To Love/Hate the Spotlight

Can you believe despite the dirt and totally rubbed out of proportion make up, security actually recognized me? I'd hate to think they remembered because of a previous incident: Those involved last time making sure all would go smoothly for me. No, that's too much to contemplate; Billie probably told them to keep an eye out for me.

Instead of taking a detour for the much needed scrub down, I went straight inside...

Fuck.

Empty halls with only the low murmur of far off chaos to guide me. All my limbs whimpering in protest to the aimless hike."I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Finding the stage area proved to be much easier than the dressing rooms, so I stayed: Tucking myself out of the way and taking advantage of the complimentary ice cold, delicious water bottles and bagged snacks. Stage hands and roadies swarmed with purpose; my eyes darted in every direction to keep up with the exits and entrances of occupants. All of it dizzying with nothing but water and Chex Mix in my stomach. I could sleep right now. That would be the absolute best. I can't. I won't. The roar of the gathering crowd of fans had gone unnoticed by me. Am I that used to screaming?

Then when I was ready to count my luck as disastrous and that somehow I walked in the back door of the wrong venue -despite the evidence- I caught a glimpse of Mike's blond hair. Being already snug beside their path to the stage, I waited. Maybe if they saw the condition I was in, they'd have mercy. Hopefully. Lower level workers parted like the Red Sea. Tre was the first to see me, nudging Mike, his scrutinizing eyes and frown silently asking what the hell happened. Impulse deemed it acceptable to answer with a crooked grin and twitch of my shoulders. They hung back slightly as Billie Joe blazed through.

Whether or not he saw me is anyone's guess. It sure as hell felt like it through when a frosty chill engulfed me. As he approached, I moved forward -lips loosened to say an apology- but he breezed right past, determined to be oblivious. When his lithe form was bathed in bright spotlights, a terrible sinking settled in my gut: Invisible talons skewering my insides and pulling it into a knot any boyscout would be proud of. I watched with unnecessary shock as he swung his guitar over his shoulder and toyed with the microphone for no other reason than to have something to do. Mike or Tre, probably Mike, must have patted my shoulder for a rapidly fading heat signature clung to my flushed skin. Eyes tear-glazed. My breath hitched once the music started to play.

For the next half hour he looked at me all of four times, which were just brief glances to check if I was there and by God I was. I stayed throughout their entire set, standing and watching with committed intensity. Everyone of his doubting looks was a nail hammering through the soles of my feet. Had I screwed up that badly just by taking a walk and unintentionally getting lost? Well Billie doesn't know that, and he wouldn't get the sane version. Promise.

They played well, if not more aggressive, especially Billie: Running around, expelling his energy in feral-grinned panting breaths, conversing to the bare minimum with the audience and launching into the next song just as soon its predecessor ended. Mike and Tre did the best they could to keep up. Now I wasn't sure if this change of behavior was a good or bad thing: Good, because his inevitable blow up at me would be fatigued and maybe he just knew that was the best way to control himself; or bad, because he could be that pissed. Either way I know I'm going to have a bed to myself tonight. Great.

"Thank you and good -fucking- night!" boomed throughout the arena. The fan's answering applause was nothing short of deafening. One would forget there was a main act at all.

They were doing their bowing shtick and preparing to run off, and this time I was ready. The apology for disappearing and its explanation, followed by another apology was crystal clear in my mind. First coming my way was Mike, eager to duck out of the applause.

"So what the hell happened to you?" I flashed him the One Moment sign and peered around him to see only Tre and dimming lights. "Er... he must have took the other way. Sorry," he added at my downtrodden expression.

Salt stung my eyes but I hastily blinked away the evidence. Forcing a casual shrug, I murmured, "Not your fault. He's mad. He'll get over it... eventually."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Mike, bless him, offered.

"If you didn't calm him before than there's really no point. Let him get over this over protectiveness for I don't know why and he'll be fine."

"So where have you been?"

For some reason, him asking me really turned me off to the idea of explaining myself. Does that make sense? Whose business is it but my own? So I merely replied that I took a walk and lost track of time. "Lost" being the operative word.

"You look all---melty though." Mike circled his eyes. The make up did feel grungy yet natural after it settled into the pores of my face. It could stay for now.

"Hot out." My eyes rolled with a red smeared smile.

Cool fingers prodded my exposed shoulder blades. Unfortunately, I yelped with a buck forward and whipped around to a pleased Frank. "Gotcha!---- Hey what happened to you?" His grin straightened.

Heart rate slowing to normal, an aggravated huff burst from my wrinkled lips. "Nothing." My spot sandwiched between Mike and Frank provoked a discomfort I didn't think possible with the current company. Why would I feel like this?

Frank was still looking at me funny like he didn't know whether to hug me or exercise the clown demon I surely resemble from my innocent soul, and Mike --- I wasn't even looking at Mike because of that constant big brother vibe that I am in no mood to contend with. I think it because he seems to believe I get a certain way when Billie and I aren't speaking to each other. It's Frank, for crying outloud!

"Where are the others?" Like I really cared but for conversation's sake.

"Oh, around here somewhere. Just thought I'd pop in early and see how well the crowd is riled up." Frank shot a wink at Mike. When he fixed his attention back on me, his expression lost its sly edge and softened. "So are you gonna stay and watch?"

First impulse demanded a stern No. There was pressing matters to attend to such as groveling -well, maybe not grovelling- at Billie Joe's turned back and smoothing out those ruffled feathers. There's eating; yes, real food sounds like a wet dream right now. So knowing all this and still feeling compelled to right the situation, I did what I do best in these times of unease: Performed a one eighty, nodding with a sheepish grin and sighing, "Sure, why not?"

Mike only clapped me on the back, issuing a gentle but firm squeeze. "I'll talk to him." If Frank heard he didn't say anything. A warmth surged through that knot I mentioned and loosened slightly. Times like this I wish I never had Rachel but instead Mike watching out for me since birth. Maybe I would have turned out more well adjusted.

Two hours later.

So yeah, they are just like I remember. Theatrical. Energetic. Tempting. Felt like I was sixteen again before well... you know. Everything. Instead of a hot 'n cold mosh pit, it was way better this time around, if not bittersweet. I mean, who did I have to enjoy it with? Roadies? Certainly not a certain rhythm guitarist's frequent winks and happy grins of which I "coincidentally" missed and therefore didn't acknowledge; nor really the Original's sometimes blatant concerned glances that sent nervous squirms in my gut. But then again that could be hunger talking.

I cut out early though when the pyrotechnics grew ridiculously hot, as if I needed to look more like a melted Picasso. Issuing a small wave and forcing a yawn to seal it, I ducked out of the reaching glow of the stage lights -whether or not either of them saw- and made the long trip back to the bus. Boy did I get some, er, interesting looks; nothing I'm not already used to though. When I shoved open the exit, chatter pelted my eardrums. I can't believe I so noticeably cringed. Another fucking crowd at the fan gates! Don't these people care about seeing the whole show?

No sounds pointing out my presence reached my ears, but that didn't stop my lead-heavy legs from picking up the pace till the MCR bus safely blocked me from view.

"Honestly I was never that committed," I grumbled, taking solace in the darker stretch of shade. I know I didn't need another incident like the one with Cat Eyes but hell...

Lights were on in our bus and -though they weren't exactly shouts- loud enough voices to penetrate the bus' industrial shell could be heard just outside it. If I wasn't so short, I'd damn the blinds blocking all possibilities of me seeing in.

My bottom lip tucked easily under the sharp edge of my canine tooth like it always supposed to be there: Digging into the small puncture scar my new nervous habit came to include. That small stab of pain was enough at the moment.

Yes, I could very easily get in a fight right now. My muscles ached. My stomach was cramped. My husband's mad at me for some reason and won't hear me out. Yeah, I could go get my ass kicked if I so choose. Just one good black eye even, and I could stroll through that door with a hidden contentment that something would turn out within my control. I could just see it now: I'd make a big show of fumbling with the handle -their argument falling silent, waiting anxiously to see who was on the other side (me)- and then I'd stagger inside, swollen eyed and bloody and pathetic. Wow I could only imagine the thumps of their chins dropping to the floor. Billie would gasp some sort of endearment, maybe "Oh Darlin'" which has been used few and far between but an odd favorite of mine. Soon after he'd forget all his anger and rush right over to me- as I dropped to my knees (in my pain) and cradle me to his chest, smoothing my hair back and muttering soothing words and pressing gentle kisses to my forehead. All would be forgotten.

A longing sigh hissed past my throbbing lip. I want that.

But I also know that wouldn't happen. It'd go something more like...

I'd stagger in (still swollen-eyed and bloody and all) and their voices would cut off unnervingly abrupt. Billie would stay rooted to his spot facing Mike and spit, "The fuck happened to you?" His chest heaving from the dispute already in progress and seeing The Cause stumble in wouldn't help. Mike would probably come to my side. I wouldn't dare move under the fierce green-eyed scrutiny. Mike would be the one to cradle my face; a finger gently prodding the edge of discoloration and me wincing in kind. His expression -not Billie Joe's- would wither in sympathy, silently asking, "Again? How?" as he was already moving to the ice box. Billie would most likely just watch, that is if he hadn't already huffed off to bed since I didn't answer his question and didn't make any known inclinations that I would. Mike would take care of me though. I could always count on him for that.

Okay so that was harsh. Probably just as inaccurate as the first scenario but could you blame me? What I do know for sure is Tre would snicker throughout both and most definitely in reality. God then what's the point of getting hit anyways? Possible sympathy? I know I'd hate it after awhile in its crooning boredom. Can't he just forget he's mad? Can't it for once be that easy? I'm not apologizing for taking a walk! I'm an adult for bleeding fuck! He's not my father, y'know...

"You sure could have used one though, couldn't you? All these surfacing signs of daddy issues that have been accumulating over the years says enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?" growled through my clenched teeth.

"Oh it's nothing you don't already know." The Voice exclaimed a knowing amusement.

That's when I mentally sat back and realized I'm once again snapping at myself, asking question to things I should, by logic, already know. And once I've thought of this -again- I want to bang my warped, demon clown-faced head against the MCR bus' black siding till every thing's finally quiet, and I can for once formulate a thought without being criticized immediately after.

"God. Damn." My head merely thudded against it, hardly a plea for brain damage. I had to sit down.

Minutes go by and the lights to our bus go out. Huh, early night... I waited several more until I gathered the nerve to go inside. I knew there was no chance that either of them would be asleep, but neither of them would actually talk to me till tomorrow which I'll always be thankful for. Without much thought I shucked off my shoes and crashed on the couch in the dark, issuing a small sway in the too quiet bus. The excitement outside swelled with no doubt the other band's appearance. We do have to get to North Carolina eventually. When I heard the angry huffs that could only be Billie Joe feet away behind a flimsy curtain, I wondered if I should just crawl into bed with him, murmur an "I'm sorry," and who knows have some makeup sex with Mike and Tre just listening across the narrow aisle. I snorted at the impossibility which hurt my throat a little. Kinky.

Weird thing is, sleep came easy.