Never Cover up What We Did With a Dress

The next day, Manson and I went to visit Lilly. I tried to be strong as I walked out the door, when in reality I just wanted to collapse onto the floor of our apartment and cry into Manson’s chest. I knew I couldn’t run away from it anymore. Manson’s arm slipped around my waist as we walked out into the open street.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

The sky was a dark grey colour, the shade of despondency. I knew it was about to rain at any second. The air was cold against my cheeks, and I clung onto Manson as we walked toward our car.

I drove us to the hospital, ignoring what I was about to do. I couldn’t even feel Manson’s hand around my own as we entered the hospital. I felt completely alone. Manson and I walked slowly toward Lilly’s room. I had no idea where she was now, as I hadn’t visited her for days. Lilly was alone in the room, Manson explained that she had to be in an “incubation period” and away from other people that may contract her illness, although it were highly unlikely for anyone to catch it. I pushed open the door, my breath becoming caught in my chest.

Manson stood by the door as I walked over to Lilly. She was still attached to the respirator, and it worried me that her breathing was still not returning back to normal. I watched her, my heart becoming numb as a tear slowly slid down my cheek. I wiped it away. I took one of Lilly’s tiny hands and pressed it against one of mine. She looked so beautiful, despite the equipment that was covering and filling her small body. It was terrible, so much so I think my mind had blinded myself from its full impact. Foreign machines and tools all around her, connected to her, artificial mechanisms attempting to hold onto her barely experienced life.

I felt Manson walk up behind me and I turned to him, embracing his body as I closed my eyes tightly to hold back the tears that were on the verge of falling. I sniffed and held him tighter before pulling away completely, my hand enclosed in his.

We turned when we heard a knock on the door. The doctor came in, smiling at us in reassurance.

“Hello,” he said. “I heard you were both in at the moment, and I just wanted to come by and talk to you both for a minute.”

Manson and I turned and faced the doctor, waiting for what he had to say to us.

“Let me just start by saying that Lilly looks as though she is going to recover, and is already beginning to show signs of improvement.” He said. “Usually bacterial meningitis sufferers stay in an incubation period of around ten to twelve days, and Lilly is quickly nearing the end of that. I’d like to say she could go home soon, once she surfaces from her unconsciousness, but due to the state of her breathing I am not sure when I can say it is safe for her to return home as of yet. I just need to warn you both that although to us it looks as though she is getting better, she may have to stay here for a prolonged period of time, possibly even up to months.”
I swallowed, hearing and accepting what he was saying. At least it seems like she is getting better? That’s somewhat good news, right?

I looked over at Manson as the doctor left, a small smile surfacing on my face. He smiled back, and we turned to Lilly, trying to get closer to her.

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Later that night, Manson and I were sitting together on the couch, watching the television. I was cuddled up in his arms, my back against his chest. I closed my eyes and rested on him further, smiling when I felt his lips against my forehead.

“I’m tired,” I said, “I’ll be in the bedroom, okay?”

“Okay.” Manson said, and I stood up, walking toward the room.

It was safe to say that I was okay. Of course, it wasn’t the ideal circumstance for Manson and I to endure, but over this time I think I am learning to deal with it. Lilly will be okay, I had to stay positive, both for Manson and myself.

I began to get undressed, and when searching for one of my old, oversized t-shirts to replace my clothing, I notice I had none. Frowning, I walked over to Manson’s side of the closet, with the intent to borrow one of his. Ruffling through his shirts, I found one, and pulled it out, surprised when numerous pieces of paper fell out after it. I slipped on the shirt and bent down to pick up the papers, slightly confused as to why he had hidden them in his shirts. I came face to face with the reason as my eyes skimmed over the thick text.

Marilyn Manson,
The Official 2009 Tour,
November & December, 2009

They were outlines for a tour that was scheduled for next month.