[ WP ] When the drummer of a famous rock band threw his drum sticks into the crowd at the end of the show - as is customary - little did he know it would land him in a world of hurt

I always find myself on a high during our performances. A high that makes me forget everything and focus solely on the song being performed. It feels as if pure instinct has taken over my actions, and that I'm simply watching the world as a spectator. Sometimes, it lasts for awhile after we've gotten off stage, leaving me somewhat lightheaded. 
 
 Today's performance was one of those days. 
 
 I do n't normally do anything to draw attention to myself, but I had an indescribable urge to let loose by throwing my drumsticks into the crowd. 
 
 The crowd's roar in response only added to my temporary high, and I felt a wave of giddiness wash over me. I was on autopilot until we got back to the hotel, when I remembered that I the drumsticks I had thrown into the crowd were the ones my father gave to me. 
 
 My father who passed away half a year ago. 
 
 `` It was n't your fault,'' the doctors said. `` He hid it well.'' Those words did nothing to ease my guilt. I should've known, should've been able to pick up the signals. 
 
 But I did n't. 
 
 Realizing this, I frantically tweeted `` Will pay $ 500 to get my drumsticks back. They hold sentimental value. Please contact me if you have them.'' 
 
 I spent the night tossing and turning, and finally fell into a fitful sleep as the sky started to lighten. 
 
 When I woke up, I was relieved when I saw a message from someone named Jenny, who said she had my drumsticks and could meet me somewhere before noon. She seemed friendly enough, and I arranged to meet her at a nearby Starbucks. 
 
 I was there within the hour, and was finally reunited with my drumsticks. When I tried to give her the $ 500, she refused, insisting that I keep it and it was only right for her to return them if they held sentimental value. 
 
 I offered to sign something or take a picture with her, but strangely enough, she refused. 
 
 `` I owe you one,'' I told her. `` Call me if you ever need anything.'' 
 
 Bad mistake on my part, but I did n't know until much later. 
 
 We kept in touch, and gradually her constant sweet talk escalated it into a relationship. Everything was going fine, until she asked me about my father. 
 
 My father? Why bring up my father? 
 
 It was only a couple years later when I discovered why she asked. I finally brought myself to organize my dad's things when I found he journal. In it, he wrote about almost anything, including his mistress, Jenny. 
 
 The moment I read about it, I felt rage cloud my vision. How could he have done that to me? To mom? 
 
 But then I noticed the name – Jenny. I forced myself to read on. 
 
 > I love it when Jenny teases me with her piercing, especially the piercing with the dull spikes. It feels weird, yet good. So good. 
 
 Strangely enough, my Jenny had a tongue piercing. Whenever things get steamy, she always seemed to be wearing it. Coincidence? 
 
 > Jenny texted me a picture of her new tattoo – a sea bass. She said it represents how we met. 
 
 I felt myself go pale. My Jenny also had a sea bass tattoo. Surely she was n't the same Jenny involved with my dad? 
 
 A couple entries later, my father mentioned Jenny again. 
 
 > She seems distant, and lately she always insists on bringing me her nasty home baked brownies. And she hates baking. 
 
 My Jenny hated baking too. 
 
 I could n't take anymore and confronted her about it. At first she tried to deny it, then she became aggressive. 
 
 You should be happy I killed your father for you. He deserved it. 
 
 I do n't think I've ever felt so hurt or so betrayed. 
 
 

