He was getting too old for it anyway.

JC didn’t know what he wanted anymore and that terrified him.  He always thrived having order and balance in his life.  Most of the time he managed to navigate the highs and lows of his life rather deftly.  He liked that he was able to have a fairly private life unlike some of his friends.  He occasionally got hounded by paparazzi but not to the extent of some.  All he wanted was to make music but his own inner turmoil was sabotaging that.

JC couldn’t take the madness anymore.  He needed to get away.  Not sure for how long or where but away.  Anywhere but here.

***

The fluorescent light in the small two-piece bathroom flickered periodically above it’s occupants.  It was obviously time for a new bulb but this revelation only dawned on one of the bathroom’s occupants.

Charlotte “Charlie” Marlowe found herself in the same unfortunate situation she allowed herself to fall into from time to time.  She told herself every time that she ended up here, it would be the last.  Yet that never seemed to be the case.  It was a vicious cycle; one that she got no benefit or pleasure from.

Charlie all too frequently found herself pinned between the sink of the tiny bar bathroom and the body of one Deputy Matt Frazier.  Her jeans and panties discarded in a pile at Matt’s feet.  Her shirt and bra pushed up to her armpits.  Rough and callused hands moved haphazardly over her body.  Hot, panting breaths hit her right ear to match each thrust of Matt’s hips.  Only one person was enjoying this and it surely wasn’t Charlie.

The fluorescent blinking light was the only thing providing any distraction for Charlie.  She tried to go to a happy place in her mind.  Anything to take her away from where she was.  She cursed herself for allowing this thing with the deputy to go on as long as she had.

One of the first people Charlie met when she moved to Cannon Beach, Oregon a few years prior was Matt.  He was a deputy in the neighboring town of Astoria approximately forty minutes North.  On the rare nights that he worked the overnight shift, he would sneak down to Cannon Beach to see Charlie.  Usually after having had a fight with his wife.

When Charlie met Matt, he and his wife were separated.  He claimed they were halfway to divorce court.  Even so, Charlie wasn’t looking for a husband or boyfriend.  She really just needed something to help her forget.  She wanted a distraction.  She wasn’t wanting to be a homewrecker.  She should have stopped it when he reconciled with his wife.  So much for that.

It was just after three am and the small bar that Charlie worked had long closed for the evening.  She was in the back office, rushing to finish the nightly deposit so she could head home when Deputy Matt knocked on the office window.  Against her better judgement, she let him in the back door.  

The same back and forth banter that happened every time occurred between the two.  Matt sweet talked Charlie and she tried to shoot him down.  He persisted as he pulled her into the small employee bathroom in the back of the bar.  Before long, Charlie was trying to block out Matt’s grunts and moans.  She just prayed he finished soon.

It wasn’t long before her prayers were answered.  One final thrust of hips before Matt slumped forward into Charlie.  Her stomach churned and a tightness was building in her chest.  She needed to be away from him.  She pushed on his shoulders for him to back away.  He obliged and discarded his condom into the toilet as she straightened her bra and shirt back into place.  Once flushed, Matt moved to kiss Charlie.  She turned her head to the side; his lips landing on her cheek.  A low chuckle sounded in his throat.

Quickly gathering her discarded clothes, Charlie pulled her jeans on, shoving her panties into her pocket.  She needed to put distance between her and Matt.  She shot out of the bathroom, her lungs rebelling against her.  She was having a hard time pulling enough air in.  While Matt put himself back together, Charlie was leaning with her hands planted on the small office desk.  Her head hanging low as she tried to regulate her breathing.

Matt dried his hands on a paper towel as he joined Charlie in the office.  He gave her ass a hard smack as he exited.  Her stomach lurched, nearly losing what little contents it contained.  She waited for the familiar sound of the backdoor clicking shut, advising her that she was once again alone.

It was only then that Charlie allowed a muffled sob to escape.  She damned and cursed herself every time this happened.  She hated herself for not being strong enough to turn him away.  She was in her thirties!  How could she allow herself to do this for Christ sake?  As her sobs continued to rack her body, her breathing became worse.  There was only one thing that would help at that moment.

Charlie hurriedly dug into the depths of her purse, retrieving a small tin normally used for breath mints.  She took this lifeline back into the small bathroom.  Her hands shook as she opened the container.  The metal object inside the tin caught the light from overhead.  Just the sight of it caused Charlie’s breathing to begin to normalize.  This was the only relief she had at the moment.

Taking the small razor blade between her the thumb and index fingers on her right hand, Charlie held it up eye level.  She caught her own disheveled appearance in the mirror, quickly averting her eyes and focused back on the blade.  She pushed the long sleve of her sweater up her left arm, placing the blade firmly against her skin.  

Halfway between her wrist and her elbow, Charlie made the slightest cut into her pale skin.  It was no more than a quarter of an inch in length.  As blood slowly trickled down her arm, towards her hand, a rush of air filled Charlie’s lungs.  The blade slipped from her fingers into the sink as she relished the feeling of air in her lungs again.  Blood streaked the bowl of the sink.

This small release brought Charlie’s back to reality once again.