The Wizard of Hurt

She nuzzles into his neck and he tightens his grip on her. They’re snuggled up on the couch – leaning on each other. That’s what they do – lean on each other. They need the other to feel loved.
They’ve been together for almost a year now – their happiness lighting up every room they step into. They’re still in love. Their love is still young – fresh.
They have the picture perfect relationship. Nothing matters as long as they’ve got each other – as long as they can hide away in each other’s arms and pretend the world doesn’t exist.

As long as they have each other, they can pretend I don’t exist.

I try to focus on the TV, but I keep seeing every slight movement out of the corner of my eye. I wish I had blinkers. I wish I was a horse – then I could run away. Fast.

He turns his head and kisses the top of her head – his mouth disappearing into her tousled hair.
They’re the perfect image of love.

I get up from the uncomfortable chair and walk towards the bunk. I don’t announce my destination – if anyone cares, they’ll figure it out eventually.
I drop my pants and crawl in. I draw the curtain shut, before I turn my back to it and bury half of my face in my pillow.
My bunk is too hot – too stuffy – but I can’t sleep on the couch. We only have that one.

My bunk is my sanctuary on this bus. It’s the only place they haven’t been. It’s my alone place – my lonely place. But it’s mine.

Yet, I’d rather be sharing it.

--

I wake up – not realizing I ever fell asleep. The bus is completely silent. It must be night. Everyone must’ve gone to bed – some to the same.
I’m cold. I pull my duvet up further – only my head popping out – but it’s as if my body can’t heat up the air underneath the thick thing. I’m still cold – shivering lightly.

I hear a grunt and a sigh, before the ruffling of sheets fills the stuffy air. Gerard always moves around in his sleep – tossing and turning like a crazed man – but he seems more relaxed when she’s in the bunk with him. It’s like she’s a human chill-pill. When she’s here, he barely moves – some night not at all.
They must be nice and hot. They’ve probably got their arm around each other – sharing their body heat.

I wish it was me. Why can’t it be me? Why do I have to be the lonely, cold one while she’s warm in his loving embrace? Why can’t I be the one lying in his arms – being loved?

Why can’t he love me?

--

Next time I open my eyes, it’s only a fraction of an inch. It’s like my eyelids are made out of lead – not only keeping me from opening my eyes fully, but also weighing down on my eyeballs, giving me a throbbing headache.

I groan and roll over. My entire body is clammy – covered in cold-sweat. The chills make me shiver. I try to take a deep breath, but my throat clenches half-way through, which brings me into a coughing fit. My chest quickly starts hurting. My head still throbs – each cough making it unbearable.

When the coughs stop, I throw my head into my pillow and lie completely still. I even stop breathing for a little while – too afraid that it’ll cause another fit.

“Are you alive in here?” Gerard asks sweetly as he pulls the curtain back. I begin to breathe again – only causing one cough.

“Barely,” I croak – causing another two coughs. After that, my breathing becomes wheezy – as if there’s something caught in my throat.

My eyes crack open when I feel the slight pressure of Gerard’s hand on my forehead. I spot his beautiful brown eyes in the dark. They’re always brown in the dark.

“You’ve got a fever.” My eyelids still feel like lead – my eyes slipping shut.

--

A few hours – and uncountable amounts of cups of coffee and bowls of soup – later, I’m on the couch watching The Wizard of Oz. We always have a copy of it with us on tour in case of situations like this. As if it’s some kind of national rule, we all used to watch it when we were sick, back when we were kids. The movie has healing powers.

I’m wrapped up in the thickest blanket we own – Bob’s a practical fucker – with my feet buried in between the cushions of the couch. My lower back is leaning against the one armrest of the worn couch and despite its hard material, it doesn’t hurt yet.

“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” Gerard says. The Wizard is already handing out presents, so Gerard’s a bit late, but he still makes me giggle when I see that he’s hiding halfway behind the curtain to the bunks.

He giggles himself – making my heart swell. He lets go of the curtain and plods down on the couch – almost crushing my feet, but I don’t care.

He stares at the TV – smiling lightly with a soft, pleased look in his eyes. He seems to notice me staring at him, because he looks over at me.

“A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others,” the Wizard says.

My heart breaks, blows up, melts – falling into tiny pieces that eventually turn into dust, which flies out of my chest through my open eyes. It comes out as liquid, and for a minute I’m sure that it’s blood – that is until a drop lets go of my cheek and falls onto the blanket.
I look down at my chest. There’s a simple, dark stain on the blanket – obviously caused by nothing but a salty tear.

I’m like the tin-man. My chest is nothing but an empty tin-can.

I have no heart.