Finch.

I have always enjoyed the burn of the audience’s eyes on me.
The lights burn my own eyes.
The brightest light you have ever seen. And I speak into the microphone.
“Jesus! That is the brightest fucking light I have ever seen.”
The audience laughs.
My voice is always very soft, and I have always thought I sounded like I was choking.
However, the crowds I sing for seem to like it.
And then I start to whisper all my fears and thoughts into the microphone.
Some of them are singing along, but really, all I can see is about five people in the front row and a few shining objects.
I was never meant to be famous.

Eleanor, she is right in front of me. I know that the man has been touching her. I know she never figured out how to fight back after the accident.
“You’re the only one that’s allowed to touch me,” she whispers. She is falling onto me like the first time. Heaven forbid that man touched her.
“What happened?”
“You’re the only one…” she starts, but she is too breathless.

Soon enough the show is over, and I walk offstage. Eleanor, she is right in front of me. She is lying down on a couch. She looks up at me with those blue eyes. I cannot deny her anything.
I crouch down next to her. Our eyes are staring into the others.
“What is it?”
“Are you going to do it again tonight?”
I have always hated when she asks.
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
“I just want you to lay with me in the van,” she stutters.
I am so afraid she will never be the same.
“I will do that,” I say. I didn’t want to take the tablets anyway tonight.
Everything just meshes together. I’d rather have a quiet night with her.
I smooth her hair against her skull. Her yellow hair is never brushed. She taught me to play piano. How could anyone commit such cruel acts upon her? Such brutal things. Rough things.
Stay with me Eleanor.

“Nikki?” she asks in the darkness.
“Yes, Eleanor?” I reply.
“How long have I known you?”
“Let’s see. I’m twenty-six now. So, that would be twelve years. Freshman year was quite a lot of fun my little birdie,” I say.
“That was such a long time ago. We were fourteen?”
I know she can’t believe it. I can’t either. Especially not after senior year.

We are curled up on the floor, sitting against a bunk. She is crying.
“I’m sorry Nicholas, I just knew that these dreams were starting again. I needed you to lay with me,” she says.
“And I am just fine with that,” I whisper. I kiss her hair, and my black hair is falling in my eyes. It’s so strange; the contrast, between the yellow and black. “I’ll take care of you birdie.”