Casey Donovan just (cantbehave) wrote in repose, @ 2017-04-08 16:58:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | *narrative, casey donovan |
Narrative: Casey Donovan
Who: Casey Donovan
Where: The Capital
What: Casey has a rock star weekend?
Warnings: Casey's on a post-party bender
The party had been...Well the party had been an exercise in bad decision making from the get go. He should have known better before he'd drunk from a little bottle that promised to make him feel sated. He wasn't a complete moron, he knew what kinds of things made him feel sated, and it wasn't some kind of food coma from too much taco bell. No, it was feeding the opioid receptors in his brain, which led to drinking from another bottle labeled "tequila" which had nothing to do with a loophole in the system. Getting good and high without actually taking any drugs had been a nice perk. The drinking? That had been just a side effect of feeling somewhat invincible.
Still, he shook it off when the sun came up. He showered, he brushed his teeth, he did his best to forget the night behind him and focus only on the next few nights ahead of him. He was playing two shows in the Capital, and that was where his head needed to be. He was on his bike with his guitar strapped to his back and driving out of town before noon the day after the party. No questions to answer, no one really looking for him, and no need to dwell. It had been a thing that had happened, and he was doing everything wrong in looking for ways to justify it - because he maintained it didn't mean anything. He was steadfast in ignoring the reasonable voice that knew things like that always meant something.
His shows were back to back, one night after another. Friday night, and Saturday night. Both were packed to the gills, the smell of people, and booze and the sound of the crowd, and his band all gave him energy to forget. When he was on the stage he always forgot, he played well, he sang well, he made the paper, and he'd made a lot of money.
Friday night hadn't been so bad. He'd hung out after with his band, celebrating. Smoking cigarettes and laughing. They knew better than to pass a bottle of anything his way. And he knew better than to take it in front of them. He still had fun, they still had fun. And those little bottles from his mini-bar barely counted as drinking once he finally got back to his room to turn in for the night. Besides, he'd brought someone back with him, and it would have been rude not to offer the guy a drink. And it wasn't like he'd been drunk.
He felt fine when he woke up the next day, his date from the night before was still good looking (see? an advantage to being sober when you brought someone home), and he'd ordered room service for breakfast and even invited him to stay. He was a very good date, even for random hook ups. There was no need to make it awkward after all. And what was a few pills shared between good dates? No big deal at all. Nevermind that in the back of Casey's head he was telling himself to just go back home.
The Saturday show, even with the earlier slip up was even better than Friday. Which meant he had it completely under control. It was nothing. Just a weekend away, bad decisions - everyone made them. So when he left his band that night, who were enjoying an evening out with girls - and he joined up with a few guys from the club they'd been playing, he continued to think he had it absolutely under control.
Casey often heard people say things like, 'if I started drinking and using drugs again today, I'd be homeless tomorrow,' he never felt that way. No his behavior was irresponsible in a different way. His mantra could have been, 'if I started drinking and using drugs again today, I'd be in jail tomorrow.'
Which is why he wasn't entirely surprised that he was currently sitting in a jail cell in the capital waiting to be charged with a good number of sins. It wasn't terrible. Well, of course it was terrible, he was in jail. Again. For the first time in more than half a decade his dumb ass was back in jail. Fucking loopholes. And he wasn't quite sobered up just yet, but he was sober enough to know that getting caught in the back of a limo with his date from the night before's hand down his jeans both of them coked to the gills, and an empty bottle of grey goose on the floor was only the first part of his troubles. The pills in his pocket, those were going to be a problem.
Needless to say, he was in the Capital newspaper again. At least they'd started the article out with "after what was called Donovan's best show to date..."
He'd been thinking about who to make his phone call to. No one seemed appealing. So he called his lawyer. She was grumpy as shit.