Status: Finished.
To know you is to hate you.
Between a hammer and a hard place #2
I drifted in and out of sleep. Their voices had become like a constant buzzing, every so often getting louder and then falling to a whisper. Mike’s body was warm against mine and the rise and fall of his chest was so comforting.
My bliss was short lived as my stomach gave a tight tug. I thrust forward and gripped my arm around my middle. Mike grunted into live behind me, his hand coming up to rest on my shoulder. I clenched my teeth as another wave of pain shot through me.
“I think I found your pain button faggot."
I almost cried at the sound of his thick tongue. Bile rushed up my throat, a bag was quickly thrust in front of my face before the sour liquid made its escape. All the while Mike patted my back and I heard Tre speaking with one of the air hostesses.
“It’s okay Billie Joe, I’ve got ya.”
Anger pricked in my veins. I hated the way Mike was talking to me, as if I was some sort of a child of his bitch. My breath hitched in my throat as I realized what had just crossed my mind. Never once had I hated Mike’s fatherly nature towards me, never had I hated his comfort or his arms around my shoulders.
I sat back in my chair with my eyes wide open.
What was wrong with me?
“Just take it easy BJ.” Mike cooed. He pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and I absentmindly took hold on it.
I could feel sweat already beginning to cover my body. My bones ached and my limbs were quivering violently. Mike brushed the hair from my eyes and laid his palm gently on the skin. Something was mumbled; more voices joined the conversation, none of which was heard over the ringing in my ears.
My head fell lazily back against the head rest. I could hear nothing nor could I see anything. My eyes were open yet I couldn’t see clearly. Only blurred shapes; like badly edited bokeh.
“Honey, you need to stay focused –“
“Like fuck! Just sit back and relax.”
“What are you doing to me?” I whispered, both in my mind and allowed.
“Doesn’t matter faggot. Just relax.”
“No.”
“Fight it Billie.”
“How? Its- it’s hurting.”
Tears leaked from the sides of my eyes. More movement on my left side, more unheard voices, louder and faster this time. Someone was touching me, gripping and shaking my shoulders.
“What’s going on?”
“Stop it you swamp dweller!”
“Stop what? What—“
****
He was mumbling to himself. His lips were moving but only a percentage of sound was coming out. The air hostess was begging me to move so she could possibly help; like fuck she could. I shook him and tried looking directly into his eyes, but their green was fainted and cloudy. Tears ran down his cheeks.
His hands reached up and gripped my elbows. He was still in there, somewhere, and begging me for help. But how?
The rest of the crew were as terrified as clue less as I was although each tried to slot in beside me to give assistance. His eyes shut tight, squeezing more tears down his cheeks, his Adams apple bobbed as he gulped for air and his hands shook. Then he was sitting upright, his head in its usual position and his arms fell to his lap. I placed my hand upon his jaw.
“BJ?” I whispered.
His eyes shot open. They met mine, their irises dull and lifeless.
“Are you okay?” Tre asked.
“I-I’m okay.” He then shook his head, “No. I feel sick. Really sick. I- I need to lie down.”
Briefly glancing at Tre, I nodded and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders.
“I can do it myself!” He shot darkly before snatching the covers from my hands and curling up into a ball upon his chair.
The worried crew returned to their seats, Tre reluctantly sat down next to me and the staff returned to the cabin. Billie Joe had turned his small body away from mine and I can’t lie; I was hurt.
I had no idea what had just happened. Everything had started and was over in a flash. The image of him, in agony, trembling and weeping was burned into my skull. I knew I was not the only one but I couldn’t help feeling like that was the case. The soft mumblings of the other crew came from every direction and, as I glanced over to Tre, I could see the drummer staring anxiously at the wall.
Billie wasn’t the only one with a problem. We were all affected in some sort of way. I could see it in everyone’s eyes; the pain, the fear and anxiety. I doubt the singer even took time to recognise it. How could he? There was enough going on in his head without thinking of all of us.
I couldn’t stop myself from being angry; but that doesn’t mean I didn’t try.
My bliss was short lived as my stomach gave a tight tug. I thrust forward and gripped my arm around my middle. Mike grunted into live behind me, his hand coming up to rest on my shoulder. I clenched my teeth as another wave of pain shot through me.
“I think I found your pain button faggot."
I almost cried at the sound of his thick tongue. Bile rushed up my throat, a bag was quickly thrust in front of my face before the sour liquid made its escape. All the while Mike patted my back and I heard Tre speaking with one of the air hostesses.
“It’s okay Billie Joe, I’ve got ya.”
Anger pricked in my veins. I hated the way Mike was talking to me, as if I was some sort of a child of his bitch. My breath hitched in my throat as I realized what had just crossed my mind. Never once had I hated Mike’s fatherly nature towards me, never had I hated his comfort or his arms around my shoulders.
I sat back in my chair with my eyes wide open.
What was wrong with me?
“Just take it easy BJ.” Mike cooed. He pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and I absentmindly took hold on it.
I could feel sweat already beginning to cover my body. My bones ached and my limbs were quivering violently. Mike brushed the hair from my eyes and laid his palm gently on the skin. Something was mumbled; more voices joined the conversation, none of which was heard over the ringing in my ears.
My head fell lazily back against the head rest. I could hear nothing nor could I see anything. My eyes were open yet I couldn’t see clearly. Only blurred shapes; like badly edited bokeh.
“Honey, you need to stay focused –“
“Like fuck! Just sit back and relax.”
“What are you doing to me?” I whispered, both in my mind and allowed.
“Doesn’t matter faggot. Just relax.”
“No.”
“Fight it Billie.”
“How? Its- it’s hurting.”
Tears leaked from the sides of my eyes. More movement on my left side, more unheard voices, louder and faster this time. Someone was touching me, gripping and shaking my shoulders.
“What’s going on?”
“Stop it you swamp dweller!”
“Stop what? What—“
****
He was mumbling to himself. His lips were moving but only a percentage of sound was coming out. The air hostess was begging me to move so she could possibly help; like fuck she could. I shook him and tried looking directly into his eyes, but their green was fainted and cloudy. Tears ran down his cheeks.
His hands reached up and gripped my elbows. He was still in there, somewhere, and begging me for help. But how?
The rest of the crew were as terrified as clue less as I was although each tried to slot in beside me to give assistance. His eyes shut tight, squeezing more tears down his cheeks, his Adams apple bobbed as he gulped for air and his hands shook. Then he was sitting upright, his head in its usual position and his arms fell to his lap. I placed my hand upon his jaw.
“BJ?” I whispered.
His eyes shot open. They met mine, their irises dull and lifeless.
“Are you okay?” Tre asked.
“I-I’m okay.” He then shook his head, “No. I feel sick. Really sick. I- I need to lie down.”
Briefly glancing at Tre, I nodded and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders.
“I can do it myself!” He shot darkly before snatching the covers from my hands and curling up into a ball upon his chair.
The worried crew returned to their seats, Tre reluctantly sat down next to me and the staff returned to the cabin. Billie Joe had turned his small body away from mine and I can’t lie; I was hurt.
I had no idea what had just happened. Everything had started and was over in a flash. The image of him, in agony, trembling and weeping was burned into my skull. I knew I was not the only one but I couldn’t help feeling like that was the case. The soft mumblings of the other crew came from every direction and, as I glanced over to Tre, I could see the drummer staring anxiously at the wall.
Billie wasn’t the only one with a problem. We were all affected in some sort of way. I could see it in everyone’s eyes; the pain, the fear and anxiety. I doubt the singer even took time to recognise it. How could he? There was enough going on in his head without thinking of all of us.
I couldn’t stop myself from being angry; but that doesn’t mean I didn’t try.