Der Regen Fällt

He was a fake. He was a fake and no one knew him well enough to see what he was hiding. His sunglasses could only cover up so much, and even now, he has no one to talk to. Was it so wrong that he wanted to be held? Isn’t that what everyone secretly wanted?

He could have it, no one would say no to him, but it wouldn’t be the same. All the girls who would throw themselves at him, who were convinced that they would one day be his one, it wasn’t right. They’re screaming his name, but did they really care about what was behind the makeup, the clothes or the money? He doubted it; they didn’t even know there was someone behind the smile of his.

The real Bill was in there, smothered by his rockstar alter ego. It was the part who would only come out at night, he hated himself, he hated that part of him. The anxiety kept him awake, longing for the things he threw away when seeking for fame. People were constantly watching him, he had to be perfect. He had to be happy, smiling; there couldn’t be anything wrong with him. He just wanted peace in his life, but it was something he wouldn’t get, not in this lifetime.

He was tired. Tired of the people, his job, it was no longer pleasurable for him, he had enough. He sighed as he pulled his bag into the bus, feeling the sense of homesickness overwhelm him again. He just wanted life to go back to how it used to be.

It’s times like these when he feels so helpless, it wasn’t right. He couldn’t save himself from what he had become, he lived off the pain, he woke up in the morning just to feel it again. It was his life, meaningless and unprotected. He was placed here on earth to get hurt, used by people who want him until they grew tired, then throw him away. It happened to everyone in his business, he didn’t want it to happen now.

His band mates ignored him as he stepped onto the bus; it wasn’t much of a change for him. It seemed like everything he wanted; he ended up getting the opposite. He was more alone then ever. He didn’t even try to grab their attention, without a word, he walked up to the second floor of their tour bus, hurrying towards his bunk. He threw his suitcase under the bed and closed the curtains. He was shivering in the sunlight of his window.

The bus had started to move, all Bill could do was glare at the children outside enviously. He wanted nothing more than to join them in their game, share the pleasure it bought them. They forgot about their worries, just so happy to be among their friends, if children had anything to worry about. He couldn’t remember, his life, even back then, was the same as it was now.

On tour, everything seemed ten times worse in the dead of night, because being away from everything he cared for made it worse in the daylight, he hated it.

He closed the curtains as the dark clouds approached them as the storm drew closer. He lay down on his pillow, closing his eyes. He was exhausted, but he was too tired to sleep, he was afraid. His dreams were worse than reality, and waking up in the darkness scared him most.

His nightmares would replay in his mind half a million times, he wanted someone to comfort him, and tell him that it was going to be okay. He was going to be fine. He waited for that person every night. But there was no one.

His black tears rolled down his cheeks, landing on the white pillow like so many teardrops before. He hugged his stomach, which always seemed far too large for him, another imperfection. He dug his nails into his skin, cutting it open with anger. He didn’t want to cry again, he was scared. If the emptiness became permanent, he wouldn’t be able to her up. He would always feel unhappy; he would always have the open wound in his heart left by an unknowing stranger.

He kicked the side of the bunk with anger as he heard the curtains being pulled open. The bed creaked when the other person’s weight was added as they sat down next to the weeping boy. Bill felt no sense of curiosity like when he was younger, he didn’t care anymore. Shivers ran down his spine as soft hands touched his back gently.

Bill moved towards the wall, shrugging of the caring hand. He wiped his tears with his pillow, he was ashamed of himself. No one should know that he had fallen apart like that.

“Bill, are you okay? You missed dinner?”

The worried tone in his twin’s voice made him want to bow his head in shame. Tom never knew how hard it was for him, like the rest of the world, he wouldn’t understand. No one understands him. He struggled to keep his breathing under control; he wished he could just stop breathing.

His brother moved closer to him, running his hand through the raven black hair. Every single touch was like burning lava on his skin, the warm pulse running along his hair and arms, his other half’s heartbeat pounding behind him audibly. He wanted to turn around and face him; he wanted to cry in his arms, but he couldn’t. He would have to explain everything. It was a secret, his secret. Tom couldn’t make it better; he would just tell the rest of the word. They would all stop loving him once his shame was revealed.

“You really think I haven’t noticed Bill...” He whispered in the darkness, “I know you, I know what you’re feeling, and I know what you’re thinking about. I hate seeing you like this and I don’t understand why you don’t want to talk to me. I love you, and I’m worried.
“You don’t eat, and you don’t sleep. You always wear long jackets and sunglasses and you never spend time with us anymore. The guys wanted me to give you time, but I can’t do that anymore...”

He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Bill just wanted his brother to leave. His disappointment hurt Bill wounded Bill much more than any gunshot or stab wound ever could, the disgust made every scar on his body burn with hatred. He continues to ignore his brother until he no longer could.

“Tom... Please... I can’t do this now...” He begged weakly, his voice cracking as he tried to conceal his tears. His brother moved his hand away from his younger sibling, sitting up straight.

“When Bill? I need to know, you’re killing me...”

The raven haired boy tilted his hear to glance at his twin sadly, as he was leaving the bunk, going back to his own. Bill just laid there, his anger only growing. The bus started to get quiet as the minutes passed like years, it was getting late and everyone was getting ready for bed. He could hear his friend, Gustav stumbling into the bunk next to his. He heard Georg’s light snoring and Tom’s mumbling, they were all asleep.

The soft noises of the people surrounding him helped him form his plan. He was angry. At himself for letting Tom get hurt. He was stupid, stupid enough to let his misery effect the ones he loved most. He was a disappointment to all of them.

Drowning in his thoughts, he knew he was going to be smothered in his misery soon, the feeling of emptiness overwhelming him, leaving him to sob, alone in his bed. He didn’t want that, he couldn’t handle that tonight, he already felt bed enough. He sat up straight slowly, smiling darkly as he stuck his hand under his pillow to retrieve it again. He liked the feeling of the cold in his hands, if only he could have the feeling for the rest of his life. Because the cold would leave him numb, he would give anything to feel that way.

He gave it half a glance before rolling up his long sleeved nightshirt, scanning his arm. It wasn’t as bad tonight; he could still smile, so he traced his scars upwards, towards his shoulders. He only left his mark there when his head needed to be cleared, and when he needed to calm down. It seemed perfect. That part of his body was more scarred than anywhere else, only because he had so much stress.

He didn’t feel the pain at all then, only the sudden calmness washing over him, causing him to smile freely. It was an amazing feeling, and he was ready to feel that again. For once, he wanted to fall asleep without a care in the world and not wake up with a sense of paranoia in the air. He wanted to laugh and joke and not care what others think. And if that meant making one scar on his arm, he would do it. No one could judge him for that, they couldn’t hate him for wanting to be free, could they?

Wasting no more time, he greedily dug the metal into his skin, digging deeper as he dragged it further. One cut, it was all he made in one night, it would satisfy him, but not this time. He waited to be relieved from the emptiness, the guilt; he waited for his carefree smile, nut none came.

Realizing that it hadn’t happened, he dug the metal into his forearm, over and over. Leaving nothing more but scarlet drops on his hands and clothes, and his arm full of fresh wounds. It was strange, none of the new scars made him feel better, it confused him, and it hurt him. He needed it like other’s needed air, because it was better than air, it felt better.

Instead of clearing his mind, the conversation between the raven haired boy and dread head came rushing back, his head snapped up in anger. He didn’t need to think anymore, his head was clear. He didn’t have to do this every night; he didn’t have to feel the pain. He didn’t have to wake up every morning to do it all over again.

Gripping the stairs, Bill sprinted forward towards the kitchen on the first floor. He knew what he was looking for, and he knew they had more than enough. Everyone was asleep by now, except for the driver. He could do it, and nobody would notice, he’s fooled them before.

He launched for the cupboard next to the fridge, the medicine cabinet. His eyes fell upon two small bottles which stood in front, and without giving it a second thought, he grabbed them both, taking a glass of water along with him. He sneaked up the stairs, placing the three objects in his bunk. He glanced around one more time, silently greeting his friends and brother. It wasn’t very hard for him, he knew they would be strong, that’s how he knew them.

Then he climbed back into the bed one final time, opening the two bottles. This was what he wanted; he didn’t need to face this anymore. He couldn’t imagine anything better, because he was done. No one was there when he fell apart, and when they found him, it would be a little too late. He took the pills, shoving them into his mouth; five at a time until there were no more left.

He placed his remaining glass of water next to his bed, closing the curtains again, growing weary. He had laid down in his bed, crossing his arms over his chest, listening to the few beats his heart had left. He smiled at the thought. He was going to get away, now he got what he wanted too. He smiled without caring about tomorrow, because for him, there wasn’t one.