Once upon a time, a girl saved my life.
I was p*ss-drunk, high as a kite, and about to jump from a bridge.
She stopped me. I told her to f*ck off.
Exactly how all great love stories start.
A year later, I met her again. Sober this time, after yet another stint in rehab.
She's still pretty, still a spitfire, still lights up a room when she walks in.
And she doesn't realize I'm the guy from the bridge.
Frankie doesn't know anything about me or my past. She doesn't know I'm a former rock star or an ex-junkie.
She doesn't know that two years ago, someone died and it was my fault.
She doesn't need to know. She's got problems of her own, and they're what keep her coming back to see me time and again, even when we both know she shouldn't.
I should be staying far, far away from this girl, but it's like telling water to flow uphill. Can't be done.
Frankie and I may be going down in flames, but we'll be going down together.