I Guess I Never Should Have Loved You

“So, it’s settled, then,” Mike said happily, sighing in satisfaction as he grinned from ear to ear at his friend, and now new band mate, Jaime Preciado.

Vic normally wasn’t one to have outbursts, but he couldn’t help but jump up and down in excitement, engulfing Jaime into a big man hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Vic exclaimed breathlessly.

“Thank me? Thank you!” Jaime reciprocated, patting Vic’s back. “Thanks for letting me join in,” Jaime said in all seriousness. It was an odd role reversal—Jaime was usually the energetic one while Vic was normally the serious one.

“Mikey, we’re really doing it, aren’t we?” Vic grinned at his brother who was thinking the same thing—they were really doing it!

“It's going to be so weird playing the album live for a change,” Mike said, referring to the fact that they only worked with the album in the studio, not having a full band to perform it with.

“Yeah, but it’ll be awesome! A lot of work in front of us, boys, but awesome nonetheless!” Vic said, feeling a bittersweet sensation of euphoria wash through his veins. Vic was beyond ecstatic—he didn’t think that he’d get so excited over officially having Jaime in the band since it’s been in the works for weeks, but everything just seemed so officially surreal.

The boys took off in intense conversation about the already released album that they could now officially begin touring for—that is, if their single date at Warped Tour in a few weeks went well. They were confident, though; Jaime couldn’t stop gushing over how good the brothers’ album, A Flair For the Dramatic, had turned out and how excited he was to play the bass parts and do the backup singing.

“The guitar parts will be difficult because I can only play one part at a time, but we’ll make it work,” Vic said, referring to the fact that they had overlaying riffs incorporated into the songs, meaning they would have to cut out some of those guitar parts to accommodate for the fact that they only had one guitarist—Vic, himself. Vic really wished they had a fourth member—someone who could play lead guitar while he played the rhythm parts—but he didn’t think that they’d find one in time, and it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world. For now, he was satisfied.

“Er, be right back,” Vic mumbled at the guys, peeling off into a different room when he saw that his phone was ringing.

“Tony?” Vic answered, not expecting Tony to call him back already or this late.

“Uh, hey, I have a question,” Tony mumbled into the phone—he sounded upset, which worried Vic to no end. I can’t escape any of this, Vic thought sadly, referring to the way his life always seemed to involve misery. He was either dealing with it personally, or he was helping others deal with it. He wasn’t complaining, though; he was recovered himself, and he liked to know that he made a difference in helping other people who faced similar issues. Maybe my music will help people cope, one day, Vic thought dreamily.

He then realized that he was daydreaming again and probably left Tony hanging for too long. “What’s up?” he asked warily.

“I’m really sorry to put this on you because I know you’re busy but…” Tony’s voice trailed off, as if he didn’t want to ask his question.

“Go on, Tony, it’s okay,” Vic probed.

“Do you think you could, uh, take me to the hospital?” Tony asked, biting his lip anxiously.

“Shit, yeah, of course, man,” Vic said, trying to be calm for his new friend’s sake. “What happened?”

“I, uh, kind of sliced my palms open by accident,” Tony said lowly.

“How?” Vic asked, skepticism laced in his tone.

“I got a little carried away,” Tony mumbled almost inaudibly. Thinking that Vic didn’t hear that, Tony added: “I, uh, smashed my guitar, and the splintering jammed into my palms by accident. I think I need a few stitches,” Tony regretted, looking down on his bloody hands. He was beginning to feel nauseous. “I didn’t want to call 911 because it’s not really an emergency and I didn’t want to be taken away in an ambulance, but I couldn’t call a cab because of the blood everywhere. So I hope it’s okay that I called—”

“Hey, no need to explain yourself, Tony. I’m glad you called. I’ll be right over to take you, okay?” Vic said genuinely.

“Okay,” Tony said, hanging up the phone.

“Hey, guys?” Vic reentered the room where Jaime and Mike were talking away.

“What’s up?”

“I have to go out for a few minutes, okay?” Vic told them, not really wanting to tell them the exact details.

“Where the hell could you possibly be going? It’s almost midnight!” Mike exclaimed, furrowing his eyebrows at his brother.

“It doesn’t matter, Mike,” Vic snapped. “Don’t wait up for me,” he added, softening his tone because he knew that Mike didn’t deserve his attitude. Before Mike could object, Vic was already turning away, feeling rather jumpy and nervous for Tony. He didn’t know how bad his injuries were, and he didn’t want him to lose too much blood.

“See ya, Himes,” Vic said as he walked through the door. Even though Tony lived just next door, Vic hopped into his car to pick him up.

Several thoughts were racing through Vic’s head at this point, the main one being: why would Tony smash a guitar?

Vic walked into Tony’s house—the front door was unlocked—and immediately gasped at the warzone he had stepped into. He had imagined that Tony was a mess, but he hadn’t imagined that it would be this bad. Vic shook his head, trying to ignore the broken glass, empty bottles, and darkness, and focused on Tony.

“Up here,” he heard Tony slur from up a flight of steps—Tony must have heard Vic enter the house.

Vic jogged up the steps, taking two at a time, and finally found Tony in a bedroom. It was completely trashed; similar to the way the main level appeared, along with an unmade bed and holes in the walls. Oh, and, how could Vic miss the red liquid splattered randomly throughout the room? What happened in here? Vic tried not to let his imagination get the best of him as he walked over to Tony, who was sitting calmly in a corner, holding both of his hands against his thighs.

“Jesus, Tony,” Vic hissed, concern spreading on his features as he knelt down to see the damage.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said sadly, avoiding eye contact with Vic. Tony didn’t mean to smash his guitar so violently—it just happened, things got out of control. It was an accident, though; he didn’t know the splinters of the neck of the guitar would rebound in his direction.

“Don’t be sorry, Tony. Can I go in here?” Vic asked, standing up and gesturing towards the bathroom. Tony nodded. Vic grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom, returning within seconds.

“Let me see,” Vic said soothingly. Tony’s shaking hands slowly turned over, revealing a nasty gash on his right palm and a few cuts on his left. Tony cringed at the sight, ashamed for letting this happen. The wounds stung, too, and the warmth of the blood leaking out made him dizzy. “Yeah, you definitely need stitched in your right palm. I don’t know about your left, though. Let’s go,” Vic said, wrapping the towel around Tony’s right hand. “It’s going to hurt, but hold the towel tightly with your other hand. Make sure there’s a lot of pressure to stop the bleeding,” Vic explained, helping Tony up. Tony nodded, doing as he was told. He bit his lip when the pressure hurt both of his hands, but he knew Vic was right.

Vic carefully led Tony down the stairs and helped him into the passenger side of his car. As soon as Vic backed out of Tony’s driveway, Vic spoke.

“So, what exactly happened, Tony?” Vic asked.

“I smashed my guitar,” Tony mumbled. “I didn’t realize…” Tony shook his head.

“But why would you do that, Tony? Why would you smash your guitar?” Vic asked, trying to keep his confusion, nosiness, and slight hint of annoyance in control. The fact that Tony smashed a guitar bothered Vic for a few different reasons. Vic found that disrespectful to music, the only thing in his life at this point that made any sense. He couldn’t imagine smashing one of his own guitars! Vic was also intrigued, though—he didn’t know that Tony played guitar! Granted, he didn’t know much about Tony at all, but still.

“It reminded me of Tris,” Tony said sadly. “And Tris causes me pain, so I had to cut it out,” Tony added, almost robotically. His brain was basically numb and empty.

“Oh,” Vic said quietly. A pang of guilt shot through his chest—Tony accidentally hurt himself by taking Vic’s advice extremely to heart. Tony noticed Vic’s changed demeanor, though.

“It’s not your fault! I got really passionate about this. It helped, though. I kind of regret killing my only guitar but it just held so many memories. I couldn’t bear to have it exist anymore,” Tony rambled a little, hoping that Vic knew that it wasn’t his fault, and that Tony was just a little too fucked up in the head.

“It’s okay, Tony. Maybe we can get you a new guitar. A fresh start. A clean one, with no old memories,” Vic suggested. Tony nodded, liking the idea. A breath of fresh air.

“We’re here,” Vic said, parking in front of the hospital doors and helping Tony out. He led him into the hospital, and a few nurses spotted them. Nobody was panicked, though, for Tony’s injuries weren’t life threatening. Just extremely painful, Tony thought.

“I think I need a few stitches in my hand,” Tony spoke, his voice shaking.

“Sure, sweetie. Can I see?” She asked gently, and together they slowly and carefully peeled the now blood-crusted towel off of his hands. “Okay, yes, I believe you’ll need a few stitches in your right palm. The left one, I don’t think so. But we will bandage that one up for you,” she said with a warm smile. “Don’t stress; I’ve seen worse,” she said reassuringly, earning a more relaxed Tony. He didn’t even realize that he was tensed up—the sight of blood just made him subconsciously anxious.

‘Tris? Tris, where are you?’ Tony rushed into Tris’ apartment—worried, because the door had been open. Tris never kept her door unlocked, let alone open. Panic overflowed all other emotions when he she didn’t answer him. He knew she was home, though—she had called him.

Tony dropped the flowers that he had brought her—her favorite, white lilies—and raced into her apartment, assuming the worst. She had sounded… different… over the phone, which explained the flowers; he wanted to cheer her up. But Tony had the sense that simple flowers were not going to be the answer to this problem.

His heart in his throat and his stomach at his feet, Tony raced into her room.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tris cried. Before Tony even saw her, before he could even react, Tris had collided herself into Tony, burying her face into his chest and holding on to him for dear life.

‘What’s the matter?’ Tony cooed, brushing back her hair on the back of her head.

‘I did it again,’ she said quietly, ashamed.

‘Did what again?’ Tony asked softly, despite knowing what she was talking about.

‘I-I think…’ Tris choked on her sobs before she could finish talking.

‘Tris…’

‘I-I th-think… I n-need to go to the hospital, this t-time,’ she said peeling herself off of Tony. It was then when Tony realized that the front of his shirt was damp from Tris’ tears, but it was also then when Tony realized that the back of his shirt was damp from something else…

‘Tris…’ Tony repeated.

‘Y-you came j-just in t-time,’ Tris cried, collapsing into Tony’s arms. Somehow she had mustered up enough energy to run into Tony’s protective hold, but now she has had enough. Now, her lasting bit of energy had expired.

‘Oh, God, Tris,’ Tony panicked again, sinking to the ground with the passed out Tris. He whipped out his phone from his back pocket, dialing 911. Tony hated ambulances, but he didn’t think that he’d be able to drive Tris himself.

The paramedics arrived within minutes—the longest few minutes of Tony’s life—and he had already carried her downstairs to the street where the ambulance was waiting.

Tony couldn’t do anything but watch—watch as they wrapped her bleeding arms tightly with gauze, watch as they strapped an oxygen max onto her face, watch as they muttered curse words under their breath before shocking her with a defibrillator. Everything was in slow motion, but everything was also happening at the speed of light. Tony felt dizzy as he watched the love of his life slip further into death at her own doing.

‘Why would she do this to herself?’ Tony asked under his breath. They had been together for four months, now, and Tony thought she was happier than ever with him. That’s what she told him, anyway—that’s how she acted, too. What was he missing?

‘Why would she do this to me?’ Tony corrected his last rhetorical question as he watched Tris flutter back to life. Tears silently streamed down his face, but he was too numb to react in anyway. On the inside, he was screaming for her. Internally, he was falling apart. On the outside, though, he was a statue—his eyes glassy as he stared at his hopeless love.

The first thing Tris said when she opened her eyes in the hospital was, ‘I’m sorry.’

Tony has heard those words too many times from her. When will she ever mean them?

‘I keep forgetting that I hurt you, too, when I hurt myself,’ she croaked, tears streaming down her face.

‘I just want you to get better,’ Tony said sadly. Tris nodded. ‘No matter what, I love you. I wish you wouldn’t do this again, though,’ he added quietly. Tris nodded again, giving Tony’s hand a gentle and sad squeeze. Tony wasn’t afraid to tell her that he loved her—he almost lost her, and that made him realize how much she meant to him. He was okay that she didn’t say it back given they were only four months into a relationship, but he hoped that deep down, she loved him, too—or that one day, she’d love him back. Only time would tell.

“Time never told,” Tony mumbled to himself sadly. The nurse that was now stitching up Tony’s hand didn’t hear him, luckily. And here he was, sitting just as numbly as he was that day Tris almost died at her own hands, feeling nothing—not even the cold wire being sewn into his flesh.

“All set, darling,” the nurse said, patting Tony’s arm kindly. “May I ask how this happened?”

“Uh, I just cut my hands while I was, uh, working,” Tony lied, hoping she wouldn’t press the subject further.

“Oh, I see,” she said. “Well, your hands are going to be sore for a few days, and the stitches will dissolve on their own. So unless the wound reopens or you have any other problems, you don’t need to come back,” she explained. Tony nodded appreciatively. He looked down on his hands, ashamed at himself once again. He felt silly with the white bandages wrapped tightly around both of his hands—why can’t I control myself? He thought sadly about who he has become in the past few weeks.

“Hey, Tony,” Vic patted Tony’s back, leading him back to the car. “You can stay at my place tonight, okay? I don’t want you to go back to your house,” Vic said plainly. He decided to be direct with the issue—Tony was obviously in no state to go back to his house, and Vic was not about to let Tony walk right back into his problems. Besides, it was a mess—lacking electricity and food.

“Are you sure?” Tony asked lowly, sort of relieved that Vic offered. He didn’t really want to go back to his own house, seeing how mentally damaging it was to be there.

“Of course. Don’t worry about it. Besides, with your hands all bandaged up like that you need someone to look after you,” Vic added.

Tony nodded. “Alright,” he finally agreed. Once again, Tony felt bad, like he was a huge burden.

“You’re not a burden, Tony. I just want to help you, okay?” Vic said as they drove back to his house. Tony’s face burned, and he looked down at his hands. He hadn’t realized that he had spoken out loud—something that seemed to be happening more and more these days. Sometimes, spending so much time alone led people to talk to themselves, even if it was by accident.

After a silent drive, Vic and Tony finally arrived back to the house. Tony ran into his house to change into clean clothes and brush his teeth and put his glasses on, Vic waiting patiently in Tony’s kitchen. Well, he thought it was his kitchen—the lack of food in the refrigerator and the overwhelming darkness made it hard to tell. Tony really let himself wither away into nothing, Vic thought, horrified at the state of Tony’s house. Vic didn’t trust Tony to be alone in this house, and for good reason. When Tony was done gathering his things, he and Vic walked back to Vic’s house.

“I’ll deal with the mess later,” Tony mumbled to himself. Vic heard, but he just nodded in response.

“Thank a lot, for everything,” Tony spoke up, actually looking up at Vic while he talked. Normally, he would speak in a low mumble while staring at the ground. Tony figured Vic deserved a lot more respect than that, though, so he tried his best to sound as appreciative as possible.

“No need to thank me, seriously,” Vic said, setting Tony up on the couch in the living room. He yawned subconsciously—it was nearing four in the morning, and he hasn’t slept all day (since Tony’s injury wasn’t a true emergency, the process of stitching his hand up was an extensive one).

Tony mumbled something inaudibly. “Alright, all set. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Er, I guess I’ll see you today, actually,” Vic grinned, trying to lighten the mood. Tony was able to find a small smile within him, so he flashed one at Vic.

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Tony said, not being able to stop himself from thanking Vic.

“Okay, man,” Vic chuckled, patting Tony on the shoulder again before disappearing into his own room.

Tony sighed, sinking into the couch that Vic had made for him. His hands stung, but he didn't mind the feeling. Why? Because he felt. However, he had taken painkillers, and those were starting to take their effect on Tony. Within minutes, Tony was drifting off into a dreamless, deep sleep.

Meanwhile, Mike was sitting awake in Vic’s room. He was aggravated with his brother for leaving so suddenly, not telling him where he was going and when he was going to be back. Mike had called Vic several times, but what he didn’t know was that Vic had accidentally left his phone in Tony’s bedroom.

Mike knew that Vic was an adult and could handle himself, but Vic always bothered Mike about his whereabouts, so this entire situation seemed hypocritical to Mike. When he was in his room, he heard his brother walk back into his house. He was relieved that he was okay, but he was also angry. So, Mike decided to be a tad dramatic, which explained why he was sitting cross-legged on Vic’s bed with all of the lights off and a scowl across his face.

The door to Vic’s room opened, and Mike watched as he felt the wall for the light switch. With a quick flick! the light turned on, and Vic nearly jumped out of his own skin when he saw Mike glaring at him.

“Jesus Christ, Mike!” Vic hissed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I startle you?” Mike tilted his head to the side menacingly.

“Yeah, the fuck you did!” Vic exclaimed. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, you know. Just hanging out. I’d like to ask you the same thing,” Mike said, continuing to glare at Vic.

Vic face palmed. “Crap,” he said.

“Crap is right.”

“I meant to call you and tell you I was going to be late, but I lost my phone,” Vic explained.

“Where were you anyway?” Mike demanded.

“The hospital,” Vic brought his voice to a whisper, just in case Tony was still awake. “Tony accidentally hurt himself, so I was just helping him out. He’s staying here tonight, by the way. I’m really sorry, man,” Vic said.

“Oh,” Mike said, softening his features. “I guess it’s okay,” he added; Mike couldn’t stay mad at his brother for too long. “Is Tony okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Vic said, referring to Tony’s physical injuries, at least.

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Mike inquired.

“I don't really know. Really bad heartbreak, I think,” Vic said.

“Damn,” Mike breathed, astonished that heartbreak could do so much damage. There must be more to his story than simple heartbreak, Mike figured.

“I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep,” Vic said, collapsing on to his bed whether Mike was going to move or not.

“’Night,” Mike yawned, feeling tired from the day and night’s events. Vic didn’t hear him, though, for he was already out like a light. Mike slid off of Vic’s bed and moved to his own room, curling up into his own sheets.

He sighed, lost in thought. Mike was worried. Worried for Vic. He was afraid that Vic would become too involved in Tony’s life. Mike wasn’t trying to be selfish, and he knew that the band was important to Vic, as well, but he was afraid that Vic trying to “save” Tony would get in the way of the band.

Mike just hoped Vic had his priorities in check, and he especially hoped that Vic wouldn’t lose himself to Tony’s struggles, treating them as his own.

He couldn’t bear seeing his older brother hurting, again.

Notes