When I Look at the Stars, I Feel Like Myself

We're doing laundry now. I suppose that's good, since all of us smell really bad. But... people scare me. Men, mainly.

Since my realization, I've kept my distance. I know they know, but I guess they don't care. Who would? If they asked, and I told, they probably would just assume I made it up to get attention. Not even Dalton has asked me what's wrong. Though, he normally just waits for me to tell him. Maybe this time he'll actually have to put forth an effort to get to know me. Maybe this time, I won't have to get up the nerve to tell him, he'll just ask, and everything will spill out.

Maybe this time he won't know. He doesn't even know everything now. I doubt he'll ever truly know what's going on in my mind. I doubt anyone will. I doubt I will.

For some reason, Zack keeps popping into my head. I don't know why, but he does. Only these times, I don't smile fondly like I normally do. Too bad of a mood, I guess.

Once I've loaded my laundry, I scan the room for something time consuming, little to no social skills required, and mind numbing. Vending machines full of sugary sweets? Not hungry. Pinball? Meh...

And, that's about the only things there are. Unless I want to spend an hour or two buying laundry soap and fabric softener.

I sit down on the plastic chair nearest to me. I swear I can feel my butt bones popping out of my skin, these chairs are so damn hard. I'm underweight again. Not by much, but I know how important it is to get my weight up again. I'll start to lose my period, and then, eventually, I'll be a health risk. My ankles could snap by jump off a two feet ledge. Okay, so that's an exaggeration. But still, my bones would become brittle if I lost my period.

I got this lecture the first time I went into a doctor's checkup and he found I was not the weight I should have been at my age and height. I took it seriously, but apparently not enough, if I keep falling into this rut.

I know some people will say something like, “Wow, must be nice to work to keep weight on,”. But I don't think it's all that lucky. When you're constantly struggling with being underweight, you're tired all the time, when you do fall into that category. And the symptoms are still the same when you have too much weight, as when you have too little. Irregular heartbeat, other such heart troubles, tired bones, a lot of the times, I have headaches from being too skinny.

I'm sporting one right now. My head kills. I look at the laundry tables on the other side of the room, used to fold clothes, and decide that it would be more comfortable to sit on that instead of these chairs. The only problem is, it's in the middle of the action. Some kind of game, or clothing fight. I really can't tell from over here. What I can tell is that Dalton has an ever-present Jones Soda in his hand, while squabbling with Calvin.

I sigh. I do want to talk to them, but I don't think anyone would believe me. I don't even believe it. I never thought my mom would be selling me for her own personal gain. Money, specifically. But, she did. And now I hate her for the rest of my life. There's nothing she can do that can make me forgive her.

It just makes me wonder what I'm going to do after this tour is over. We're bound to go on another one, but what if we don't? What will happen then? I'm not good at anything but music, so a good paying job is almost completely out of the question. Without a job, I can't move out to a place of my own, which means I'm either stuck mooching off my band, or living with my mother. Neither of those sound pleasant.

If there's no more You First, what would even keep me in Arizona? My band's the only reason I stayed in the first place. I could say school, but I've never really been good at that, it wouldn't make much of a difference to me if I graduated or not.

The realization slowly settles in. My band is the only thing keeping me from running off. I feel like I can't let them down, like I can't leave because they need me.

Whatever, it's not like I'm an important asset to our music. Keyboardists are either not very important to the actual sound of the music, easily replaced, or not well-known or well-liked in the band's image to the fans. They could get by without me.

I don't even know why I'm thinking about all this. It's not like our band is always fighting, or on the verge of falling apart. There's no reason to think about what I'll do after this tour, should we fall away from each other. It's not going to happen. Our band is immortal. Nothing can tear us apart.

Wishful thinking.

X

The band relocated when I got up to use the restroom, so I stretch out over the folding table. My back pops, and I sigh in content. It's not as comfortable as what I normally sleep on, but it will do. I'm exhausted, I haven't slept much since the party, after I freaked out.

I slowly start to drift off into a dream, after plugging ear buds and turning up my iPod.

It's dark where I am. I can't see anything, but I can hear. The sounds are louder than the piercing silence in the background. Shallow breathing, mean laughter, groaning, squeaking springs.

I know where I am, but the only thing I can do is hear. My eyes are squeezed shut, my brain is cut off from anything that I'm feeling, I'm holding my breath so I don't smell his sour scent.

I slowly start to feel what he's doing to my body. My hands are tied up above my head, preventing me from covering my ears, his hands cover my shoulders, gripping them tight, and his mouth is on my neck. I try to block out my sense of touch once more, but I can't. Throughout the entire process, I can feel him. He's disgusting. His skin is sour with sweat, burning me underneath him.

Where he touched burns. I can't get the feeling off my body, it's especially bad down... there. Where he took me. I wish he'd never been there. I feel dirty all over because of him.

His touch is forever ingrained in my memory. He can't ever leave, he'll always be with me. I can't get rid of him, he'll never wash off, no matter how hot the water, or how hard I scrub. He's part of me now, and I can't forgive myself for that. He's forever with me, that much I can't change.

Soon, I'm in the street, looking to the other side. My back is facing where I've been, and my front is facing a way out. I take one last peek behind me, to where I was, saying goodbye.

Goodbye to everything I've ever known. Goodbye to anyone that knows me, or cares. Goodbye to my past, goodbye to my sister, my aunt, my dad. I whisper an apology to the people that will miss me, a tear slipping down my cheek.

As I walk across the street to a new life, I say one final thing, “I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough... Erin... I'm so sorry,”

A hand touches my side, jolting me awake. I sit up fast, shrinking against the wall, “Don't touch me,” I plead, still hazy from the dream. All I can see is his face.

He touches my leg, and I shriek. It burns, “Please,” I cry, “please don't,”

“Elina!” someone shouts, firmly shaking my shoulders, “Wake up!”

I open my eyes wide, not realizing they were still closed, and I was still dreaming. It's Ross. His brow is furrowed with confusion and worry. Dalton is directly behind him, with the same expression. The rest of the band gathers around the commotion.

“What happened?” Calvin asks. I can't tell if he's asking Ross or me.

“I don't know,” Dalton says, “I tried to wake her up, and she freaked out,” he explains.

“I-I...” I try, my voice hoarse, “I had a bad dream,” Not a lie, but not the whole story.

“What happened in it?” RJ asks. I suppose it's a reasonable question, but I don't know how to answer it. I don't want to.

“I can't say...” I reply, looking down with shame. It's not likely anyone would randomly have a dream of being raped if it never happened to them.

Of course, I could always just tell them. Would they believe me? What would they think of me if they did? I know what I think of myself, and I know what I'm truly like. It would be a shock to anyone but me, since I expect it. I don't know what they think of me right now, but I'm sure it would all crumble if they knew I was raped and didn't do anything about it.

“It was just scary,” I continue, “I don't really remember what it was about,”

They all give me a disbelieving look, and Ross sits beside me on the table. He hugs me from the side.

“Elina,” he says simply, stroking my hair. I wish Ross was my father. He's so kind and gentle when he's acting like a parent. As a manager, he acts like our mother a lot, but that's for discipline purposes. When we really need help, he's always there for us, like the perfect parent.

“You can tell us anything,” Dalton says, his eyes pleading, “Please, let us help you,”

They just want to help me, I know that. And I do want help, but at the same time, I... don't. It's a confusing emotion.

I think, I want to be helped, but I don't want to tell anyone what's wrong. I don't want to let them into my deepest thoughts, or my emotions. That's the problem, since that's the first step to getting help.

Unable to say anything, or look at anyone, I shake my head sadly, looking at the floor.

All I could think about was what the end of the dream meant.

Zack's

I watch Elina, perched at her keyboard, like always. A few times, she looks like she's about to say something to contribute to the playful banter on stage, but changes her mind. She looks troubled, I've decided. I wonder if she's thinking about telling her band about her past. It's really not that big of a deal, it's what her mom does that's the main shocker.

I don't know why she keeps it inside. I don't think they'd hate her. I don't, not at all. She's still the same as she was in my mind the first time I saw her.

Okay, so that's not true. She's changed in my mind a little, but that's not because of what she told me. The first time I saw her, she was Catwoman to me.

I smile at the memory, almost forgotten. She's so cute when she blushes. And when she's angry, or happy, or hyper, or tired.

She's just cute all the time. Except when she's sad.

God, I'm starting to sound like a chick.

“Alex!” I shout behind me, “Let's go watch some wrestling,” I need to get my testosterone up.

“Can't.” he says simply, “We're on second today,”

I nod, and wait for the band to finish their set. Watching Elina the whole time, I feel bad for her. I also notice something else.

It's not that she's debating over when and how to tell her band, she's hiding something else. Something she hasn't told me yet.

She's being haunted by these thoughts, and she feels like she can't tell anyone. She's keeping it in her mind, and it's eating at her, just like before.

There was a small good period, after she told me, where she seemed lighter, carefree. So, it's something new.

I can't tell what it is, I can't even begin to guess. While they're all standing around, I notice Elina walk off, not wanting to be part of the conversation. I'm a little grateful, she'll be alone so I can talk to her without having to explain anything to anyone. But, I'm also worried. No matter how upset she was before, she always made an effort to be sociable. She at least stood in the same group as her friends.

I want to take her, so we can talk alone, but I don't know how long it will take. We have to be on stage in about thirty minutes, and I doubt it's enough time. I walk up to her, deciding that I'll at least tell her that I'm worried and plan on stealing her after my set.

“Elina,” I call, placing a hand on your shoulder to get her attention.

She jumps, and I figured I scared her. But, she doesn't relax, she stays tense, “Yes?” she asks, in a small scared voice.

I take my hand off her, but her muscles are still tight, like she thinks I'm going to attack at any second.

“What's wrong?” I don't care if I hold up the whole concert, I need to be sure Elina's okay.

She looks down, and tugs on her hair, shorter with out the extensions, “Nothing,”

I sigh, knowing she's not telling me the truth. She doesn't have to play with her hair for me to guess. It's written all over her face, actions, and her posture. Something's up, but she doesn't want anyone to know.

“You can tell me after the show,” I offer, “I don't really have time right now, but I promise, whenever you need it, I'll make time for you. I don't care what I'm doing, or how important it is, I'll be there whenever you need me,”

I didn't mean to say all that, it just kind of flowed out. I know it's the truth, I would drop everything for her. I guess it's nice to know that you can ask someone for anything, rather than have no clue. If you didn't know you could ask someone for help, it'd be pretty hard to ask.

Tears spring up into her eyes, and she buries her face into my shirt, which will be off sometime during the show. Her voice is only slightly muffled behind the fabric, “I need you now, but I can't let you disappoint everyone,” she says, sighing, “So I can wait,”

I stroke the back of her head, my chin resting on the top. I kiss the top of her head, and whisper, “We still have some time, just not a lot,” I inform, “What do you want to do?”

“I don't care,” she answers, “you choose.”

I can think of one thing that I want to do to her right now, but instantly reprimand myself after thinking so. That's totally inappropriate, not to mention she probably wouldn't want to, anyway. I probably wouldn't if I felt half as bad as she looks.

She's still gorgeous, but she looks upset and tired. Like shit. Very, very beautiful shit.

I don't even think she has teased her hair today.

I was about to answer, but Dalton's voice cuts me off, “Oh, I see how it is, you'll give Zack your attention, but not us?”

He's totally joking, but I don't think Elina found the humor.

Elina's

“You'll give Zack your attention, but not us?” Dalton says, a playful undertone to his voice.

He's right. I shouldn't be doing this, letting Zack touch me, but freaking out when Dalton does. I shouldn't be more comfortable around him more than my own band. I shouldn't be doing this to them.

I shouldn't be keeping secrets from them. I know, it's not healthy, for our relationship, and for myself. Since I sat down with Zack and talked to him, I haven't really thought about what I told him. And when I did, it didn't hurt as bad. I know it's better to let people know how you feel, but it's hard.

“I'm sorry,” I mumble, walking away from Zack, with no intention of waiting around until he's done.

X

I wait until after I sing 'Remembering Sunday', to escape to the bus. I wish I could be alone here, but it's not possible. Even though there's no formal presence right now, there will be.

And, he's here. In my thoughts, in my dreams. He won't leave me alone. He whispers in my ear, horrible, horrible things that I once didn't believe were true. He calls me the worst names in the book, and I start to believe them. I really am a worthless, two-faced, bitchy whore. I'm stupid and lazy. I'm a failure. I'll never amount to anything, and no one would care if I just left.

I cover my ears, trying to block out all the noise, but to no avail. The Voice is in my head, and plugging my ears only amplifies it.

“Please stop,” I mumble to myself, “please, you're lying,”

No, I'm not. Just face the truth, Li-Li, eventually, you'll be one of those people that's just there. No one will love you, and no one will care if you just up and die. Actually, not eventually, it's happening right now.

“I don't care,” I return, “It will get better, only better,” I repeat the phrase over and over, while he verbally attacks me some more.

How will it be better? You only get better with help, and who would help you if no one cares? You're alone in the world, no one cares enough to ask you what's wrong.

“Zack,” I reply, “Zack cares,”

Please, he just wants in your pants. Little does he know, you don't have to try that hard to accomplish that one.

Maybe that is the only thing Zack wants. I can't believe I didn't see it before. No way in Hell am I telling him anything now. I wonder what he'll say afterward.

'If I would have known this before, I just would have paid you to get what I want,'

“I don't want to think about this, please,” I sob, “Please, leave me alone,” he has ripped away everything I have ever loved, and everything I believed in. Why should he separate what I think Zack is too?

Elina, can't you see? I'm the only one that cares anymore, he says almost soothingly, I know that the truth can hurt, but only someone who truly cares would tell you the truth.

“No, you don't care,” I almost yell, “You don't, you don't you don't,” I chant.

If I don't, who does? Who's talking to you, comforting you in your time of need? Who's always been there for you?

I flash back to a time, when he had just moved into our house. Before I knew what he was. He was always telling me to pull my shirt down, if my stomach was showing. To pull it up if I was showing cleavage. To wear leggings under a miniskirt.

I didn't realize it was to keep him from doing things to me. I thought it was because he was trying to act like my dad, that he didn't want other boys to touch me.

I taught you a lesson that day, I can hear the smirk in his voice, Remember what I said?

I do, but he cares to remind me, After I get done with you, you won't want to show your skin anymore. Dirty whore.

“I didn't deserve it,” I say, “What did I do wrong?”

You dressed like a whore, so I treated you like a whore.

There's a knock on the bus door, and I assume it's Zack. He knows the security code, so I guess he's just announcing his presence before entering. I try to push The Voice to the back of my head, and wipe away the tears, but Zack comes too soon.

“Elina?” he says, worried, “What's going on?”

“H-He won't... leave me alone!” I cry, throwing my arms around him.

“Who won't?”

“Him. He hurt me,” I wince, while he tells me to shut up and if I tell him anything, he'll kill me.

This is silly, since he's just a voice in my head right now.

“Where is he?”

I hesitate. I'll sound mad, but I can't bring myself to lie to him anymore, “In my head,” I say.

He pulls back, to look at my face, with his arms still completely around me, “Your head?” I nod, to which he says, “Is it a memory of the past?”

“Yes, The Voice belongs to someone from my past,” being with Zack settles me down. The Voice subsides, and it's just me and him, “He's gone now,” I sigh in relief.

“What did he do to you?”

I gnaw on my bottom lip, composing my thoughts, “He... he raped me,” I whisper, as if saying it loud will make it undoubtedly true, “He was my mom's pimp,” I explain further, “My mom got the money whenever he did. And he sold me to his other customers,”

Zack says nothing, but I know it's just because he's waiting for me to finish. He rubs my back, and plays with my hair. I gather up the nerve to tell him.

“At the party... when I left, I went on a walk. I knew it wasn't smart, but I just needed air. The reason I came back so late is because someone took me away and...” I trail off, hoping he'll get what I mean, “He was sent by my mom, she got the money from me having sex with him. She always does, I didn't believe I didn't realize before. She's horrible,” I say.

“I'm so sorry,” Zack says, hugging me closer.

I want to cry in his arms, but I don't have any tears left.

X

The next morning, someone informs me that Holland has an eating disorder. I didn't think it was right for Riley to tell me that without her permission, but I guess there's nothing I can do about it.

Bulimia. I don't know much about it, only that they throw up anything they eat. And that they tend to wear baggy clothes, and are secretive.

I guess that's Holland in a nutshell.

It really does explain why she's so skinny.

“We need to talk,” Holland says, pulling back the curtain of my bunk.

I assume she means just me and her, but she leads me to the back room, where the rest of the band is.

“What are we doing back here?” I ask, though I know the answer.

“We're helping Holland,” Riley answers with a small smile.

I can't help but feel jealous that they're willing to help her but not me.

And even more reluctant to tell them what he did to me. Holland won't want to hear it, it will add more stress to her recovery. And everyone will be worrying about Holland too much to care about me.

Besides, like I've wondered before, would they even believe me?