To Love/Hate the Spotlight

London calling to the imitation zone
Forget it, brother, you can go it alone
London calling to the zombies of death
Quit holding out, and draw another breath--

I am really starting to hate that song.

I consciously focused on the fact the same three lines were blaring too early from the next I suppose one would call a room and not at all the other times I've heard it per day for the past couple weeks.

Forced obliviousness did not win out though the minute reprieve of cutting to voice mail burst out into another grating bout of the Clash. I huffed, slitting one eye open to glare at the mound softly snoring beside me. No stirring whatsoever. Luckily it stopped... my muscles relaxed and blissful unconsciousness hung within reach.

A shrill beep screeched up and down the note scale. The sound was plunging ice shards into my spinal fluid. "Ohh you have got to be kidding me."

Mike's phone. He didn't wake up to answer it.

Then it was Tre's cell screaming and howling. I had jumped a foot above the mattress: Heart flirting with cardiac arrest, eyes wide, and nails digging into the bed's soft flesh. Why couldn't they follow my example? My phone was set on a dignified vibrate. Like clockwork each of their phones took turns singing and trilling and screeching for the next ten minutes. Amazing I was able to hear the calling over the snores.

Sleep. I want sleep.

Kicking the covers off heated aggravation, I told myself I am not capable of murder. At least I hope so. "Babe..." I whined, nudging the body beside me.

"Mmmhrmph."

"Do you honestly not hear that?"

"Llgotovoi-mail."

My jaw dropped momentarily until it hinged so tightly my teeth groaned. "Yes, it will--" It was almost too easy to tear the blankets away and not feel a pang of sympathy when he hissed and buried his face into his pillow. "And it has--- wait, and there it goes again."

"Then please. Go. Answer. It."

I quickly scrambled out of bed, seething. "By all means then, Blow Job, allow me." In a fit of petulance, I whipped my pillow at his head and stomped out of the bunk area, ignoring his sleepy growl of, "Whaddjyou call me?"

Tre's phone nearly broke in half at my force. "Yesss?" Someone didn't close the front room curtains. Fuck it stung. "This better be an emergency."

"Tre?" Their manager, of course, as if he doesn't call enough as it is.

With a huff, I tossed the wretched device on the drummer's bed. They were all waking now, given my outburst. When I flopped down onto the couch -grumbling over ring tones and sunshine- I belatedly realized I had used the nickname The Voice uses.

Two hours later we were stopped at a hotel and two thirds of Green Day were climbing into a shiny, black Lincoln.

"We'll be back on Monday, okay?" He took one last glance into the mirror: Black hair glossy and tousled, bright green eyes heavily kohl-rimmed. All achingly gorgeous.

I pretended I hadn't been avidly watching his primping efforts, rather instead appearing nonchalant as I packed the few essentials of a weekend stay -by myself- in a hotel. All the calling had been their manager frantically telling them they needed to be on a plane by noon charted to New York. Green Day were scheduled for several interviews, a TV appearance, and what was quoted to be "A great promotion opportunity." Why it all couldn't wait till the tour made it that way was beyond my understanding. Show business defied reason.

I followed sedately down the bus steps, bag in hand while theirs were loaded in the expensive car's trunk. Other car doors opened and slammed along the hotel's roundabout. Thank god or otherwise the next few days would truly be unbearable. The Way brothers were visiting their wives and Ray was off to visit family, not sure about the last two though...

"Are you sure you're not mad?" Maybe this time I should say Yes since he apparently wasn't taking my earnest denials as the truth.

But alas... "Of course I'm not. Go have fun and try not to get arrested."

"I don't know how I could. We'll just be working. Real boring stuff."

"Right." I grinned, slightly warmed by his efforts to downplay the whole trip. It made sense: This was last minute and it's not as if he owned a private jet. Logic still didn't help abate the twinges of feeling excluded though.

"Gotta go--oh. Gotta go gotta go gotta goooo!"

"Thanks, we get it, Tre." Billie rolled his eyes, arms slipping around my waist and forcing me to drop my bag with a thump. We simply stared at each other for a few moments. Most of the anger from this morning having evaporated with the excitement attached to the news. The crude nickname I used seemed to only bother me. Maybe I'd stew on that all weekend. Self reflection and all that rot.

"So I better get going." My hold on him briefly tightened. I did not want him to go. One long, satisfying but at the same time unsatisfying because it ended far too soon kiss and he was saying that he loved me and that he'd call while simultaneously climbing into the Lincoln. I was even so pathetic as to watch it drive out of sight.

I would be fine, wouldn't I?

No Ones POV:

"You don't look well today, Jason." Dr. Roth's impassive attitude gave way to a small frown. It had taken several coaxes to get his patients to remove his dark, impenetrable sunglasses and when he relented it revealed red-rimmed, blood shot eyes. "What's happened since I last saw you?"

After years of therapy he had learned silence, no matter how much talking pained you, doesn't help. To a shrink, sealed lips are red flashing lights; something must be wrong. If they have nothing to go on from you, well, then they start to make assumptions and you definitely don't want that. Group therapy's easy: You could slink by under the babbling of that one person who find their most menial achievements newsworthy and dominate the torturous hour. Private sessions though were the real test.

"Jason?"

"... nothing," he croaked, voice hoarse and unused. He had to think back, the last time was days ago when he called into work claiming illness. He should go tomorrow or otherwise lose his job and getting hired was hard enough.

"Jason, why am I finding it difficult to believe you?"

Probably because he was horrendous at lying.
Well, to everyone except himself. That, he was a certified pro at.

When his eyes rolled stickily in their sockets to meet the spectacle-glinting those of Dr. Roth, he remembered an answer was expected of him. The spike of irritation felt dull. He wasn't feeling much these days.

"... believe what you want--" His voice gave out at the tail end of his sentence with a pained grimace. Throat parched and burning with the previous night's unrestrained, dry sobs.

He shouldn't have to explain that he had found himself so unwittingly betrayed by one of the coldest means. He shouldn't have to say, Doc, I apologize that I'm not in a more chipper mood. The girl -you know the one I've been in love with for, gosh, years and whom I did horrible things to but she forgave me because she is just that wonderful- yeah her, well I just saw a lovely picture of her husband in all his rock god glory printed in a national magazine. Yes, apparently she did get married------ No, she didn't say a thing to me, only that I get better; If not for myself or for her than for our child---

A black stab of illness pierced his core, the feeling so familiar now he was so sure there was a clear path to it, so that if you looked at just the right angle you could see inside his chest: All scarlet cave and shuddering lungs, maybe a heart but he couldn't say for sure.

"Jason," Roth started-- oh no, the glasses were coming off, time for one of those awkward imitations of a heart-to-heart. "I know it can be overwhelming being out there on your own when you've been so accustomed to life here."

Please, spare me.

"I should hope by now you would trust me. These past couple of years have been rather... hectic, I admit, but we've gotten over those speed bumps as a team."

Let's not forget the medication and that one go at shock treatment where I only bit myself more.

"After all this hard work, look at you: You're independent, emotionally-equipped, and capable."

I'm codependent on drugs, emotionally wrecked, and incapable of doing much of anything. Life was so much easier when you thought you were dead.

"----I'm here as a guide and confidante. It's up to you now to take the reins and discern what's a problem to you and what you can do to fix it. I'll gladly give advice if you want it."

I don't.

"But judging by your silence, you don't want that... or much to do with anything really." The doctor's training could do little to restrain a long suffering sigh.

Roth had had his suspicions, one concerning a most prominent female, in his patient's file ---she could have something to do with it--- but she was better left in the past. Classic infatuation turned obsession. To this day he was still curious to know what the girl had to say to Jason given the outrageous circumstances, but she refused and his patient was sternly tight-lipped about it. Roth had been doubtful of the visit, but he never heard a word about her from Jason since and days following after, his patient was determined to get better. So, all in all, Roth couldn't complain.

"Jason... I don't want to have you admitted again--"

His patient's eyes flew open from their lazy stupor. "No, don't!"

"Then prove to me I didn't make the same mistake by releasing you."

Nostrils flared and hazel eyes blazed. It was all he could do to stay in his chair. "I did all that you listed," he hissed. "I got a place to live, a job, I take my meds, and I come here--"

"Yes, but what of the other things, like your family? Have you attempted contact with them at all?"

"They made their choice. They don't want anything to do with me."

"You don't know that."

"Well, I think it's safe to assume the last time they came to see me, I was seventeen and the money they tossed my way when I left here was a decent enough kiss-off."

"Jason, please sit back down and relax... thank you." The pad of notes were set aside. Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging the stem of pressure building. He had a theory: Either it was Thursdays or sessions with Jason that sent him home popping two Aspirin and chasing it down with a stiff drink. Considering this appointment ended up on a Friday, it had to be the latter. Regardless his patient was looking upon him now with a flushed mix of contempt and expectation; he was waiting for some mind blowing advice if he was going to have to tolerate this. At that moment, with his mind a blank, Roth felt extremely old.

"Alright..." Arthritis hands rubbed tiredly at his face. "People have... limits, some greater than others. Once we believe something--- that's it, we're finished."

"But I-" His patient started, but Roth held up his hand to silence him.

"You are the exception, but as for other people -people like your parents- they don't like to be confronted with the possibility that their opinions could be wrong -things said, decisions made based upon it- they won't hear of it. Now normally I would tell you to cut your losses with people like that but when there's an opportunity to get something truly wonderful back, you have to go for it. Make them see."

Tendrils of sense were making their way into the red haze of irritation. The tension in his muscles were losing their strength. Something much like understanding but forty degrees left off center was taking root.

"Jason, you were here a long time and life in an institution is no life. Others may have gotten a head start, but this is your time. Now... Forget your doubts and your insecurities and just go for it. Take what you want. You've been through a lot and you deserve more. Learn from your mistakes and go from there.

"Love---love isn't something to be squandered."

And the tendrils seized in an iron grip. Of course. For the first time since he came across that terrible, heart-clenching, up chuck-testing picture, he could hold off the desperate need to breakdown and not break everything else around him. He knew what he had to do... just not how to go about doing it.

For the rest of the hour, small talk about work and his apartment were exchanged. While Roth was concerned about his fangs still being intact, Jason was equally disturbed by his doctor's interest in the gnat in his life, Rosie.

Sufficiently, No fell flatly from his lips at each nauseating inquiry.