To Love/Hate the Spotlight

When I was little, I used to find hotels to be one of the most wondrous creations known to man; well, those after car washes, penny fountains, and Reese peanut buttercups. Really, as a child, it didn't take much to wow me. But back to the point, I adore hotels: The key cards, riding the elevators, finding the room was an adventure in and of itself, then finally finding it (fresh off the game "Okay turn it as soon as I pull it out") and entering my new home for the night. Beds I could bounce on, towels to steal the next day, and if there was a pool all the better.

See that was all when I was younger and with family or friends. Now that I'm older, the check-in just pointed out the fact that I was spending the night alone. The quiet ride up the elevator and the single set of footsteps to the room only drove the point home. The frustrated chuckle game of using the key card only made me want to put my fist through the door. I had my pick of the two queen-sized beds and the one closest to the window was chosen. As I laid on it now, my mind didn't run away with possibilities of fort designs using the sheets and furniture. All I could think about was someone fucked on this bed. Probably a ton of people have fucked on this bed, not all at the same time mind you, but the fact still remained.

It had been hours since Billie Joe had left for NYC. My cell laid still and silent on the nightstand. I stubbornly kept telling myself I was resting from the demand of traveling and not waiting around for a phone call from a certain black-haired, green-eyed guitarist.

Really, I wasn't.

Maybe there was something on TV. Throwing my legs over the edge with a huff, I forced myself up. A spell of dizziness side swept me while reaching for the remote. My eyesight fuzzy and my head light and throbbing. "Fuck," I cursed softly, curling into myself and pressing my palm to my forehead though the gesture did very little. So laying still for very long on an empty stomach and being more or less anemic wasn't good for anything.

Huh. The more you know...

I slowly backed up against the headboard, thinking the gradual changes in elevation would be better. All thoughts of mind-numbing television forgotten since it would only make me nauseous. Well, more so.

"Hey," I grumbled after a few minutes of twiddling my thumbs. "... you in there?" My tone revealed a bit more hopefulness than I would have liked, but if confronted I would admit it. The Voice hadn't said a word in days. The last being an unhelpful interruption when talking to Mike about his new he-won't call-it girlfriend. While I nodded along, questionably interested, the Voice snorted and gagged in between a litany of lewd comments. A short moment of concentration later and it was blessedly silent. But like I said, that was days ago. Now I just felt lonely and hollow in my thoughts. Could things like this be randomly cured?

This has happened before though: When I was with Gerard-- Jason... dammit, Gerard. It wouldn't talk to me then. Go figure when I had most needed the company, and my anxious squirming and pathetic whimpers for an answer fed its sadism. Was it there now---in that movie theater--- center row watching me with that sharp, red smirk in an all around better looking version of me?

Was it doing that now?

I shivered. Paranoia must have a rung all its own in my DNA, though for never un-just cause.

"Fine, don't talk to me." My legs pulled themselves to my chest, my head lowering to rest on them. Absently staring at the wall. "Stay fucking quiet then."

Eventually I laid back down, drifting off too sleep since there was little else to do.

Blurry forms. Angry words. Malice-laced smirks.
Mmm so very desperate crys.
Oh, oh, pain---plenty of that.
It slithers like hot oil around bound wrists and down down down too pale skin.
Screams swell inside a torn throat, arms pulling on their binds.

My beautiful demon, so tragic and misunderstood.
Eager to place his starving heart in the hands of a succubus.

We're in love, you see. He loves me,
and I love the way he loves me.
It's perfect. We're perfect. We're perfectly perfect.

Skeletal fingers tear at gray fabric, cold air washes over a heaving chest.
Twin stings. Blood, always more blood.
Legs kicked apart.
The little girl spits and snarls-- shut up already and just enjoy this.
He's dreamnt so long.
The school teacher's out, you took away my saint, you owe me him.
She whimpers and thrashes, don't fight it! Adore it!
I certainly do.

"If I can't have your love, than your body will be mine," and oh how true that turned out to be! Before the secret satisfaction comes clean burning fear,
bright and precise.
A sallow body is revealed hurriedly. Shining eyes notice one too many meals have been missed, but it's okay.
So have we.
Bones settle upon bones, and it's much too much for our little girl.
She runs, closes her wide, leaking eyes and dashes away.
Wimp.

A sharp plunge inside. Glittering eyes snap open.
Seconds take to adjust.
This, this is so new!
Giddiness melts into coppery pleasure, panicked pants oozing into hard press moans.
The demon above pauses, shocked and apprehensive on whether to be pleased.
Ink pupils laced thinly with brown meet saucer-stretched hazel.
Pink lips no longer spilling pleas of, "Gerard, stop. No, don't do this," now curl, twisting open to bare enamel-strong fangs. The struggle to sit up despite tied wrists appears almost graceful.
The two most beautiful words growl into his ear.
"Don't. Stop."

Weak legs wrap reassuringly around a still waist.
Doubt asks and the smile he loves, has been waiting for, answers.
One, two tentative thrusts--- no, not enough, more.
Who knows how long the girl will be skipping down memory lane.
"Gerard, please. Harder." Hips rise and tease, coaxing in more.
"You-- you sure?" Muscles tensed in restraint blister with hope.
He shakes with it.
Ankles lock behind his back. A feral grin.
"Go on, fuck me."
He shudders and the control shatters. Glorious.

To feel first-hand for once, this time not tingling echoes is--ah-there.
Right there.
Blaring thunderclaps and a wailing voice caress heated flesh, competes with slapping skin and rich grunts and diaphragm moans.
"Yesfuckharder!"
Trembling hands cradle flushed cheeks, eyes twinkling.
The next scream is swallowed by his insistent mouth: Tongues tangle and lash, hot spit, and shivering pleasure courses through veins at the contact and stutter his thrusting. Simply savagery.
A particularly long groan rumbles in the chest.

The dead shouldn't need air so much.

A reluctant hairsbreadth of separation.
Wet pants clashing against shiny, kiss-bitten lips.
Intense hazel drilling and sweetly earnest.
"I love you."
Humid air and wanton need push desperately back against him.
Something inside flutters at the declaration but "More" rolls off the tongue so much easier.
He doesn't wait and we fall back into it together.
Deep rhythm.
Teeth drag across fragile porcelain.
Tearing.
Keep going, keep going, faster, keep going.
For a moment the rush dulls and I know -I know- she's coming back.
No! Go 'way!
Grunts and gasps of "So beautiful, love you, love you, stay with me."
A blood-stained happy smile.
Numbing lips struggle to reciprocate, instead curving to words of a syrup-laden song.
No no stop---- "Becky!" The pale demon shouts, panicked but coming and he knows---

My eyes flew open to a pressing weight on my chest; hands scrambled over the rapid rise and fall to feel nothing else but my bunched up shirt moist with sweat. Thoughts racing. The ceiling soaked orange with sunset. Emotion running high till they settled under my sticky skin instead of lashing around in lightening heat above the surface. None of the images spinning in my head registering as something that vivid should. At least I was alone.

Minutes later I found myself in the shower, scolding water battering my back, my knees tucked under my chin, and not exactly remembering the simple process of getting there. Glassy eyes stared unseeingly at the beige tiles and scrubbed grout; fuzzy pictures of bare skin and consensual fancy pulsing in masochistic fascination and horror.

"... say something." The steadiness of my demand rattled like delicate china. Warm tap water clung to my lips.

No one answered when they very well should have. Maybe I should have known. "Yours truly took over and felt every thrust. You're welcome." That wry smirk on my-- its lips. I should have known there was more to it, but I never thought---- I never imagined...

I shut my eyes and leaned to the side -cold tiles on my cheek- my head feeling heavy.

I have no reason to doubt it happened. It just made things ineffectively complicated. More depth to the shadowed crater in my mind that doesn't belong to me.

"Why did you show me that?"

A phone trilled, its sound trickling through the water's roar. I nearly cracked my skull open, scrambling out of the tub and skittering across the slick tile floor. I dashed back into the main room, naked and dripping, and slamming the hotel phone to my ear.

"'Lo?" I breathed, brushing a strand of slimy black from my cheek.

Frank's voice flooded into my ear, drowning whatever eagerness that had burbled in my chest. Sinking onto the nearest mattress, my gaze lingered on the lifeless cell on the nightstand. A press of a button revealed no missed calls.

"-----you in?" The sudden stop of his background prattling startled me. What was he asking? Did it matter?

"No," I murmured after a moment, wondering if my tone held any remorse and then deciding I didn't much care. Goosebumps from the chilly hotel room air prickled uncomfortably across my wet skin.

"Oh... well, uh... okay then." Frank's discomfort over the phone stirred a deep-seated malicious part of me, one steeped in broken glass, screams, and sharp, gnashing teeth. I wanted to make it worse.

My eyesight wavered -the room splitting into double- until it righted with a strained blink.

"I'll-- I'll talk to you tomorrow," I whispered suddenly and slammed the receiver back in its cradle. Desperation surged forth and lapped at the edges of my vision, blurring and burning like acid. Clamping my lids shut -tear tracks spilling down my cheeks- all I saw was Him above me-- happy and earnest and so fucking hungry. Smoke-rimmed hazel sparkling with reverence as razor blade teeth dripped reddened saliva.

And I always thought it was a delusion, some lie Gerard convinced himself of but---
And that explains why he looked so broken when I walked away------

I need--- I need.

Shaking hands reached for the cell. It took seven aborted attempts to search out the correct number then I heard ringing.

Click.

My churning stomach flip-flopped. Staccato breathing unfurling into a relieved sigh. God, I need to hear your voice.

"I'llcallyouback--"

And the call disconnected.

Something very much like Sense shifted and cracked, starting at the foundation and racing its way up. A bee-sting pain of a hairline fracture. The cell was calmly replaced on the nightstand.

I needed to hear Billie Joe's voice. I just didn't specify the duration.

A rough bark of laughter ripped from my throat at my next thought.

My mind was truly hell-bent on stalking itself, waiting to strike at its own vulnerability and willing to tear itself apart. And all in this most artful fashion.

Skin clammy and hair sticking to my face and neck like glue.

Though I didn't know at the time -staring at the phone and gnawing on my lip to a throbbing pulp- I'll call you back didn't happen for the rest of the night.