To Love/Hate the Spotlight

This was all very different compared to the last time. How ominous that sounds... I remember being yanked back from myself and tossed in a sub-point of view. Uncomfortable and extremely jarring. Now it was so much more simple. Just a veil draping over my eyes, my feeling, my entire way of thinking.

I was dead weight once Billie thought he could lead me away and put me in a time out. "I am not a kid," I growled and ripped back from his touch. The real control I had was not having to look at the shock and devastation on his perfect face. I glared instead at the bus driver. His head spinning from the road to me.

"Baby, come on back. You can lie down," Billie tried again.

"Does Becky need a nappy?"

"Stop the bus, and don't make me say it again." I ordered the driver and fit the count of three in a heart beat. I grinned internally, having an inkling of what was to come next. My hand shot out, nails determined for the driver's neck, and sunk easily into the fucker's double chin. With his hands occupied driving, he could only gasp out of pain. Every twitch of his I dug deeper, forcing him to face me. He was so insistent on focusing on the road at 55 mph.

"I-I- let go! I can't see to drive!"

"Look at me." My voice matched that of a kooky melody. He struggled, my patience wearing thin. "Look. At. Me!" I -not me- snarled. Billie jumped out of his skin.

The fucking driver gargled, "I can't see where I'm going!"

"Well then I bear no repeating." My hold loosened so he could pull off into the shoulder. "Billie Joe, don't stop me." His feet no longer tip-toed around my peripheral vision.

The bus was slowing but taking ages to stop.

"Open the door," I demanded. My point was across. No need for yelling.

"Why are we stopping?" Tre.

"Bill, what's going on?" Mike.

"Open the door."

"At least wait till we've actually stopped."

I'm thirsty.

"Motherfucker, Open. The. Door!" Every word came with a violent kick against the exit. The banging was unbearable for all, including me. Doing something right for a change, the bus door swung open. Grass and trees sliding out of sight.

"Bec, no!"

"Stop!"

Yes, I leaped from a moving vehicle. For the first time in a long time I landed on my feet. My anger rooted me to the earth. I looked ahead to where I moments before wanted to be.

I hate the woods.

"Rebecca Brittany!" Billie shouted. The screeching of brakes sounded behind me. "You come back here right now!"

Despite my fear of bugs and poison ivy, I stormed straight into the mess of trees and bushes, twisting the cap off the bottle as I went. It landed somewhere on the forest floor. Never before had I carried on with such grace. I thought I'd be stomping across leaves and branches like Godzilla in downtown Tokyo. Between large gulps, I knew when to jump or change my footing. This overwhelming sense of impenetrable confidence kept me going when I hadn't a clue where I was going. I just... didn't care.

Voices wailed far behind me, searching for Yours Truly. Arrogance dripped from my action. For all their searching I was walking in a perfectly straight line, maybe. It shouldn't be that complicated of a trail, though my intentions weren't to be chased after or anything. Maintain obnoxious gulps with every spare breath in me, so it could dribble down my chin and waterfall down my chest. It did cool me down.

In no time at all I ended up in a small clearing. The sun shone on the patch of grass and dandelions, highlighting this as a sanctuary to relax and bathe in radiation. It looked... splendid. Safe.

I fell back against a tree trunk well off in the shade, happy with myself. I saved the boys from my rage and the wretched words that blistered my tonsils; and escaped the inquisition of my southern attachments.

"Why the hell did I agree to that?" Another swallow stretched my throat to the point it hurt. "I don't have to go. I won't. I'm just a kid. I can't do anything on my own, because it's so much more amusing when I fuck everything up. I'm not going. Nope."

Sixth grade I came with my sister for the summer and visited both sides. This particular visit contained me with a new set of style: Dark shirts, eyeliner, and black nail polish. So... automatically I was on drugs, according to them. One half classic southern pride and the other half trailer trash rooted to the ground. My grandpa... He'd be the most difficult to see. He was different. Amazing. I loved coming to stay at his country paradise. He taught me the Fisherman's Handshake.

A grin plagued my features.

He went from my hero to the head of my intervention.

The grin had to go so I could drink more. "Aww... shit." Three quarters gone. One of my fangs sliced open a bit of my lip. Familiarity mixed with fruity vodka. The more I drank of both comforts, the less everything around me made sense.

This bitch fit, the threats meant nothing.

Fear washed over every sure thing in my brain. Billie Joe was going to be so furious with me. He'll scold me like a child that didn't stay by his side at the grocery store. He'll yell. He'll chastise me for -in his words- my temper tantrum in front of Mike and Tre, maybe more. Force me to apologize to the bus driver I so easily conquered.

Tears burned in my eye sockets. The bottle shook coming close to my ruby stained lips. Could I pass out before the yelling? I did assault a stranger... twice. He won't talk to me after his throat turns raw. I feel nauseous.

"Found you!"

"He's gonna remind me of this for months." I traced the mouth of the bottle and followed the grooves where a cap should be. "Billie's going to be sooo mad."

"No, no, he's just concerned. He's really worried about you."

My eyes rolled shut. The grass -a green static- spun a silly suspicion. "Finally now you're speaking to me." The Voice was too silent through all this. It's bad enough I marched off into the woods by myself physically. Mentally, it's hard to imagine.

"Y'know..." I drawled, hoping to talk myself down from the anxiety. "Out of all the guys, Gerard-- I totally ju- just lost my thought."

"That's okay. Why don't you try to remember, and I'll worry about us walking back." It held a kinder, sweeter tone. Completely out of character.

"Why- why are you being so nice?"

"How could I be anything else?"

I threw my head back and cackled, clutching my sides as I did so. Maybe it wasn't that funny. "You-" I gasped for air. "Nice?" I fell into exhausting laughter.

"I am Mr. Nice Guy," it grumbled. A pair of hands forced their way under my arms and pulled me up.

My hysterics dwindled to an uneasy giggle, frowning. "... how could a- a schi- schit-o-phrenic voice have hands?" I felt up the arms and lit up. "Frank, when did you get here?!"

He smiled and shook his head. "Which way do you wanna do this? Can you walk on your own?" He had heard more than I ever intended anyone to hear, yet it didn't faze me.

"Hey, I may not have drank for like--- three plus three plus three months, but I can drink more than a sailor on shore. Pour the the rum in my eyes. Tell me lies..." I had broken into song. I tried to execute a twirl, but I landed right on my bottom, giggling maniacally.

"I guess I'm carrying ya."

"Frankie, you're like this big!" I squinted between my fingers and pinched the view of his head. "Me... me, I'm like a- like a hippa- hippa-"

"Hippopotamus?"

"What you said. I'm fat. I'm huge. I'm heavy."

"I'll never understand women and their weight issues," he grumbled before hiking me over his shoulder with moderate trouble. I heard him grunt as he took on my bulk. With sleepy eyes, my head rested near the small of his back.

Frank's POV:

"You alright back there?" I asked automatically turning my head and nosing the side of her thigh.

"A-Okay, Frank N' Beans!"

"I thought I- never mind." Why argue when she's poking me in the arse and humming?

Upon walking with her, I dismissed all claims of her "Obesity." The only trouble was maneuvering between trees and fallen branches. My wandering eyes helped little; every few feet her boxer shorts would ride farther up her back, tightening around her curves.

"So uhhh... why'd you run out here and get hammered?"

Her poking paused. "I am not hammered. I'm... satis-fied."

Satisfied? Demanding the bus to lurch off the highway and run away in the woods to drink equals satisfaction? Our bus almost slammed into theirs. I stole another glance at her boxers.

... okay, I'll buy it.

"Hey, Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"In I'm Not Okay, did it hurt when the sandwich hit your head?" she asked innocently.

I chuckled at the random question. "No."

A few seconds later, "Hey, Frank?"

"Hm?"

"Doesn't it hurt your -uh- throat when you do that scr- screamo stuff?" My nose crinkled out of confusion. "Sometimes. Where are all these questions coming from?"

"My brain... are you sure I'm not too heavy?"

"You're fine- oh hey put my shirt back down!" My free arm curved behind my back in retarded fashion until she dropped it.

"Mystery solved," she slurred. It took me a second, but it clicked and I blushed. I think she might have molested me... oh well it's only fair: I did see her-

"Hey, Frank?"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't-" She cut herself off abruptly. It had that edge to it where it was on purpose and not taking a drunken moment to think. "How come you came?"

"Well, I am the youngest and the fastest. The other guys are looking, but they didn't think you'd get too far." I tip-toed around a puddle of mud, groping her thighs as not to drop her.

"Frank Iero, are you getting fresh with me?" She giggled, setting loose a few butterflies in my stomach. When I didn't answer she continued," S'okay. Nothing you haven't seen." She chuckled carelessly. Her joke came with an attached note of guilt.

"Wait! Oh my god-oh my god!"

"What?!" I squeaked, pivoting like paranoia having the shakes. I knew I wouldn't make it through these woods without a bug attacking. "What is it?!"

Her arms waved all around, affecting my balance. "Oh my god, where's my bottle?!"

My pulse dropped to below normal. "Do you mean the bottle you're beating against my hip?"

"Thank Jehovah," she squealed in delight.

Yards ahead sharp reflections of the sun whizzed past the line of trees. I hobbled towards the highway knowing near by would be the buses. My shoulder was aching from the manual labor.

"You are so smart," she said with a hiccup. "Do you want some?"

"Nah, I'm good-"

"I demand you have some. I damn- demand it." She forced her weight backward and wiggled to her feet. My knees buckled in submission, discretely enjoying the front of her body sliding painfully slow down my chest. I bit my lip and steadied her by her shoulders. She babbled on about how delicious the liquor tasted and that I should drink.

"It's kinda early for that..."

"Why so serious?" Her lips puckered as she playfully pinched my cheek.

"Umm... okay, but only a sip." I wasn't a huge drinker, but I humored her nevertheless. My face twisted in disgust and coughed, teary eyed in the vapors. The bottle plunged to the dirt. When I looked up, she was perched on a fallen tree's trunk with a satisfaction separate from my mercy gulp. Her fingers strutted along the nasty scrape on her calf. "Hey, we better get back. We have a schedule to keep."

"Do I have to?"

"Yeah or otherwise you want to be left behind."

She craned her neck in the direction of the highway and shrugged. "Lea- leave another bottle when you go."

I vaulted onto the trunk beside her and scooted off onto the other side. "I wasn't really giving you a choice," I mumbled and eased her off, taking her in the arms bridal-style.

She searched around her. Very confused. "What'd you do with my bottle? Did you- did you drink it all?" she slurred. The way her eyebrows pulled together as she pouted inside a small frown was adorable to see in my arms. Excuse me, in general. "Frank?" She snapped me back. "My bot-tle?"

"Your bottle-" I cleared my throat and relived that strong taste. "Your bottle ran all the way back to the buses, so- so-"

"So we should get that Lil bastard back!" She stabbed a finger in the air. I simply nodded and smiled. For some reason I hadn't felt this good in a long time.

It was easier to walk this way. All those years of thrashing on the guitar really paid off. The last time I carried anyone like this, I was in a suit, a different girl in my arms living out a tradition.

The sun's splices through the edge of the trees grew with intensity as we drew near. I took a glance down at her to check why she was so silent. Her head cuddled against my chest; her demeanor seemingly asleep. The sun hit us then and she winced, burying her face deeper in my shirt. "... thanks, Frank."

"Anytime."

"No... that but just... just carrying me like this."

I mulled that over in my mind, wondering what that meant. So far I've chalked that up to the alcohol. It's that sideways, backwards talk. Somehow though, I felt better hearing it.

Once we arrived to the buses, most of the guys emerged from the woods. Billie Joe practically blindsided me, exhaling a "Thank you, Frank" and rolling Becky into his arms. She groaned but otherwise snuggled into him like she did with me. "Thank you again so much, Frank. I'm very sorry about this, to all of you," he expanded the conversation to the rest of the guys walking up. Mikey, Ray, and Bob appeared genuinely annoyed. "This hasn't ever happened before."

Gerard stepped up as spokesperson. "It's no problem. Is she going to be alright?"

Eyes squeezed shut, she dragged her hand down Billie Joe's shirt and whined, "I can't sleep. Don't make me sleep."

"Well." Billie Joe shrugged and tried to laugh off her comment. "I better put her to bed."

"Freddy's gonna get her!" Tre sputtered, mock scared. I giggled, we all giggled, except Gerard. He stood the farthest outside the group, staring at Becky with a hard expression.

"Why'd she do that in the first place?" he finally asked.

Cradling her, her husband glared into the sky and shook his head all the while. Did he know the answer and had to glare at something because it truly pissed him off? Or he didn't know and was only buying himself time? I looked at Becky in curiosity and awe. She was losing the fight of keeping her eyes open.

"He's gonna remind me of this for months. Billie's going to be so mad."

I must have zoned out, because when my eyes burned to blink the view of the grass clogged my vision. At least no one had noticed, walking back to their respected buses. As I jogged past the G.D. bus -Mike and Tre already inside- their driver barreled down the steps and blocked Billie Joe and unconscious Becky from entering.

"No, no, no, no." He waved his arms in an over exaggerating manner. His round face beat root. "I am not letting that crazy little bitch back onto my bus."

"Just move out of the way," Billie Joe whined.

"No, nuh-uh. I'm not letting that bitch get another chunk out of my neck!" I zeroed in on the crimson, half-moon impressions on his double chin. The red stains on her fingertips now made sense. I was stunned by the contradiction of such a sweet girl and a violent act.

Mike joined the argument, standing a step above the driver. "Look man, just be reasonable here."

"Do you see my neck? Did you not hear that bitch screaming and losing her god damn mind?"

"That's enough of that 'Bitch' stuff alright? This is my wife, and I can have your fat ass fired if you don't move the fuck out of the way!" Billie Joe snapped as Becky was slowly slipping out of his arms. Two instincts struck me at the sight of this: The first, to run back to my bus and stay out of it, and the second, to beat the shit out their driver for speaking such damnable lies and take Becky wherever she needed to be.

"Man," Mike started again," I understand where you're coming from, but can't you see that she has clearly passed out? Just let her on." Though I've known him for a very short while, Mike was obviously the one of the clan that was The Negotiator, the guy that coined the phrase, "You get more flies with honey than vinegar."

The driver was taking time to think it over: Scrutinizing the tense struggle of relaxation before him. I'm sure Mike could talk a guy off the ledge, safe or flat as a pancake. But this short time of reflection wasn't adhering to our schedule.

"Just let us on, you piece of shit," Billie growled and eased Becky onto the ground in order to get in the driver's face. I had to give it to him: He had balls considering the significant size difference. "You're afraid of her? Guess who taught her that shit? Now back the hell up and maybe we won't kick you out before the next stop." Yards away it was clear his fists were shaking; hands clenched so tight, the muscles under the taut skin trailing up his arms seizuring.

Becky and him... fucking mad as rabbits.

Note to Self: Never get on Billie Joe's bad side, and as for his companion...
The sick wanting in my gut fogged over all my logic. I didn't care what it would involve. I wanted to be on all of her sides. Her back to me and sleeping on the grass, I was being pulled in by the simple magnetism of her beater riding higher up her spine with every subtle move to find comfort. My eyes slipped closed for a moment and painted a picture of me being the sharp blades of grass digging against her skin.

You're being stupid. Stop it, Frank.

"Boy, you better take a step back or I'll make you." The driver threatened, puffing up his chest and towered over the 5'6 guitarist. Billie Joe dominated another step and flexed his right hand. Ready to strike the stubborn bastard. It wasn't the smartest thing to do and Mike called him on it.

"Bill, don't. I know what you're thinking, and it won't help anything."

"Mike, just stay out of it. I got this covered." I could see from my angle Mike rolling his eyes and retreating to the back of the bus. Why couldn't Billie just listen to him?

"Frank, what's the hold up?!" Mikey was leaning out one of the windows of our bus and holding his arm out. The aggravation on his narrow face translated to "Frank, what the fuck?!" I flopped into the whole Deer In Headlights shtick as my head whipped from Mikey-Becky-Mikey-Becky-Becky. My legs were moving towards the argument before my conscious nerve signals had a chance to consider it. The fit muscles strong enough to jump and spaz around a large stage night after night slugged, taking on this anxious weight squirming through my insides.

This doesn't involve me. I'm not in this. Why am I butting in?

The closer I got, the less words came to mind for an explanation. The fact the two men's voices clashed into each other like cymbals off beat to the other had me seriously rethinking my intervention. I noticed Becky roll over and put her back to the shouting, the subtle tells on her slumbering face of pain and cringing when their curses hit the high notes.

"This, this is who you're afraid of?" I said without a thought, coming to a stop beside Becky. She slept like a kitten with bad dreams.

Shooting one more hateful glare at the driver, Billie Joe descended the steps till Becky was the only thing dividing us. He tended to leer over her with this steady ferocity you couldn't tell if it was there or something your imagination concocted as a back lash for coming over in the first place. "I didn't realize you were watching..." His sharp voice was borderline accusing and ashamed. The muscles in his jaw gave him away as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Listen, why don't you guys go on ahead and go. This is going to take awhile."

"I am not lettin' that loopy bitch on my bus, so don't think you can change my mind!" Why the driver felt it was in his place to bellow from the steps was beyond me.

"You redneck sonuva-" Billie started, but I grabbed him by the elbow -yanking him back- before he could receive a fat lip. He wheeled around, a confused scowl on his face.

"What about if I just take her on our bus?"

"... no," he answered in flat disgust. I went slack-jawed, humiliated and helpless. He crouched down and scooped Becky up, intent on his warning stare. It was only me; why would he be so protective? Just like before she hid the stress in her features against his dark tee. My dismissal was clear when he turned on his heel and went up for round two. "... move or you're fired."

This was... pointless. Me staying was pointless. Me standing around like a creep was pointless.

I turned my back to leave when a gargled curse shot into the air in a staggering volume. Looking back on the scene, the lumbering driver -no less threatening than another one of the horror genre's back country hicks- was howling on the ground and clutching his knee. I was stunned to see the mammoth cry, moments before a raging mad man.

I had to laugh.

Billie Joe leaned out from the doorway -smirking as he looked down his nose at the fallen giant- and sneered. "Oh and by the way, you're fired."

Somewhere inside their bus I distinctly heard a female's laughter.