Sorry

Joe Jonas is tired of being criticized.

There's one more drop left. He circles it around the large glass, watching the golden liquid swirl and coat the bottom until the drop dissipates completely. It all disappeared, flattened and dispersed. He chuckles, lost in thought.

 

"So that's where it all goes," he mutters just for himself, for his own ears. He's sure he's drunk now, maybe just a little bit too incoherent. He assumed that if he had drank that last drop the glass of his mind would tip over and he would be absorbed into a happy place. One he isn't used to, but one others think he is indulged in night upon night. "I'll give them what they want...yeah."

 

Even as he says this he doesn't believe it, so he doesn't follow through.

 

"An honest drunk...who's not even that drunk." He chuckles again.

 

There's a little buzz going inside of him, like a glass half full. At this point, it was half empty. No one could change his mind, no matter how happy he was required to be. You can't find a happy medium anywhere, even in a glass of whiskey.

 

A sad song is playing, at least it sounds sad. Maybe it's his song, maybe that's what people thought of his music- sad. ‘That poor Jonas, fallen off the deep end. I feel sorry for him really. Where is his life going to go after this?’ 'Probably, and most undoubtedly nowhere my dear. Nowhere. What happens when you hit the bottom? Nothing.' ‘What if he reaches the top again?’ 'Ha! Don't count on it love. He's as dead as a doornail. Fallen to pieces!'

 

But he wasn't.

 

"BUT I'M NOT!"

 

He throws the glass that so rudely judged him, speaking to that fowl drop of alcohol. That little speck of shame that burned his blood.

 

It shattered, like his dreams. And nobody even looked up, at least that's what he thought. Nobody cared that he was falling, nobody cared that he was shattered.

 

"Fallen to pieces..."

 

The realization affected the rhythm of his heart. In the corner of his mind, he thought it briefly matched the rhythm of the evil song playing in the bar. Everything and everyone was silent, except for that song, so low but deafening.

 

He started crying like the weak little soul that he is, or at least he thought he was. Or what everyone thought he was. He stood up swiftly in anguish and rage- sadness even. He sobbed like a madman, going insane, going postal. But...

 

But then there was a hand on his shoulder, soft and comforting, like a hunger being fed. He needed this, but who gave it to him?

 

He turned around. Striking blue met saddened brown. What the hell is he doing here? he thought. A bar in L.A.? Why...what does he want?

 

"You okay man?" An angelic voice with so much promise, someone he didn't deserve. He didn't deserve anything. He would never be a failure's friend. But he couldn't bear the lie.

 

He pressed his tear stained and ugly face into that beautiful shoulder. Soaked his pain into the fabric of his shirt.

 

"They don't understand," he plead. "What can I do to show them I'm sorry?" Those broken sobs and words hung in the air. Arms wrapped tightly around him. He became failure's friend, a failure he believed was a success. The idea that magic could be real penetrated his saddened mind. He was holding onto magic, and he breathed in the scent. A pure scent, something to remind him that it existed. It existed deep in his heart. A body that never died, a soul that never disappeared. He hadn't changed. He didn't change one bit.

 

"I'm still the same person," he said aloud. He bit his lip to seize the sob that threatened to break free. A perfect and healing hand stroked and glided on his back, like a massage for the broken bones that slowly repaired themselves.

 

That glass was gone. It didn't exist.

 

"Of course you are. You make your own mistakes, and you make your own repairs."

 

That was it. He didn't change. He grew up. No one told him it would be this easy, but no one said it would be this hard to figure it out. Maybe being lost was a little bit better than finding your way through a crowd of expectations.

 

"I'm so lost here," he said dryly. No more tears.

 

"Good. Now you can find your own way."

 

So he let go. He let go of him, taking some of the strength away. The happiness that perforated a perfect heart and never left, until now. He still smiled, a rarity in his case. So he decided to return the favor.

 

A smile for the man who never smiles.

 

He walked away, out of the bar, out of a place that held several boundaries.

 

"Time to walk."

 

And he, Joe Jonas, found the right path.

 

What can I do to show you I'm sorry? The whiskey sang.

Author's Note

I wrote this when Joe was starting his solo career and everyone was mad at his new "image". I was very angry and anger usually sparks my best creativity.