Blinded

For once, I’m actually listening to my iPod. It’s currently playing Liar Liar. You might consider it a bit weird that I’m listening to a song that might’ve been written about me, but even if it wasn’t…then it should have been.
I’m a liar. I lied. I led him on with my lies. And I hurt him.
But I didn’t know.
Or did I?
I mean, yeah, we’ve done a lot of interaction on stage. But that was part of our shows. It was a show-thing.
But all the times off stage. The times when I caught Frank staring at me or when he attacked me and wouldn’t get off my lap. Was it a cry for attention?
Fuck! I’m so blind! How could I not have seen it? It’s so obvious!
I jump as someone taps my shoulder. I take the earplugs out of my ears.

“Gerard. We need to be on stage in 10 minutes.” Mikey.
I sit up on the couch and stop the song. Of course, the last word that emits is ‘Liar’.

“Okay.” I stand up and immediately Mikey wraps a hand around my arm. He leads me down the hall, but I stop when I think we’re outside my bunk.
“Could you put this in my bunk?” I ask and hold up my iPod.

“Sure,” Mikey says. He lets go of my arm and takes the iPod out of my heavily bandaged hand. I hear his footsteps walk away – back towards where we came from. We walked too far. I misjudged the distance. I misjudged where I was.
Story of my life, perhaps. Misjudging. Misunderstanding.
“Okay. Come on,” Mikey says, before he grabs onto my arm again and leads me off the bus.
Oh, joy; another show brought down by my inability to move. I wonder if we’re losing fans – audience. Are less people coming to our shows? Or are more people showing up to see the blind freak standing still?
Not only am I a liar, I’m also a freak – a blind freak. A blind, lying freak.
I feel a pang of self-pity hit my chest like a ton of bricks. And then they stay there – lying still and weighing me down, as a constant reminder of my own fucking selfishness.
I’m being stupid. I’m being ego-centered. I should stop.
But I can’t.
“Okay. There’s…five steps now,” Mikey says before he slowly leads me up the steps. Suddenly I remember – someone might be watching me. Some fans might be able to see me, looking like a pathetic, needy, helpless, selfish fucker who can’t even find a mike stand on his own. Why was I so stupid to begin with? Why’ve I always been this stupid?
“Okay. There’s a chair right behind you. I’m just gonna go get my bass, yeah?” I take a careful step back and feel the chair against the back of my leg.

“Yeah,” I answer as I slowly sit down. I hear Mikey’s footsteps leave.
“Mikey!” I hear his footsteps stop.

“Yeah?” I look up. Or I don’t look. I don’t know what to call it anymore. Lifting my head?

“Is Frank back yet?” I hear Mikey’s footsteps shuffle around a bit, but he doesn’t get any closer.

“He never left,” Mikey says – his tone of voice sounding more like a question than an answer.
I nod. His footsteps start to leave again.
I thought he would have left – Frank that is. I thought he would have taken a car and driven as far away as fucking possible.
I would have. But I can’t. Because I still can’t see a flying fuck. And even if I could, I still have my hands wrapped up in gaze and bandages. I can’t even move my right hand – they even tied up the wrist so tight that I can’t move it.
I’m pathetic.
And I’m wallowing in it.
Like the pathetic fuck that I am.
“Okay, Gee. Come on. Let’s get out on stage, okay?” Mikey grabs my arm. I follow – like a slave follows his master, or like a puppet follows the puppeteer because he’s got a hand up its ass.
The chatting and mumbling and occasional scream of the crowd suddenly enters my ears. We must’ve walked through a door or something to get on stage, ‘cause I can usually hear them from far away.
Mikey suddenly stops me and turns me slightly, before he pats my shoulder and leaves. I can’t hear his footsteps leave because of the crowd, but I know he’s gone over to his spot – next to Frank.
I hear Ray’s guitar play a few notes, and I know it’s my cue to sing. I’m usually the one who sings the first few notes of the night, but since my…accident, we’ve decided to let Ray’s guitar lead me into the show. After all, he can tell when everyone is in their positions – unlike me.
I start singing, and only a few seconds after I hear Bob’s drums kick in, followed by Mikey’s bass. I listen carefully – probably using every bone in my ear to focus on finding that one sound.
And then I hear it. The soft strum of a rhythm guitar. And for some reason, it brings with it some kind of safety. It makes me feel safe.
He’s here.