Move Along

Marilyn watched as the silhouette of his fiancée disappeared from the doorway. Dita had attempted to coax some words out of him, an explanation of what was bothering him, or even just a simple phrase of consolation. But all she had earned was a shake of his head that remained buried in his hands.

She was fed up with his moodiness and with the fact that he was so wrapped up in his mind.

His thoughts drifted back to the thing that bothered him the most and had been bothering him for years: Jeordie White. Twiggy. His former bassist and former best friend. Ever since the man came to him with the news that he was leaving the band. Things had obviously been rough between them, but Marilyn hadn't been expecting the man to back out. It came as a shock. He still wasn't over the fact that he could no longer call up the man, didn't wake up next to him, couldn't spend time with him.

Marilyn conjured up a memory from several years prior. He and Twiggy had snuck out of their tour bus at a fuel stop, both coming down off their respective chemically-induced highs. They were in the midst of their tour for Portrait. Things were so innocent back then. They were still just a group of south Florida fuck-ups, just tasting the rich flavors of rock stardom and decadence. But more importantly, they were just becoming better acquainted with one another.

They had both found their way up to a tree that sprouted out of the top of a hill, and they collapsed under it together. The stars were brighter than they had ever seen them before.

He couldn't recall what they had talked about that night, but whatever it was, it had seemed to be of the utmost importance to them at the time. They had layed side by side for hours, feeling as though they were on top of the world. And then, Twiggy sat up quickly, determination burning in his eyes.

"Give me your hand," he demanded, holding out his own. Marilyn pulled himself up and gave Twiggy what he wanted without question.

"Wait, what are you-" Marilyn was cut off as the bassist pressed a knife to his palm. The cut he made wasn't large, but it began to bleed almost immediately. Then Twiggy cut open his own hand.

"Together as one," he had murmured as they pressed their hands together.

"Against all others," Marilyn had responded; the words seemed to slip right out of his mouth.

That gesture, sealed with a kiss, had been a defining moment for them. They were both violent, both angry, and both full of hate. But somehow, they seemed to know that love could cause more damage than their hate ever could. They were a team, so far away from the rest of humanity and yet still so close together. Inseparable. For all they cared, the world could have ended in that moment.

And Marilyn, brooding in his bedroom years later, began to think that perhaps that would have been better for them. Their perfect moment could have been their last, but at least he would have never known a heartache as deep as the one that love had made him feel.

__________

Twiggy - now known, however, by his real name, Jeordie White - paused at the edge of the living room. He had recognized a sound, a voice, inside of it that he had hoped to never hear again. But it attracted him like a vulture to roadkill, and he couldn't help but to eavesdrop.

"Fred?" he called hesitantly. He was addressing the man who kneeled before the CD player.

"Yeah?"

"What're you listening to?"

"The new Manson album," Fred admitted, almost sheepishly. "You want me to turn it off?"

"Nah, that's okay."

"Are you sure? I don't want to, y'know-"

"It's cool, man. It sounds pretty heavy. Glad he's still going strong," the man nodded. And with that, he continued his path up to the bedroom.

Jeordie, if he was being honest with himself, hadn't even thought of his former band for a few months. Not consciously, anyway. His thoughts came out in the form of song lyrics and music. He thought nothing of them until Fred read over what he had written and looked up at Jeordie with a twinge of sadness and concern in his eyes.

But now his curiosity had been sparked, and he wanted to know how Marilyn Manson was doing without him. Not that he really cared, he told himself. Only out of curiosity.

Jeordie sat down in front of his computer and pulled up the Internet. He'd look up some pictures, maybe some videos or songs. Just to get a feel for how the band was doing.

He was surprised by what he heard. Sure, Jeordie had known that Manson was leaning toward an early-German influence when he left, but he didn't know it would have gone so far. The entire band - minus Marilyn - had bleached their hair blonde like some kind of musical Nazi regime. While the songs were heavy and admittedly catch, they didn't seem to hold the same depth that their previous albums had had. They weren't exactly radio-friendly, but it was obvious that Tim Skold, the bassist who had taken Twiggy's place, obviously had a strong hand in crafting the pop-gone-industrial sound of the album.

Jeordie had met Skold once, during the filming of Tainted Love. He had known the Swede was infatuated with Marilyn, and the singer had a respect for the other man as well. Jeordie had immediately been forced to the sidelines; there wasn't enough room for all three of them. It was part of the reason why he had left the band.

It was a typical case of being starstruck. Tim gave off the impression that he was too cool and collected for such things, but Jeordie knew better. There was something in the depths of Skold's eyes and in his actions that Jeordie had witnessed in sycophantic fans on multiple occasions. The temptation that came with stardom. That came from befriending a big-name star.

Jeordie hadn't been surprised when he caught Skold and Marilyn in a very compromising position. No, not at all. But he had been fucking heartbroken.

The two men hadn't noticed him when he opened the door. They had no clue he had stumbled upon them kissing, pressed against the wall in the bathroom of a bar. Jeordie didn't care if it was only a one-time thing. Once was enough. One kiss was all it took at that point. He had watched the singer go through girlfriend after girlfriend, but it was that final betrayal that really threw things over the top. Jeordie had even ceased to care if the kiss had been forced upon Marilyn. He was done.

Jeordie could remember the fight that succeeded the discovery. He had refused to say what was wrong, and their argument revolved around petty jabs and insults. They had made up afterward, but it was just one more rift that wormed its way between them.

He turned off the music that he had nearly forgotten was playing. He couldn't stand to hear another second of the voice that had crushed his heart.

__________

Marilyn stood up from his bed and took up residence in front of the window. A storm raged on outside of it, and the man couldn't help but think that it was similar to the dark tempest in his heart.

All his mind seemed to want to think about were the lips of Tim Skold, the man he wished he had never kissed, and those of Twiggy - Jeordie - the man he would give everything way for, just to kiss again.

He and Twiggy, they had been a team. A dysfunctional team, a drugged-up team, but a team nonetheless. Marilyn wanted that back. He wanted that companionship again; it was something that he could never achieve through Dita or Skold. He and Twiggy... when people saw them coming, they cleared the way. Everyone knew better than to mess with them when they were together.

It had taken him months of brooding and sulking before Marilyn was willing to admit that he had been in the wrong. But there were things Twiggy hadn't been aware of that had been eating away at the singer. There were pressures of being the front man of a band that no one could even begin to dream of. Still, he was willing to admit that those pressures were no excuse for him to act the way he had. At least, he was aware of it in retrospect.

There were things he could have changed. There was no reason for him to have been so angry with Twiggy when the bassist had done his best to calm him down. He could have treated Twiggy like a lover rather than disregard him like a whore. So many possibilities, but there was nothing to be done.

Marilyn could still feel them - Twiggy's lips. How they moved, what the revealed about the dreadlocked man. Twiggy's kisses, even in the heat of passion, were patient and kind. Tim's, in comparison, were rough and emotionless. And Dita's, too, were beginning to feel contrived.

The pressure of the record company had pressed down on him as the effects of Columbine sill raged forward - change the lineup, add that new industrial musician to the band, do more interviews, shock the fans and keep them interested by getting rid of someone again. Marilyn couldn't stand it. And then there was tension with Twiggy, romanticism from Skold, and no help from anyone with anything.

Ginger had later told him that it was obvious that Marilyn had been subconsciously pushing the bassist way. The way he snapped at Twiggy over nothing and began to spend less time with him. And Marilyn had refused to listen to anyone that tried to offer advice... until it was too late. Marilyn hated himself for his stubborn demeanor.

He had been truly shocked when Twiggy informed him that he was leaving the band. For some reason, Marilyn had been expecting him to stick around forever. Twiggy put up with so much, with everything. It had never occurred to the singer that he might have a breaking point, too.

They had sat down together at the kitchen table in Marilyn's home by the singer's suggestion. He had wanted to talk about plans for the next album, but the conversation quickly turned when Twiggy looked up at him with distraught eyes.

"Marilyn..." he had murmured. His fingers fidgeted restlessly with the hem of his t-shirt, and Marilyn had noted the deep distress that lingered in his voice. "I don't... well, let me just say what I need to without interrupting. 'Kay?"

"Sure, sure. Go ahead," Marilyn agreed, prepared to listen.

"I can't do this anymore, Marilyn. I'm tired of playing mind games and f touring and of thinking about things. I need a break," he had said hesitantly. It had been hard for him to meet Marilyn's piercing gaze as he spoke.

"We're on break right now. We won't be touring for a while, and-"

"I meant a permanent break, Marilyn."

The singer had been too shocked to respond. It was like a slap to the face. In fact, a slap to the face might have been preferable, because that might have startled the words right out of his mouth, the ones that were trapped in his throat. Then he could have said something, could have tried to make him stay.

But he had let Twiggy say his piece while he looked on with a surprise-dropped jaw. He had done nothing when the bassist stood up and gathered the few bags of things he had collected from the other man's home, and murmured a goodbye. Marilyn had say in his chair, frozen, as he watched Twiggy shuffle, sniffling, out the door. And that was the last he had seen of the man.

He deeply regretted how unmoving he had been. He hated every moment of it. Maybe it was for the better. Or maybe Twiggy had been giving him one last chance to prove himself, and he had failed. Maybe it was just a natural cycle running its course. Whatever the case had been, Marilyn's heart was still heavy with remorse.

__________

Jeordie felt as though he were frozen in place. Like hearing Manson's voice singing words he didn't know had turned him into a statue. He couldn't place the emotion that was coursing through his body.

He had talked to some of his old band members upon leaving, and he had found out a lot of things that began to tarnish his memories. Manson had seethed for weeks, demanding to know why no one had clued him in to Twiggy's leave, why no one had stopped the man, before he finally calmed down.

Jeordie was entertained by the irony of that situation. Manson surely liked to place the blame on others when he had simply sat and watched while his best friend-turned-lover walked out the door. Manson hadn't offered a simple goodbye. Not even a slight look of sympathy. Not any anger. As soon as Twiggy walked out of that door, he became Jeordie again. It had taken him a while to realize that was a good thing.

So Manson had finally been hurt by it. Good, Jeordie thought. It's about time. He hoped the other man felt guilty. He hoped Marilyn's heart had broken. It was only right; Jeordie had suffered for years because of the singer.

If he had known what would have become of them on that night they had snuck off to the hill, maybe he would have done things differently. They had known they were getting themselves into some deep shit that night. But they were both still young and stupid. They thought it would last forever, that it would be Marilyn and Twiggy versus the world, until the end of time.

How quickly things had changed. 'Forever' lasted a few days before Manson turned back to his ex-girlfriend. And then there was Trent. Jeordie was never sure just what went on between those two, but all he knew was that two men didn't refuse to speak to each other for years just because they got into a petty argument one night.

Manson went through a constant stream of lovers over the years. He looked for affection in all the wrong places, not realizing that Jeordie, the man he'd carelessly pushed to the back burner, could provide all the love he'd ever need.

But there was no point in trying to convince the stubborn singer of that. It was one of the things that Marilyn wouldn't be able to appreciate until it was gone. It was a risk that Jeordie had needed to take. He wouldn't be appreciated if he stuck around. And thus, he had to leave. It was better to be loved in retrospect than to have never been loved at all.

Jeordie had felt, for a while, that he wouldn't have been able to even feel better. But the whole situation had hardened him, and he was proud that he had learned how to not care. The only opinion that had begun to matter to him was his own.

__________

He had made too many mistakes. Marilyn regretted each and every one of them. At the time, he had been uncomfortable with the idea of love, of romance, even though he searched heavily for it.

Marilyn could remember the long, passionate nights spent together. He feigned sleep almost immediately after sex, simply to avoid having to return the bassist's confessions of love. He liked to hear it, of course. But he didn't want to have to speak those few words.

His aversion from those worse was childish. He was acting like a schoolboy in his first relationship. At the time, he had felt as though he were above romanticism. But looking back on it, as he sat alone in his bedroom, he could see how Twiggy may have felt at the time. To speak of a love not returned. The first time Marilyn had ever admitted it was to the door that closed behind Twiggy as he walked out of the singer's life for good.

Forever, it seemed, only lasted that long with bitter feelings and hard hearts. Not love.

But love, Marilyn had found, could do much more damage than hate could ever dream of.

He sighed. Marilyn's heart felt heavier than it ever had before. He should have stopped Twiggy before he walked out the door. He should have treated him far better, because he had deserved it. He should have done so much more.

Together as one, against all others. It was the promise they had made so many years before. Twiggy was the only one who had kept his end of the bargain. Marilyn didn't blame him for leaving. In fact, the singer would have left long before Twiggy had if he had been treated as such.

It had been a learning experience for the both of them. Marilyn just wished they could have done their learning in a different way. Through care, not through destruction. Through growth, not through fire.

But they had still learned.

__________

Anger built up inside Jeordie; it was the last time, he promised himself, that he would allow himself to feel such a strong emotion toward Marilyn. That would be it. And it was best that he purged all those feelings at once.

There was so much frustration that had never been properly dealt with. And all that pent-up rage began to leak out.

But he still found satisfaction in the fact that Marilyn seemed to be a shell of his former self, a mockery. The shock value had long since faded away. It was now the novelty that drew people near. It was the name, Marilyn Manson, that caused the groupies and fans to fawn, not the actions of the man.

Jeordie hoped that Marilyn was finding enjoyment in the life he had chosen to live, one without anyone to love. Surely, Tim didn't give Marilyn the devotion that he had offered. And Dita... her love could never compare.

He could picture Marilyn, so futilely looking for something he had long since let go of. All the nights where he had faked his sleep while Jeordie had held him close, whispering sweet words and proclamations of adoration... they had both acted like those nights and those words were meaningless. Jeordie knew no other person had ever done such a thing for him. He knew no one else would even bother.

Marilyn, he could tell, was yet to move forward. He was still trapped in the mindset of a 20-year-old and seemed to be desperately trying to hold onto it. Maybe it was the only thing he had left that he felt he could control.

Marilyn desperately needed to move forward, Jeordie thought. To re-invent himself once again. To confront those feelings that surely remained there, to rid himself of them. Jeordie wanted the man to hurt, sure, but there was a point where it was time to bury the past and look to the future.

__________

They had run to the top of that hill so long ago. Things had been looking up back then. It was easy to lose yourself in that moment, to see the best for yourselves and your future. But Marilyn knew that was a silly notion.

Everything is clearer in retrospect, however.

"Marilyn..." Twiggy had murmured to him. The knife had been discarded, their hands still bloody and entwined. "What if this night lasted forever."

"It won't."

"But what if did?"

"But what if it didn't?"

"Just answer my question, Marilyn."

Marilyn had pondered the question for a while. "I don't know what I'd do. That's a weird question. We'd just live tonight for the rest of our lives."

"Would you be happy?" Twiggy's serious demeanor suggested to the singer that the question held more weight than he was aware of.

"Yeah. I'd be happy."

A smile had come over the bassist's face, lighting it up. "Good."

But after years had passed, Marilyn knew that if that night really had lasted forever, the rift still would have grown, and he still would have treated Twiggy like shit. And when Twiggy left, he still would have pushed the blame onto the bassist.

__________

Jeordie allowed himself to watch one live video of his former band, just one. So he searched for it, and the first video that popped up was one of The Beautiful People.

For some reason, Jeordie thought that they might have quit playing that song, as it was basically the lovechild of the two men. It held a lot of memories for them, and it seemed more like 'their' song, to be played by the both of them, not by someone else. Sure, it was their most popular song, but wouldn't the fans understand?

No, he wasn't jealous. But it seemed like a perpetuation of their relationship to continue to play it. It seemed like a plea to the man. Even the video Marilyn had made explaining why Twiggy wouldn't be seen with the band anymore had seemed as though he were directly addressing Jeordie himself. Like Marilyn was waiting for the man to call him up and beg to be allowed to come back.

He wouldn't do it. He had moved forward. It had taken so much will power that he almost wasn't sure he'd be able to do it. But Jeordie had succeeded. He was clean and sober - for the most part - and he had a new band and future auditions lined up. He was - dare he say it? - happy. Like he had once been all those years ago, and this time, it was because of himself.

Jeordie's anger toward the singer had greatly diminished over the years. There were still traces of that strong emotion, of course, but none so potent as the ones that existed upon his initial leave from the band. He hoped Marilyn could move past the negativity as well. To remember their love indifferently and not dwell on it any longer.

Marilyn needed to regain his composure. And Jeordie was quite sure that they were both very well aware of it.

__________

When Marilyn and Twiggy had sat together on the top of that fated hill, they had watched the sun rise with hope for their new future, one that they could share together. It seemed like things would have to drastically change upon their return to their band, because the two men themselves felt so altered.

But when they finally made their arrival back to the tour bus, things were just as they had always been, aside from one thing: the rest of their band mates were angered that the two had put them several hours behind schedule. Nothing. It seemed that it was only relevant to the two of them.

Perhaps Twiggy's leave could be a change for Marilyn to start again. He still had his band, he had devoted friends, and he had a wife. He had lost the only person he had ever loved, but he could still function. He could still continue. He could move forward. It was a tall order, but with the right amount of determination, he could do it.

But for that moment, he thought, he had earned the right to sulk, just for one more night, and remember those last few, painful memories.

__________

"Jeordie?"

The man started at the sound of the voice in the doorway. He whirled around to find Fred paused there, a semi-awkward smile on his face. He murmured, "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

"I'm fine," Jeordie smiled, and he wasn't lying. Fred always made the other man feel as though nothing was wrong. He held out his hand to Fred and pulled the man over for a kiss.

"Why are you sitting up here all by yourself?" he asked as he plopped down in Jeordie's lap.

"I dunno. Just thinking about some stuff."

"Yeah? Mind if I take your mind off it?" Fred buried his head into the other man's neck. "I wanna take you out for dinner."

"Give me five minutes?"

"Dress nice." With a grin, Fred stood up from Jeordie's lap and ruffled his hair.

As he walked to the door, Jeordie couldn't help but smile to himself. Fred was caring. Loving. Jeordie was glad to have someone who was willing to give love as well as receive it. Things were more 'normal' than they had been with Manson. And Jeordie could honestly say that he was happy with Fred. He could honestly say that he loved him.

Fred was willing to put up with Jeordie's hesitance, with his worries and fears. He was patient. And Jeordie was glad that, for once, someone was there to make him feel better. It had taken a little while, but he had moved forward with the help of Fred.

Yes, he thought with a smile as he stood to dress for their date. He was finally happy. He had moved on.