To Love/Hate the Spotlight

"Are you okay?"

"What's wrong with you?"

Voices blurred into insignificance. It's one thing to discover the truth for yourself: It's reassuring and there's no surprises. Sometimes that truth is your safety blanket, your if all else fails at least you know something of possible relevance... That is until the spun fabric takes physical form. Theories become realities. Out of all the times I believed so deeply that I was right, that now all I want is to be wrong. The safety blanket wraps and suffocates. No more surprises, but in the end are you really reassured?

"Guys, why don't you go find Mark? I have to talk to Becky." So it was Billie Joe's hands pulling on my shoulders. My true attention belonged to that motor home housing a banshee. Black siding, black windows, black everything. Normally I would love it, but all it did now was fill me with dread. I wonder if he's in there; I can't bear to see him. "Becky, please get in the car." Billie added urgency to his tone. It was when he picked me up off the ground that I snapped out of it. The haze put me at ease and now everything is a little too crystal clear. With my eyes squeezed shut, he lowered me into the backseat. The leather groaned at the pressure. I hadn't realized before that it was freezing inside; The AC must have been on full blast. August brings warmth to the cold bloods; Jersey welcomed me with the mush of rain.

The cushion sunk beside me with his weight. The door clicked shut, cutting off the mugginess drifting inside. It was quiet making me uncomfortable, but I could deal with this discomfort. I could stay in here forever compared to going out there.

Gradually my eyes opened. It wasn't dark enough inside. Clumps of mud and grass clung to my fingers. My pants incredibly wet.

"... I'm sorry. I should have told you before." Unbelievable as it was, his apology was soaked with sincerity.

Head tilted downward at my filthy digits disgusted me.

"Please talk to me," Billie pleaded, wrapping his hands around my soiled ones. His warmth shattered the cold shoulder I was planning to shove in his face for weeks.

Despite it, I found myself talking when I thought I was under prepared. "Three years ago, I'd be high out of my mind if this happened, but... it is happening without warning, without my control, and he is the last person I want to see."

"Babe, they aren't the same person. You're putting him in a history that you two never shared."

"But they look too much alike."

His hold tightened. "So what? I'm sure it happens to a lot of people."

A small giggle popped out. "... you didn't read the ending."

"Why do you keep bringing up the ending? Should I read it? Is there something I should be worried about?"

"No, of course not," I whispered. Why did I do that? Why did I say that to him? I should be the one that feels lied to.

"Wait- I have an idea." Billie switched to the long bench seat to show me his recovered optimism. "How about you pretend that it's three years ago: You love the band, and you love me even more for just giving this a chance because it's so big and it would mean a lot to me?" He said it all in one breath; prayer hands included. He had that worried smile on his face. I hate it when he does this, because it makes him beyond adorable. My argument then appears selfish and ridiculous. But how could he ask me to forget about My Gerard -his blood hanging onto my heart- and even more Little Jimmy -The most beautifully innocent son I could ever imagine but can never have?

This is just so out of my control...

"Fine," I sighed, detonating this explosion of gratitude.

He lunged forward and trapped me in an embrace. "Thank you, I'll make it up to you, I swear. I don't even care if you become some crazed teenie. We're going to have the time of our lives and this- this is just the beginning."

I smiled -maybe for my own sake- and took responsibility for my half of the hug. The odd swirl in my gut hinted at the coming of some definition of empowerment or women's intuition eliminating my appetite for the rest of the day.

*

"I'll be just inside doing a quick rehearsal, okay?" Billie Joe confirmed once again, holding me close. I knew this version of Billie all too well. I'm poor and defenseless, and he's my human shield. When he thinks this way, there's nothing I can do about it. Whatever makes him feel better I guess.

It was starting to drizzle, and we were out in the middle of it. He was anxious to get inside by the way he constantly glanced at the side entrance of the venue.

"Billie, just go and do whatever you have to do. I'm fine. I'll probably catch up on some sleep." I inconspicuously wriggled out of his arms. I'd follow him anywhere, but he has things to do and I look like a sewer rat.

"Are you sure you don't want to come and watch?"

"I want to, but I look like the swamp thing." The dirt caked under my finger nails wasn't, in my opinion, a good first impression when shaking hands.

"Aww, you don't look the swamp thing," he cooed and pecked me on the lips. "You're beautiful."

"Yeah, mhmm. I'm going to the bus. Go make yourself known and show those Jersey boys a thing or two about Cali."

"I'm sure I'll manage."

The wind blew away my grin. It's arctic in August; What's wrong with this picture?

He watched the door closely and chewed his lip.

"Go and have fun." I urged him in the direction of the building.

"... yeah, I should go. I don't want to look unprofessional. But you'll be okay and I'll see you after wards."

"Yep." Another kiss later and he was already jogging away. He'll do great; I know it.

Walking through a three inch swamp, I continuously apologized to my mud-slicked chucks. Rain water squished under the rubber soles. I felt like I was abusing them. They're the only shoes I wear. I forced myself into a fast pace to reach the black top. It was the side parking lot. Waist-high fan gates caged in the two buses. I was so focused on the MCR one that I completely ignored our black one. It couldn't have been longer than twenty five or thirty feet. It looked very... expensive.

I passed the other bus with my eyes kept focused on the ground. The dark nothingness and yellow parking lines that stretched across the surface reminded me of Bartlett. Wet, slightly depressing, and somewhat relaxing. That was a dead-end town and I have a feeling -wherever we are- this town might be the same.

Once I reached the door to the living area, I was beyond apprehensive to just walk right in. It was unlocked, but... I don't know how to explain it. I was brought up on manners, so I knocked and waited a moment to enter. It was silly, but it made me feel better about going inside. After kicking my shoes off and sitting them off to the side, I took everything in at face value: Crimson couches, creme carpeting, TV, kitchenette, bathroom and -yes- the sleeping quarters. Two bunk sets with individual curtains and another curtain to act as a door! With everything this bus has, a real door was too much? Anyways it was apparent that our bags hadn't arrived yet so instead of getting frustrated, I blamed traffic. I strode up front to find the driver was on break or something -yay! No small talk- and locked the door. It's comforting.

A quick rinse in the shower sounded good about now... so where are the towels? Not in the bathroom, no where in sight, what the hell... but there's no way I'm crawling into bed like this.
"... fuck it." I stepped inside the cramped bathroom and closed the door behind me.

*

Jesus found me crucified in the dark.
Flesh screaming for freedom.
Metal snagging wrists.
Blood boiling from pale ice.
Lungs twitching in the cave.
I am exposed to the monster living in shadows.

Don't blink. Don't blink. Don't ever blink.
Scream -god damn you- scream!

I'm waiting.
Waiting for him.

Take me!
Why doesn't he just take me?!

Cry--cry. No more tears.
They're gone.
Blood--blood.
I only have blood to give him.
Suffering begs for red to spill past quaking ribs.
Save me from his thirst.

"Keep still, My Love."
Demon wants romance.
"Tell me you love me."

Devil spit pools between my gums.
It pours down my chin in gargled breaths.

His angel face.
He sings. I know.
Silver-tongued prince serenades for my heart.

Rancid passion swells my veins.
A growl licks the twilight.
No more time.
Canine pearls strike-

I sat up in a panic and banged my head on the underbelly of the bunk above. An explosion of needles bore into my forehead, blurring my vision with tears. Chest heaving of a heart spasm. I was in too much pain to cuss or groan. The agony encased my cranium. My pulse thudded in its core.

Blankets were kicked off in my slumber. I swung my legs over the edge, protecting the ache in the palm of my hand; the swivel of motion didn't help. There had to be ice or something. Dizziness altered balance as I tried to stand. My vision washed black -tidal waves crashed in my temples- and evaporated in a disorienting pace. My eyes bulged and winced from the head rush. Taking a step in good faith towards the exit, sheets trapped and tripped me. I succumbed to gravity as my hand glided down the curtain and collided to the floor. Carpet threads scratched my skin. The fall settled my jumbled senses, and all the ache ran back to the small bump on my head.

"Fabulous," I huffed, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees. I'm just off to a great start today.

Day light poured into the bunk area. I looked up -damp locks sticking to my face- and froze. Holding the curtain to the side was an old hero of mine, Frank Iero. His face tightened in a sequence of shock: Eye brows reaching to wrinkle the forehead, eyes themselves like saucers, and a taut crooked grin.

Goosebumps sprung across my skin, and the sweat on my body had turned cold. My gaze drifted further to the surprised faces of Billie, Mike, Tre, and the rest of My Chem sitting around. Every head was worse than the previous and -as they say- the best was saved for last. I skimmed over Him before lingering on the others again.

Nails curled into palms and elbows shook to the wrists. I was afraid to move. Stupefied by the situation, fired bloomed inside my cheeks. Vocal chords squeezed in a trembling delivery. "... I'm not wearing clothes, am I?"

Silence stilled the air as pupils bent to observe my flesh. Tre was the least ashamed about it. Frank was a statue above me; They all were.

Anyone out there born of Cain and raised in slaughter, please, kill me now.

The original Way cleared his throat and tried to be polite by only watching my face; I couldn't bring myself to return the courtesy. "So... you must be Billie Joe's wife..."