All We Are Is Bullets...

"I assume by now you're ready for make up?" Amy asked, coming back into the room. I nodded and stood up, coming over to the stool in front of the mirror and parking myself on it.

"So what are we doing for you tonight? Gothy? Vixen? Femme fatale? Wilting flower?"

"Ha!" I scoffed. I was no wilting flower. Not anymore.

"Gothy will do fine. Goes with the outfit, and I saw some impressive ensembles in the crowd. I'd like to live up to their expectations."

"Grand! Are we daring enough for red lipstick?"

"Now that the teeth have been bleached to oblivion, yes."

"I do wish you hadn't done that. You had grand teeth beforehand, now they're spookily white. And you need to brush them four times a day to stop them getting infected with anything."

"But I can wear red lipstick."
I smiled as she sighed. It put everything in perspective.

Fifteen minutes later and all the make up was on, so it was time to get started on one's tresses. I yawned dramatically as Amy picked up the first strand of hair. "Well, we'll be a while my dear."

"You won't, you have half an hour until stage lights, so we'll be doing a half assed job and letting you get out there to converse with your bandmates. They think you're avoiding them."

"Eh?"

"John thinks you've been distant lately. He didn't want to ask if it was that time of the month or something."

I giggled. "No, I'm just having a schizo episode. I've been meditative lately. I think I'm just nostalgic with this tour."

"You're not having second thoughts about coming on it are you?" Amy asked, concerned.

"Not at all!" I scoffed. "On the contrary, I'm loving every minute of it. That's why I'm getting so distant and withdrawn; it's been so long since I had anything as much fun in my life as this. I'm trying to live up every second but I'm also doing a healthy amount of dreaming."

"I see. Well, I'm glad you for you honey, I really am. I'm always proud to see you happy and you have been much smilier during this tour. But don't neglect the guys while you're busy dreaming. They love you. They want a piece of your time as well. And they get worried when they think you're giving them excuses."

I nodded. Of course they did. I had spent the bones of four years feeding them bullshit lie after bullshit lie; anything that came to mind and sounded reasonable as I fell asleep with a crushing ache in my stomach the night before. I don't think they ever believed one of them, but they couldn't stage an intervention. I was too weak for that. The help had to come from within or it would break me altogether. Now that I was finding my feet again-and I truly did feel like I was standing on both of them, not handicapped with one held behind my back by the shadow of the past-they were more determined than ever to take care of me, to make sure I didn't fall into old ways. They were very protective around any potential suitors (though, as mentioned earlier, they really didn't have to be). They screened anyone, even fans, who they thought were trying to get too close. They'd even scrutinised my bodyguard over the course of several weeks before agreeing to have him hired. I was grateful for all they did, all they said and the comfort they discreetly offered. I actually felt a little guilty that I couldn't confide in them more. I had once been so open with my feelings that anyone close to me would freely get a piece of my mind. But now I was much more cautious about those to whom I bared my soul. I had to trust them implicitly, and the only ones I did anymore were my sister and Gerard. My best friend and my soulmate. My girlies didn't even hear the whole story, thanks in no small measure to the searing void that had grown between us during the difficult years. I missed them too, even though they were still right beside me. Because I could never be the girl I once was again, I couldn't be myself around them. I felt that I had to make friends with them all over again sometimes, even though they'd known me for about 13 years. With my sister, it was different. Blood runs too thick and deep. With Gerard, it had always been different.

Some ties are too strong to break.

How ironic that my original "war" wounds (as in post-relationship debris) were what kept me firmly attached to him, and him to me. We would always have each other as confidantes and saviours, no matter how frayed relations with other people became. There's something about the bond you develop with the person who saved you. You'll never stop needing them there in case you go under again.

"Your hair is done!" Amy cooed excitedly after several minutes of frowning stylising.

"Thank you!" I said and stood up, kissing her on the cheek. "It looks great, fantastic job as always."

"No problem my dear. Now get out of my sight and go converse with someone else, instead of pacing the floors in here alone."

Hee. Pacing the floors was once my only comfort.

I rambled out into the corridor and looked up and down. No properly familiar faces; lots of roadies and techs and strange people who looked like they should be doing something but they weren't quite sure what. The guys' dressing room was just next to mine, and I could tell from the raucous laughter and jeers that more than one of them was indisposed at the moment. So I left them for the time being, and kept going to the other dressing room.

I knocked gently at the wooden door and awaited an answer patiently. When the knob turned, it was Frankie's cheeky face and boyish grin that greeted me.

"Rachel!" he cried, and hugged me tightly. "We thought you'd never come out of that dressing room."

"Sometimes one just needs to be left alone with all their thoughts," I smiled. "How are preparations going?"

"Excellently, we're almost ready. Just need to persuade our singer to come in from the damned balcony and we'll be all ready to take in your set."

"What's he up to out there?" I smiled.

"What's he ever up to?"

"Drawing." I said the word out loud to myself as I opened the balcony door and saw Gerard sitting on a deck chair, sketching away, deep in concentration. I walked slowly out so as not to disturb his train of thought. The wind was rustling his dark hair across his face, and tugging vainly at his striped scarf. His eyes were set intently on something deep in the distance, only moving so as to observe the image his hand was gradually capturing. His mouth was moulded into a little pout, a sign of intense concentration. He was pale, his pallor whiter than ever given the desolate weather we'd encountered on this tour thus far, and his dark clothes emphasised this even more than his stage make up, which was already in place.

So handsome.

Is it weird...I could see everything that I loved about him, everything I still love, and even more. I could see all that I had adored and all that had been my everything when I was a teenager, a young adult, and woman taking tenative steps. I could see the arms that held me as I slept, the lips that kissed me goodnight and good morning and at various points throughout the day, the eyes that had gazed into mine and told me wordlessly that everything would be OK.

I knew I should feel something. I had always felt something around him. I couldn't always put a word on it but there was always something there, some feeling deep inside. He made me feel like no one else could, so strongly and deeply that I couldn't even describe it. Perhaps that was just it-he made me feel. When I was dead to the world, lost, miserable, despondant and disillusioned, he reminded me-just by existing-that there was something else out there. I stood there, looking at him, scolding myself for being unable to feel the way I used. I knew what was inside me but it wasn't actually there. It was but it wasn't-there in spirit form. I was grasping at the feelings I knew still lay inside somewhere. I was willing myself to dig them out and actually savour them, sense them running through me. My emotions were still too cold and detached to allow me the physical sensation, but I knew what was inside. I wanted it to resurface.

I wanted to feel again.

"Busy as always?" I asked with a smile as I sat down beside him.

He jumped a little, startled at the sudden introduction. "Oh! Hi hot stuff." The use of my old high school nickname made me smile wistfully. "I've got my eye set on a cloud that looks just like Slimer from Ghostbusters."

"You are a nerd's paradise," I giggled, looking in the distance of this cloud and seeing nothing but greyness and doldrums. He smiled sweetly, the same old smile that used to make me go weak at the knees. Only I had recently learned how to stand up straight and tall, they would still be quivering.

"I know I am," he replied. "It's one of life's simple pleasures after all." He folded up his drawing materials and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. "How are you doing sweetie?"

"I'm good. A little nervous about the show, but good. My voice has been a bit off recently and I don't want to disappoint everyone after they've put up with this weather in the queue."

"You could never disappoint anyone," he said firmly. "Most of the time just seeing your idol in person is enough to make the queuing worthwhile. Besides, I've been watching your sets for a long time and I can honestly say that the performances on this tour are the best you've ever given."

"Really?" I asked softly, smiling gently to myself.

"Really. I wouldn't lie to you."

I bowed my head and allowed my smile to grow a little larger. It wasn't so long since I'd found even a tiny smile impossible to bear, and the impulse at times could still feel alien. I had to keep reminding myself that I had something to smile about, people to smile for-the most important of all sitting right beside me. He seemed to notice my thoughtful expression and put his arm around me.

"You don't have to spend so long dwelling on the past, Rach. It's not you anymore. Don't let her haunt you."

"How can she not haunt me? She needs to go somewhere. I'm not ready to banish her to the past yet. Sometimes, I still have to look to her to remind myself why my ways are different now."

"Rach..." Gerard went to say something, but paused. He always got a little tongue tied at awkward moments-although heaven knows, with all the moments I'd put him through over the years, his expertise was growing. "Rachel," he repeated after a moment. "You've succeeded. You are you again. That should be all the reminding you need. Don't pace those floors alone, or let your thoughts get the better of you. We used to sit up all night together talking. Don't ever think for one second that you need to go through this toute seule." The little words of French brought a proper smile to my lips, one that didn't require effort. I turned to him-looking a lot more adoring than I realised-and hugged him tightly. I was never quite sure how to respond to his little pep talks, but I knew that in hugging I possessed a unique strength and could always convey what I felt. I kissed him gently on the cheek and nodded. He nodded back and giggled.

"See?! It's not that hard."

I went to get up, but was startled by the distant scream of a fan who had evidently discovered our little hiding place. Thus, I spectacularly caught my foot in the leg of the chair and glided effortlessly to the ground. Well, almost. Gerard caught my arms and pulled me back up again with a well-timed impression of Billy Boyd in The Fellowship of the Ring, i.e. "Steady on!" I screamed hoarsely, but was swiftly returned to my feet. In so doing, I turned to find myself suddenly face to face with Gee. His arms were still clutching mine, my legs parted slightly around his. We stood looking at each other for a moment, the rain tinkling gently to the ground and the wind striking up a dull howl around us. The latter sent many a raindrop hurtling towards us, so soon we had makeshift tears running down our cheeks. I drifted momentarily into a flashback, of the two of us in a park somewhere sitting happily under summer rain. I knew what happened next-but didn't realise how close I was to reliving it.

Gerard hadn't said anything. I went to open my mouth. Before I could say something however, he put his finger over my lips to hush me. He leaned in, moving his fingers to my cheeks, and he kissed me.

Achingly.
Dreamily.
Wonderfully.

I found myself folding into him, the way I used, without any real effort. In that brief moment things returned to their natural order, as I found my place in his arms once more, and he found his in mine. The rain was flying all about us, and my perfectly styled tresses were being rapidly destroyed. The inner voice tried to leap into action, to remind me that this was unacceptable, that I had to get away from these conditions and find a quiet corner in which to restore my perfection of image. But as much as she tried to scream at me, I was oblivious. I actually didn't care. Not even slightly, for the first time in aeons. I was too immersed in what was happening in the here and now to fret over my scar tissue. The kiss was growing more intense, as was the weather. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling my way uncertainly across his back as the memory gradually returned to me. His arms were tight around my chest at this stage, and his lips becoming more emphatic, more decided, more precise. He knew what he wanted to say earlier, but he was using them in a completely different way to say it. The flurry of feelings that came rushing towards me are too difficult to describe. I still felt numb, but somewhere inside an elusive feeling of contentment was wrangling for attention. Memories are indeed powerful entities. Right now they had taken over my whole body and transported me back to the time when I did this regularly-lost myself to the moment and the man I loved. I found myself longing in that embrace too-longing for this to be real, to be believeable. The voice inside was becoming stronger and what she was saying was disconcerting me. As wholly as I had surrendered myself, she didn't want to let me go. She tugged and tugged until finally, I felt I had to pull away.

But he wouldn't let me.

I went to draw back from him, but his arms grew tighter. I actually took a step backwards, but he stepped forwards and moved his arm up so he now held my shoulders. I put my hand on his chest and tried to push myself back, but he took it in his free one. It was useless. To no avail. My body wasn't struggling as much as she wanted it to. Part of it knew that it was finding it's way back home again. Perchance Amy's sly remark about My Way Home Is Through You's B-side status being down to it's hitting a target too close to home was true. I had never dared to believe Gee could still feel for me in that way. I assumed he had moved on with his life-a 4 year relationship between our last encounter and the present acting as pretty vivid indication. I had always presumed that it was I who lamented the loss of the past, and even at that I often wondered if it was for Gerard I yearned or the ideal we once typified. Well, after that moment in the rain, I realised I did know my way home. And clearly he believed his lay on the same path.

Could I believe again?

I can believe it again.

Several minutes later, the sound of people clamorously calling us in the distance forced us to let go of one another. I stood back, looking straight at his face and smiling in spite of myself at all the lipstick I'd left on it. He was looking directly into my eyes, and a smile spread across his lips. A true, fitting smile. It was neither knowing nor sly. It was one of happiness, and hope. Hope that something could defeat the ghost between us after all.

"We should try and clean some of that off your face," I said softly, beginning to stroke his face affectionately. It was more out of yearning than any desire to clean the evidence of our embrace away. In spite of it all, I had been taken away so thoroughly in that moment that it was hard to believe it had just happened. I rubbed the red smears away carefully, before allowing my hand to fall into his again.

"It doesn't seem so long ago that I looked at you from here."

Effortless quoting.

Where the raindrops falling softly tell a story...

That did not just happen.