[Riley]

Love - Expiration: 06/6/2008

You see, before this particular night I tolerated Quentin's lack of and screw ups pretty well. I accepted and managed them in a way where my sanity was still intact and I could still find a piece of me deep inside that would then overlook his faults, pick him up and push him to be better. I wanted that for him so he could be it for me. Every day for seven months, I tried my best to be a pillar of hope, to be the faith he needed to live again and find life after his mom's passing. I tried to be strong, though I was hurt myself, and do everything in my power to provide relief. But things between Quentin and I progressively got worse, even with my efforts of selflessness.

It started off as him mourning, then placing blame on himself, depression, skipping class, losing his job, arguments that led to forgiving, deeper depression, flunking out of school, then finally he was awakened with the help of a drink. Then weed, then coke, then every substance and piece of ass on Earth that numbed him. That's when the shift occurred, when he had crossed over to the dark side and I could no longer save him.

But I still tried. I purposely played with fire when I should've just let it burn, and I tried so much that I forgot that I was human myself; that I was not God and that I had no clout to fix him in the ways he needed to be fixed. I was absentminded to the fact that even in my strongest I just could not defeat the person Quentin had become. I got pushed further and further away, but closer and closer to a breaking point. The being used and abused theme had finally gotten old, and her name flashing across his home screen, whoever the hell she was, set me off. It ignited a flame within me that could not be put out.

"'I'm going to kill his ungrateful ass.'

That was the thought running on a loop in my head and was my only goal this evening. It needed to come to light, he needed to leave this apartment more than just heartbroken. He needed to really feel this, and physically was the only suitable way. My mind blanked out and oddly enough the hateful words we began to spat at each other, after I asked who this Gia bitch was flashing across his home screen, aroused me. I was excited, a jolt of energy had me grabbing picture frames and snatching the photographs of a dead couple out. Dishes were flying from cabinets, past Quentin's head and crashing onto the floor. Furniture was being flipped over and holes were being embedded deep into the walls by lamps and other obscure items.

And all by me.

My rage was exhibiting itself like art. Picasso type shit was being fashioned before his eyes as Quentin dodged but still got struck a few times and struggled to restrain me on other occasions. That only made me fight back more. Feeling his dirty hands on me, hands that I couldn't trust, hands that betrayed, played then fucked me over made me shove him away. They made me tighten my own fists to strike his face, to slap him, to inflict all my pain, regret and resentment bottled up in my body onto his.

Scratches, bruises, and scars were a part of my piece of work too, just as the shattered pieces of our already fragmented hearts. Our yelling, the typical symphony orchestra that staged itself as background music, sounded even better to my ears meshed with the boisterous sirens resounding blocks away and the banging from behind the front door. It could've been the neighbors knocking or even Leslie, but I honestly didn't give a care which. I was in ecstasy now, grinning as I found myself sitting by the window like a psycho; simply admiring the aftermath surrounding me and the red and blue lights flashing on the boulevard.

I guess no one warned him not to hurt himself, but next time someone should. Warn him that treating the one person who loves him so wicked will put him in a big misunderstanding. It would put him in handcuffs, both of us in the back seat of cop cars with spectators witnessing us both fall apart. The only thing I can remember as everything after the actual fight became a haze is him calling my name, hoping just one last time I'd save him.

"Riley!" Quentin called from the window of the back seat. I only shook my head as the sadistic and content smile once on my face slowly faded and pain overwhelmed me, striking me like lighting as I began to break down in tears and block out his cry for help.

"Ry...Riley!"

"What?" I grumbled, my voice partly muffled as I lifted my head from between my knees and in the direction of a voice that was different from the one in my head. My eyes were barely open and heavy at that as I felt the same wave of fatigue from earlier attack me.

Exhaustion was all I knew for the last almost week and I could somewhat blame working in recording studios at random hours outside my usual office hours for it. My body wasn't adjusting well to being active for several hours during any time after 11 P.M. and then rejuvenating itself enough to awaken and get going for the next morning. This new plan that wasn't even permanent was obliterating my rest, which was then fuzzing my mood and adding on to stress that was present prior to the change. That well needed trip to Chicago ironically threw me off too, and now I was fighting the aftermath but failing miserably.

"I said, what?" Miguel's brows furrowed together as he watched me throw my legs over the edge of the couch and place my feet firmly on the floor, then shook his head dismissively.

"Nazanin called, she's outside. She told me she's ready if you are."

"Oh, thanks - and sorry." I muttered then stood up to whisk away my MacBook that rested at the foot of the couch and my headphones that dangled onto the carpet from the audio port. When I initially began writing lyrics one was placed in my lap, the other in my ears, but the more tired I became the more my body positioned itself in a way that would put me to sleep and exile the things that obstructed it. "I'll be back after my lunch break. Keep me up to date with things."

"How about you just take the rest of the day off? And maybe even an extra one, though it'll be the weekend." he suggested as I zipped up my messenger bag and hauled it over my shoulder, cutting my eyes at him in the process. "I'm just saying."

"And why would you say that?"

"Because you're obviously tired and disoriented, and you've been like this for a minute now. I need you to be well enough to work for hours straight and since you're not, then I need you to actively get well."

"Mhm, sure." I hissed in return to his concern that was agitating in the moment and crossed my arms across my chest to conceal it. "Who said I'm not healthy enough to do my job in the first place?"

"No one did, but let's be real here." Miguel signaled to Kirby who was inside the booth to stop as he paused the looped production playing through the speakers, then propped himself against the soundboard mirroring the same bearing of defiance as mine. "You haven't been yourself these past few days Ry and I hate to say this, but I'm worried that you bit off more than you can chew with this label. You're my girl. I know you, and you've always been a bad ass with multitasking different projects before, but now it seems like this is all too much to juggle at once. Is it? Talk to me, Ry. What's going on?"

"It's nothing, really." I stated faintly and broke my stance as I ruffled the roots of my hair that were tied into a bun. "My sleeping pattern just got interrupted with the trip from last week and these midnight sessions, but other than that I'm good. It's nothing a cup of coffee or a protein shake won't fix."

"You sure about all that?"

"Positive as hell," I exhaled as his snickering at my growing vexation riled me even more. "I really dislike you right now, jump in traffic already."

"After you, but if you say you're fine then I believe you. My position however still stands, I think you should call it a day and catch up on that sleep."

"But Miguel..."

"Do it for me, please. Pretty please." he begged, pouting his bottom lip out like a desperate child in need. How could I say no to that face? It was too adorable and managing to crack a smile along my lips and reboot my attitude that was tipping the scale of the tone in the room.

"Fine, I'll go home after lunch. But I will be back soon Migs and better than ever."

"And that's all I want. Now hurry up and leave before Nazanin calls me again. You were so out of it that you missed her calls and four text messages, so she decided to blow up my phone instead."

"Really?" My hand began to frantically pat at the pockets of my jacket and down to the one stitched to the front of my bag where my phone was enclosed. I instantly regarded the alerts that were beaming bright from the home screen and that was the force behind my feet that began to rush toward the door. My palm then gripped the doorknob tightly to swing it open. With one quick wave to Miguel, who chuckled at my sudden anxiousness, I was brisk walking down the plaque covered hall and out of the building, searching within that same pocket for my car keys buried deeper.

Nazanin's Porsche sat a few feet ahead of the entrance with the passenger window lowered just enough for me to get a glimpse of an air of impatience warping her face. She was leaned over the armrest, her freshly cut and styled hair brushing against the shoulders of her blue jean jacket, awaiting the second I closed in the distance between her car and finally got inside. Only half of her wish was granted as I treaded over, placing my hand on the roof and bent down into her window for small talk.

"Change of plans. I'm driving my car."

"And when the hell did this happen?"

"When your fiancé told me to take my ass home after I eat so that I can nourish myself with a nap." Nazanin only smirked instead of responding with words and tossed her head full of curls back as her gut tightened from the crazed laugh escaping her lips. "Don't do that, just don't. Whatever it is that you said to him, I should literally kill you for it. You know that?"

"I didn't say anything!" she insisted and still very much in a fit as I narrowed my eyes, slightly titling my head being unconvinced with her claim. Why should I believe that when her first reaction to the not so entertaining exchange between Miguel and I, was amusement? I was sure she was the one behind his worry, her and her big mouth she promised to keep closed. "You know he's right though, Riley. I just find it funny how he's completely oblivious, but ye—"

"Yeah, whatever." I grumbled, cutting her short as she smiled back at me softly with a pinch of guilt evening it out. I leaned up to relax the ache in my back and adjusted the strap of my bag falling down my arm before pressing on. "Thanks to you, Migs isn't going to let me do my job, which I can do by the way, got dammit. You know what? Just drive off, please. I'll meet you there in a few."

"Riley."

"What?" My patience was wearing thin the longer I stood here. "Yes Naz?"

"My lips were and still are sealed." she swore solemnly as I sighed in relief and nodded. "Now let's just go eat and talk on a more serious note. B.S. Taqueria a few blocks down, right?"

"Yeah, no changes." I mumbled and stepped back from the passenger side as she shifted gears, and her four wheels slowly drifted off, leaving me enough time to get inside my own car and pull around the parked automobiles inside the lot to catch up to her.

From there the two of us merged into traffic, both aside the other as we cruised down 7th Street for ten minutes the most, and parked across the way from our final destination. During this time of day, we noted from our last visit that it was fairly empty and the working crowd didn't bombard the snug space until after noon. It was only 12:20; the perfect time to ease inside, find a seat to our liking and get our food at a fast pace. In the case of today, however, it didn't matter since Nazanin had thought ahead and reserved us a table.

One thing about her that I loved was that she always preplanned. She liked things to be organized and set in stone just like myself, and especially on a day as this one where we both assumed I'd have a small window to dine in and would then have to rush back to work. False alarm though I suppose, but her prearrangements were still appreciated.

"Is a table good enough for you or do you prefer a booth?" Nazanin asked as the hostess stood ahead of us waiting patiently for a response that would lead the way. "I know how uncomfortable these stiff chairs can be."

"A table is fine." I replied and followed behind the trail Nazanin and the hostess began to carve down the side of tall countertops and an eclectic range of cultural design motifs pieces and zany objects crowned against the wall. The path led us to the Jungle Room which was no different from the exotic décor of the front room, but stood out due to the canopy resembling wildlife cascading from the ceiling and the riveting mural concealing the walls of the dining space. I felt like I was in a gallery somewhere in Culver City where you were bound to spot lush artwork painted across desolate buildings. There was beauty in it all and now I was able to let it soak in while I stuffed my face.

"You know we could've just went to In-N-Out Burger instead of coming back to this semi fancy place." I said over the dainty music fluttering around the room, and shrugged my jacket from shoulders as Nazanin pulled my seat out from underneath the table. She then shuffled around me to drag out her own as I hung the lightweight nylon material from the top rail of the chair and finally sat down with her. "I've been feigning for their animal style fries anyways. And I'm not handicap you know, just drained as hell. Cross my heart I won't faint on you."

"Sure you won't, but I figured you would want to switch it up. I mean, since you just had In-N-Out yesterday, and the day before." she pointed out as I rolled my eyes from the subtle jabs and judgement being shot my way. "Of all places to crave, you choose a fast-food burger joint you've been criticizing since you've moved here? How random. Plus, you said you wanted tacos at some point so I figured why not come here again."

"Um ma'am, don't lie on me. You wanted tacos." I corrected, pulling myself closer to the table as the hostess placed our menus at the center. "I said churros."

"Same difference," she sputtered, downright ignoring me as she glanced over to the hostess and went on to ignore her job title. "Excuse me, can I get a Laizy Daisy and she'll have a water. Lemon and lime with salt on the side. Now back to you, how you feeling mama?"

I chuckled and shook my head as the young woman sauntered off to put in our drinks and Nazanin inched forward onto her forearms as she waited for a response. To say the least, I was a maelstrom of a lot of things right now. Every day I could add something new to the list, but okay just wasn't one of them. "I've been better, way better."

"I bet and you've looked better too." Nazanin teased as I stuck my tongue and we both grabbed a menu from atop of the condiments to scan over. It was pointless for me seeing as though I knew what I wanted to order already, but it was nevertheless an excellent diversion from the inventory of questions that would possibly follow. "Insomnia is wearing you, not the other way around. What's keeping you up now?"

"Songwriting, co-producing, business meetings and settlements, allergies, artists, and the usual in between. Same old same old, basically."

"Allergies, huh?" Her tone was sarcastic as her lips curved up roguishly, and her pearl colored stiletto nails that reflected off the light above dabbed lightly against the laminated backcover of the menu. "You know eventually yo—"

"Nope, nope stop right there." I demanded and held my finger up as she paused and pressed her lips together, that smirk still apparent. "Do not start with me, little Ms. Perfect. Can I just have one day where you're not making facetious remarks about something so serious? That little situation is part of what's driving me crazy and your one-liners in relation to it aren't helping like you want them too. I know that you want to lighten the mood and make me feel better, but not like this Naz."

"I'm sorry, mama. Really, I am. I just want you to be okay, that's it." she uttered sincerely.

"I know, I know." I sighed, closing the booklet of food in my palms shut and leaned back into my chair. "I do too, but it's always something."

"What else is bothering you?" Nazanin set up right in her seat, alarmed almost and even more attentive than she had been this entire time. "Let it out Riley, it's healthy to do that. Remember?"

"Flashbacks and dreams." I disclosed promptly, anticipating the very moment she swayed me to bare it all. I needed a bit of this load to be lifted. "It's really my dreams, but it's the same reoccurring one over and over and over again. I try to stay awake most of the time to avoid it, but when I don't it still lingers on until it wakes me out my slumber. It's that vivid. I'm stretched out in a room with no doors or windows. I don't know how I got there, but I'm trapped. It's all white; the walls, the chairs, the bed. Everything is dull, lifeless yet sterile. There's this ringed light dangling above me though as I lay there numb. Somehow it's the only thing in this room with some form of energy in it and it's slowly blinding me to oblivion. The more I stare into the center of it, eyes wide with tunnel vision into this abyss, I forget where I am though I don't know if I ever did to begin with. It's a relief though, to be unaware of what's happening. I'm forgetting what got me here and who brought me here, because that I did know. Then all of sudden, the longer I stare off the color red begins to flood this room and that's when I wake up."

"How long has this been happening?"

"Since I told Lamarr about Quentin."

"And what exactly did you tell him?" Her deep set eyes darkened with uncertainty while the simplest response came to mind and with ease.

"The truth." I unveiled just under a whisper as my lids fell closed and I recalled just three days ago when Lamarr and I sat outside my complex in my car; him silent as I got an urge to spill the details about my tumultuous past.

From a summation of how Quentin and I began as high school sweethearts to a thorough description of our expiration date, Lamarr listened closely and articulated his thoughts through intense facial expressions. To say the least he was speechless, probably stunned that I was finally being candid about my ex, but also shaken that what I described as a demise once before to him was just that; a collapse, dissolution or better yet death. And it was the death of more things than just our relationship too.

In the midst of that it was also relieving that after exposing it all, putting myself out in the open for him to judge me and another set of flaws I held, Lamarr didn't budge. He accepted it all, held me close to his chest and consoled me as I found myself sobbing from momentarily reliving such moments still vivid in my head. He now understood why I kept my past at a distance, and at this point Lamarr knew every significant detail about me that he needed to know.

"So the truth... okay." The image of Nazanin nodding, but not so much in agreement drafted itself behind my lashes as I peered