To Love/Hate the Spotlight

"I'll just be over there." He pointed once again at the concession stand three yards away from the cluster of cafe-style tables, one of which I was seated at. The rest were empty, save for me; I suppose no one else had to loiter in a theater for the next several hours. I nodded in reply, still uncertain whether or not staying was for the best.

With a blinding smile, he trotted back behind the counter, scooping up popcorn and filling drinks with a mindless grace. My bag thrown atop the small table, I settled in for the torturous wait ahead of me.

For the first hour, I looked anywhere but the right half of the room which coincidentally was the snack bar: Twiddling my thumbs and people watching with dull interest. I wondered if I would see anyone I knew; it wasn't necessarily welcomed, but I wasn't afraid if it were to happen either. It was more likely that anyone I did know wouldn't remember me. People change, whether it in a day, a week, a month, three years----  

Or with even just one.

I had given into temptation without realizing, my eyes following Gerard with predatory precision. A year had definitely changed him: His hair; his face; his posture straighter, more self-assured but not overflowing with confidence; I could still see the boy I once knew, but was instantly taken with the man he'd grown into. It was odd seeing him outside an entirely drab environment -be it a hospital or dank bedroom- but the real world suited him. He stood out among the hordes of cherry pop, "California Gurls" native to the Midwest, the hipster junkies, and the unmentionable rest. His color still fell on the pale side, but the fact remained there was still color. He went out in the sun just like I told him to, which drove the point home: He had been released with a sane bill of health; he probably didn't believe in that vampire stuff anymore.

The Fantasy dead, staked and nothing but ash.

But he still told my mom about my past pregnancy. There wasn't any fixing that. Putting more strain on an already tenuous relationship couldn't be easily forgiven, but he couldn't have known. He just wanted to see me...

Though he appeared tired, a giddiness surrounded him as he worked. A shadow of a grin clung to the placid mask he presented to his customers and co-workers, his eyes alight. I only knew, because he kept shooting me long, admiring glances, sometimes becoming so distracted that another employee would have to shout his name, "Jason!"

Jason. I mouthed the name, but my lips didn't shape comfortably around it. I don't think I could just stop calling him, "Gerard." That illusion must be broken also, but it suited him so! He truly looked like---

Better not think that way. I knew the difference. 

More times than not I couldn't brave the hopeful gleam in his gaze and pretended something elsewhere was fascinating the hell out of me. Shamefully, I made sure I was looking demure and aloof, though my insides fluttered like mad. It's not as if I could help an ingrained habit. Every girl knows how to do as much since middle school-- elementary if MTV had its way. 

My fingers fiddled with the thin band of silver on my left hand as I kept my gaze averted from him for decently long stretches of time. There was no avoiding him though when Gerard had found a break between customers and dashed over, placing a bottle of water proudly on the table like a child trying to please a parent. For a moment, I stared absently at it, long enough for his confidence to waver and his frame to deflate. Seeing this, I quickly snapped out of it and snatched up the bottle, cracking it open and taking a hasty sip. The cool liquid soothed the dry tightness of my throat I didn't even notice. "Thanks."

Still unsure but encouraged by this, he asked, "Do you want anything else? Food-- are you hungry? Cold? It is kind of chilly in here--"

"Gerard, I'm fine. Really."

He visibly stiffened at the name. Confused, it had taken me a second to puzzle out his reaction. I opened my mouth to say something -I don't know what; apologize, correct myself, ask him about it- but he had babbled about getting back to work, spinning on his heel and walking hurriedly away. My concerned eyes trailing his back snagged on the frizzy blonde that I had seen earlier. She was standing behind the counter doing nothing save for glaring daggers at yours truly. Was Gerard the one she had pecked on the cheek? She didn't have reason to look at me like that unless... 

Were they dating?

For the first time in days, I heard the Voice -like a shadowy presence in my skull- snarl a horrible, guttural sound. I had to suppress my wince at its intensity. For one frightening moment my vision tunneled, and a steel band squeezed around my chest. It was just long enough to scare the daylights out of me before everything returned to normal again.

Fucking hell.

I breathed deeply through my nostrils, staring at the table top in hopes of a hypnotized calm. Everyone's eyes were on me, but they weren't, not really. There was a light sheen of sweat on my brow from struggling to fight against the sudden bout of nausea. My grip on my thighs was causing my fingers to cramp. The overwhelming sensation took minutes to dissipate. I should be used to it, shouldn't I? Having experienced it before when Cat Eyes pissed me off and I -but not really me- ripped out her piercings in front of a crowd. If only I knew what it meant. Lack of self control?

I braved a glance at Gerard but he was busy counting change for a women with two whining kids, all the while Miss Frizzy Hair was gabbing to him, batting her tarantula eyelashes, her shirt missing a few of its top buttons---

Another rumble and I had to excuse myself to the restroom -my brain aching with the surge of possessive/jealous emotion and the upcoming conversation to be had- and promptly spilled stomach acids into the nearest toilet.

No ones POV:

Once That Girl was out of sight, Rosie could breathe a little easier. She didn't like competition, because competition involved the possibility of her not getting what she wants and that wasn't acceptable. And right now she wanted more than anything was Jason... Or maybe Robert Pattinson[1], whichever came first. Those crazy vampire kinks--- And she could very well lose this Gerard Way lookalike that had fallen out of the sky and into her lap to some random bitch!

Honestly, she wasn't even that pretty! She looked to be a few years older and tired, as if she'd gone through some serious shit, but Rosie couldn't be bothered with legitimate drama. It was ugly, and there was no guaranteed happy ending. She supposed the Girl was not bad looking, a bit drab compared to her. She liked to think she was a plainly hideous creature Jason was only taking pity upon, and he was too good of a guy to ever properly reject her.

"Who is she?"
"... Everything," he had breathed, content.

So creature pity wasn't the case, was it?

After weeks of her best flirting, Jason hadn't spared her a glance. She had worn down most of her exes by this time. This couldn't--- wouldn't do.

She glanced at the clock. Not much longer until quitting time and the two would be leaving together. That Girl alone with her Jason.

No way could that happen.

No one noticed, especially Jason, when she left her station and stalked to the women's restroom.

Rinsing her mouth out with water only took care of the sour taste as the burn gnawing at the back of her throat remained. Fuck she wished her head would stop throbbing. The sudden bang of the door did not help.

Becky looked up at her reflection, past the sickly sallow image to the frizzy-haired girl at the door. Despite the utterly drained expression, her nostrils flared and a weak sneer twisted her smudged, red lips.

"Yes?" she rasped, swallowing back bitter spit. She didn't know the girl, but she knew enough for her hackles to rise.

Large eyes -buggy proportions really- smothered in blue eyeshadow and black mascara scrutinized every inch of the brunette before over-glossed lips blurted, "How do you know Jason?"

Brown eyes narrowed in turn, a strange possessiveness growling in her chest. "And who are you exactly?"

Arms crossed indignantly. "I'm Rosie, Jason's soon-to be-girlfriend."

And there it was. The jarring shift was barely perceptible, save for a flutter of her eyelashes. While the inside of her head was screaming in confused outrage, a feral grin curved her mouth. She prowled closer, composed as if she had never been sick at all. "Is that so?"

Rosie staggered backwards, not expecting the other Girl's reaction. She nodded warily. As she took a step away, the smirking brunette took another step to compensate, eventually their positions in the restroom reversing. Despite the visible exhaustion, her dark eyes glittered with wild-eyed calculation and she moved with animal grace, all swift and coiled tension.

"Are you here to warn me to stay away from him and how he's all yours and no one in this world could ever come between your love?"

A bit bewildered, since all of the sudden the tables had been turned, the short girl's head bobbed up and down.

The lock on the door was engaged with a careless flick of the wrist. The bright smile turned to the pathetic circus midget, corners sharpening and eyes sparkling.

Rosie paled under her heavy layer of make up, gaping at the glinting fangs so much like Jason's but looked so much sharper. She took a fearful step back only for her spine to bump into the bank of sinks. Her attention riveted on the brunette.

A sweetly malicious voice chuckled. "Well, go on, puddin', tell me all about it."

He couldn't stop smiling, he really couldn't. By now his cheeks should have been aching -and they were- but every time he made a conscious effort to relax his features they curled back again. His good mood was relentless.

He wanted to say as much to the strange looks his coworkers have been sending his way, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth he might do something mortifying like burst into song. It was ridiculous how happy he was. He hadn't felt this way since---

... it was best to just focus on the good and present.

Speaking of good, it wouldn't be much longer until he got off and then he and Becky could leave. He had yet to grow tired of different coworkers coming up to him and asking who that girl was, and his reply would consist of a shy smile and sickeningly giddy thoughts. He wasn't going to jump the gun again. He was naive but not stupid. It was just wonderful to see her again when he didn't think he would--- and that's what he kept telling his runaway thoughts. In reality, deep down he kept hoping for her to stay with him and together they'd raise their child. 

God... Their child...

He still couldn't believe he was a dad, but there was no arguing he wasn't in love with the idea. He'd have a family, one better than the rich jerks he'd been saddled with. Oh how he wanted that. It would be perfect, as long as he didn't think about Becky's current husband taking care of his son or daughter (because where else would his child be, even though it was a necessary evil).

As soon as his shift ended, he'd take her to dinner. Dinner's a good start, right? To see him eating actual food and not something raw and bloody? 

Hopefully the girl from earlier, the one who nuzzled his neck and whispered sweetly she had missed him, would resurface. That version was his favorite, though he loved everything about Becky, she was his favorite; he hadn't seen her since That Night. Then everything had changed so rapidly into a nightmare.

He'd fixed things, just wait and see.

"So now you understand, don't you?" A fresh layer of red lipstick smoothed over her pouted lips. Bored, half-lidded eyes tracked her finger as the tip swiped away any imperfections, but she knew there were none. After, she flashed a razor blade smile to her reflection. A quick dig in her bag produced a shining tube of mascara. "You know without a doubt that Gerard is just that, mine. It wouldn't have happened between you two, and it was idiotic for you to think so. Seriously, sweetie, did you eat a brain tumor for breakfast?"

Once her long lashes were sufficiently coated, she cocked her head and toyed with her hair. She never understood why the little bitch kept it this color, so dark and artless. Now Red, that was a color. If this lasts, she should change it.

"Perhaps not at the moment, but you'll realize I'm doing you a favor." 

Snatching up her bag, she shot one last glance at her reflection, smirked, and sashayed to the door, stopping at the small, twitching body splayed on the sticky tile. The oily mess of make up making the mix of tears, snot, and blood that much more horrific and vibrant. She kneeled down and patted a clawed, disfigured hand in mock consolation. "I'm glad we had this chat. And since we're so close now, you won't take offense hearing this from me, but... You look like hell, dear. You might wanna get yourself cleaned up, or the boys won't know what they're looking at."

The hand under hers pulled away with a punctuated groan and whimper.

She smiled a cruel smile in response and rose to her feet. The lock undone, she exited the bathroom leaving behind the female wreck. Her wicked grin softened upon being faced with a shy, waiting Gerard dressed in his street clothes.

"You okay?" he asked with true concern.

She ignored the resisting pulse in her head. "Perfect! Are we leaving?"

At his eager nod, she slipped her ring hand into his proffered palm and shouldered her bag with the other: The skin on her right, pink and scrubbed, knuckles tender, with stubborn traces of blue eyeshadow and dried scarlet under her fingernails.

See, situations could be handled so easily without all the inner angst. Becky wouldn't ever get it, another lesson to be learned from a girl called, "Kill." [2]

One simply couldn't be referred to as "the Voice;" one needed a proper name.