Smiling at Everything

Jazz pulled her eyes away from the blank screen, glancing around the faces of her friends. Shock, disbelief, hurt, rejection, betrayal. It was all there in every single one of their faces. Jazz couldn't force a smile or unnecessary giggle to play off the whole trial as a joke. Her nerves wouldn't allow it.

"Jazz," the interviewer said, "its best if you tell your fans now what happened instead of waiting till the paparazzi gets a hold of this and blows it out of proportion."

"I guess," Jazz mumbled, dropping her gaze to her lap.

"What happened with those men?"

Jazz kept the memories blocked off in the back of her mind. She didn't need to have a panic attack on top of admit what happened to her friends.

"I was raped," Jazz mumbled.

"Can you tell a little of your story? Nothing that's too hard for you to talk about. Just general stuff for your fans."

Jazz shrugged. Everyone knew she had been raped now. They heard it from her lips. There was no reason to hide the rest of it. But she wasn't planning on going into details. That was far too much.

"Start where you're most comfortable?" the interviewer said.

"There's not much to tell," Jazz stated, "When I was in seventh grade, I got detention for the first time with my gym coach for wearing the wrong clothing in P.E. He ended up raping me during that detention, as well during two other detentions afterwards. In high school, the English teacher I thought I could trust threatened my grade and my well-being to take advantage of me for the last three weeks of my freshman year."

She was trying to stay as emotionally detached from the situations as she could. If she let her guard down, the memories would take over. Only Zack knew how to handle that situation.

"Did you ever go to anyone for help?" the interviewer asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I was scared."

"Why would you be scared?"

"Why wouldn't I be scared?" Jazz asked.

"The police would have been there in a heart beat."

"That has nothing to do with whether or not I was scared."

"What does then?"

Jazz paused. He wanted her to put her emotions out there, but she didn't want to. Those were supposed to remain locked up in her mind. How else could explain why she was afraid though?

There was no other way.

"You have to understand that when you're raped, you're not just hurt by the physical side of things. Your mental stability is thrown into disarray. You get scared because of the threats, because of what they could do to you. You get scared that no one will listen to you when you try to go for help. You feel like so much less of a person that you don't think you deserve the help in the first place. You end up believing it was your fault. All these things inhibit you from saving yourself from a situation," Jazz said.

"Which is similar to a woman and children who are forced into human trafficking. I mean you were coerced with violence into being a sexual object for these men who raped you. More so for your past English teacher. Women and children who go through trafficking go through a similar situation."

"Very similar, yes."

"So you must feel some ties with LOVE 146."

"Sometimes. They're kind of ending what I went through for children in other areas."

"You're extremely bubbly a majority of the time. It's hard to believe that you ever felt like they did. A lot of women who go through rape feel like committing suicide is the only way out of those problems. How did you get over that feeling?"

"I never really did. I just learned to cover it up."

"So you've gone through a time period where you felt like committing suicide?"

"What rape victim doesn't have that thought at some point?

"Did you ever act on it?"

"No. I would never have killed myself."

"Were there any other outlets that you had then?"

"I threw myself into music. I would just stay up for nights on end playing pieces on the piano or the keyboard. I learned to play the violin, flute, clarinet, and guitar later, and I would play those during the day. It was my escape from the world. For the most part, music saved my life."

"So you didn't get involved in any negative behaviors?"

Jazz hesitated. Of all the things that happened to her, her friends were likely to react worst to her cutting. That was something she could have reached out for if she didn't want to admit to being raped. The other members of their band were open with each other. Any addiction or problem was fixed with support and help from the band members. And Jazz had kept her cutting addiction a secret.

But she couldn't lie anymore. Who would believe that she didn't turn to some form of negative behavior?

"I started cutting myself the summer before eighth grade. It was a habit that got me through the psychological problems I was facing," Jazz answered.

She could feel the tension increase in the room, though she refused to glance around and meet the gazes of her band mates or Zack's band mates.

"That can be a very dangerous—"

Neon cut off the interviewer, "Take off your bracelets."

Jazz faced Neon, "What?"

"Take off your bracelets," Neon repeated.

"Neon, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I want to see them."

"Wait," the interviewer cut in, "You guys really didn't know about this? I thought you were trying to cover it up."

"We were never aware of what Jazz went through. She didn't tell us," Dante said.

"Stop recording," the interviewer instructed the cameraman.

The red light on the camera immediately switched off.

"We can try the interview again later," the interviewer said, standing, "I'll leave you guys to deal with this."

"Thank you," Dante returned.

The interviewer left the couch set up, followed by the cameraman. Neon continued to stare at Jazz, waiting. Jazz's own gaze was filled with disbelief. Neon wanted her to take off her bracelets?

"Well?" Neon pushed.

She wasn't going to let up. With a sigh, Jazz slid her bangles of her arms into her lap and held the undersides of her arms out for her band mates to see. Their expressions were mixed. Some disbelief, some shock. Neon's was the worst though. Fear read on her face clearer than daylight.

"That bandage is red," Neon stated, "Why is that bandage red?"

"I had a small relapse," Jazz answered.

Small was an understatement. Everytime Jazz tried to change the bandage, the wound would reopen and bleed everywhere. For some reason her scab kept connecting to the dressing, making it impossible to change it without reawakening some pain.

"You relapsed on the bus? Why didn't you just talk to me?" Neon asked, tears perching in her eyes, "We’re supposed to be friends, Jazz. Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Before Jazz could answer, Neon stood from the couch and stormed from the room. Alex followed after her, like a good husband would, carrying both of the twins in his arms.

"Neon, hold on," Lestat said, also following the lead singer out of the room.

It was silent for a moment. Arpeggio, incapable of finding words to voice her shock, stood from the couch and left the same way Neon did, Jack hot on her heels.

"Jazz, I," Dante started, "I don't even know what to say."

He too stood from his seat and left the room. Rian followed. He and Dante had grown a tad closer over the series of days. Dante had a fair deal more common sense than the rest of his band mates. He was easier for Rian to get along with.

"You could have told us, you know," Dorian said, "It would have been better than finding out like this."

Jazz didn't respond. Dorian shook his head, pushing himself off the couch.

"No one likes being lied to, Jazz," he stated before walking out of the room.

Jazz stared at the hallway her band mates left through, the couches around her empty. A set of tears rolled down her face against her will, silent. Noticing Jazz's emotional shift, Zack immediately walked to the couch, sat down, and pulled Jazz into his arms.

"Elvis," Zack cooed, running a hand through her hair.

Her tears only increased, forcing her body to shake with sobs.

"I want to go back to the bus," Jazz choked.

"Anything for you, Elvis," Zack said, "Anything for you."