Status: finished
Innocence
6
The bus ride was less than exciting. Zim found himself nodding off a few times in a seat close to the window. He kept waking himself up suddenly, in fear of having an accident in his sleep. His mindset still wasn't a hundred percent committed to being an adult, yet. It was likely. He just couldn't risk it. He cringed at the thought of it, all the humiliation, all the teasing that would take place. It was best to stay awake. He just had to be sure.
He kept noticing Manson staring at him strangely. It made Zim nervous. Manson knew something was up, the front man was concerned.
"You feeling better today, Zim?" he asked.
Zim blinked and looked over, feeling dazed, "Huh?" he mumbled sheepishly. Manson cleared his throat. "You mentioned you weren't feeling well last night," he said, "are you feeling better today?" he repeated.
"Oh," Zim tried to make it seem as though he wasn't caught in a lie, "right, yeah, I feel better," he answered. "I guess I was just tired," he offered the singer a little smile. Manson remained skeptical as he nodded once, "Did you sleep okay?" Zim blinked, he could feel everyone's eyes on him as he pondered his answer, "Yeah," he lied.
Manson nodded again, ending the small talk. He found himself turning to Pogo with a worried look. Pogo's brow furrowed, looking confused.
"Is Zim sick?" Twiggy asked curiously. A soft hue crept up the guitarist's cheeks. "Nah, he's just tired," Manson said. Tired....right. Babies start getting fussy when they're overtired. Zim sunk into his seat and sighed as he looked out the window, trying to ignore the sick feeling of anxiety that he knew all too well, dwelling in the pit of his stomach.
Meanwhile, Manson nodded at Pogo, motioning for him to come and see him at the back of the bus. The keyboardist nodded back and went to see him. "Something's up," Manson whispered as Pogo was approaching him. They both stepped into a quiet area of the bus where no one could hear. "How do you know?" asked the blonde. Manson fumbled through his pocket in search of something. He pulled out the questionable, not-so baby pacifier that he found earlier that morning.
Pogo raised an eyebrow. "I saw this fall out of Zim's bag," said the front man. Pogo carefully picked it out of his hand and examined it. He sighed, "I honestly don't know, man." Manson shook his head, "Me either." He peeked back over to where Zim was sitting by the window, seeing the black bob of hair resting against the glass.
"What the fuck is going on with him?" Manson whispered.
****
"You're a failure," A voice bellowed out.
He cried in the dark, "It's not true..." he said, "I did the best I can!" He fell to his knees and sobbed in his hands, repeating himself, "...I did the best I can."
A squeak left his lips, and he looked up into the darkness with pleading emerald eyes.
"You're pathetic," the low angry voice bellowed above him.
He looked down again, as if to agree. He was ashamed of himself. What kind of man acts this way?
"You know, you shouldn't live a life that you can't handle," said the voice.
"But," He looked up into the darkness again, "You're wrong! I can handle my life just fine!" he cried, "I am perfectly capable!"
"You keep telling yourself that. You're in denial."
"No, it's true!" He insisted to the abyss.
There was a sound emerging from behind.
"Let me do you a favor." it said.
Faster than he could turn around, it plunged through his skull, crackling the bone. Immense pain shot through him. He screamed.
***
He screamed through his sleep, and woke to Manson shaking him. "Zim! Zim! Christ, wake the fuck up!" The frightened guitarist opened his eyes and ceased his hollering, his heart jack hammering beneath his chest. He found four other wide pairs of eyes staring at him, judging him. He sat up and looked away to catch his breath.
Manson sighed, relieved, "Fucking shit, man. You were having one hell of a nightmare. You were screaming bloody murder." Zim felt his cheeks go very red, as he absentmindedly looked down to make sure there was no piss streaking down his jeans. God damn him if he were to piss his pants right there. He could never face them again.
He subconsciously thanked no god in particular, when he found dryness. He exhaled, as his hands were shaking. "Are...are you sure you're okay, Zim?" Twiggy hesitated to ask. The guitarist didn't answer.
The unbearable urge to cry fell over him, as he looked up at his band mates, feeling pitiful. His eyes filled with tears beyond his control and he hid his face in his hands. "Zim..." Manson's voice went soft and caring as he stepped forward to put his hand on his shoulder.
Before his fingertips could even meet the fabric of Zim's T-shirt, he pushed him away.
"I'm fine."
He got up and ran straight to the bathroom, where he shut the door. He stayed in there for the remainder of the ride, utterly humiliated and in tears. How could he let these feelings rule his life like this?
No one else said much after that. Manson sat there worried. What good is a band with an unstable guitarist? He twisted the mysterious pacifier in his long fingers, as he sat there, just thinking.
He knew he really wasn't fine at all.
He kept noticing Manson staring at him strangely. It made Zim nervous. Manson knew something was up, the front man was concerned.
"You feeling better today, Zim?" he asked.
Zim blinked and looked over, feeling dazed, "Huh?" he mumbled sheepishly. Manson cleared his throat. "You mentioned you weren't feeling well last night," he said, "are you feeling better today?" he repeated.
"Oh," Zim tried to make it seem as though he wasn't caught in a lie, "right, yeah, I feel better," he answered. "I guess I was just tired," he offered the singer a little smile. Manson remained skeptical as he nodded once, "Did you sleep okay?" Zim blinked, he could feel everyone's eyes on him as he pondered his answer, "Yeah," he lied.
Manson nodded again, ending the small talk. He found himself turning to Pogo with a worried look. Pogo's brow furrowed, looking confused.
"Is Zim sick?" Twiggy asked curiously. A soft hue crept up the guitarist's cheeks. "Nah, he's just tired," Manson said. Tired....right. Babies start getting fussy when they're overtired. Zim sunk into his seat and sighed as he looked out the window, trying to ignore the sick feeling of anxiety that he knew all too well, dwelling in the pit of his stomach.
Meanwhile, Manson nodded at Pogo, motioning for him to come and see him at the back of the bus. The keyboardist nodded back and went to see him. "Something's up," Manson whispered as Pogo was approaching him. They both stepped into a quiet area of the bus where no one could hear. "How do you know?" asked the blonde. Manson fumbled through his pocket in search of something. He pulled out the questionable, not-so baby pacifier that he found earlier that morning.
Pogo raised an eyebrow. "I saw this fall out of Zim's bag," said the front man. Pogo carefully picked it out of his hand and examined it. He sighed, "I honestly don't know, man." Manson shook his head, "Me either." He peeked back over to where Zim was sitting by the window, seeing the black bob of hair resting against the glass.
"What the fuck is going on with him?" Manson whispered.
****
"You're a failure," A voice bellowed out.
He cried in the dark, "It's not true..." he said, "I did the best I can!" He fell to his knees and sobbed in his hands, repeating himself, "...I did the best I can."
A squeak left his lips, and he looked up into the darkness with pleading emerald eyes.
"You're pathetic," the low angry voice bellowed above him.
He looked down again, as if to agree. He was ashamed of himself. What kind of man acts this way?
"You know, you shouldn't live a life that you can't handle," said the voice.
"But," He looked up into the darkness again, "You're wrong! I can handle my life just fine!" he cried, "I am perfectly capable!"
"You keep telling yourself that. You're in denial."
"No, it's true!" He insisted to the abyss.
There was a sound emerging from behind.
"Let me do you a favor." it said.
Faster than he could turn around, it plunged through his skull, crackling the bone. Immense pain shot through him. He screamed.
***
He screamed through his sleep, and woke to Manson shaking him. "Zim! Zim! Christ, wake the fuck up!" The frightened guitarist opened his eyes and ceased his hollering, his heart jack hammering beneath his chest. He found four other wide pairs of eyes staring at him, judging him. He sat up and looked away to catch his breath.
Manson sighed, relieved, "Fucking shit, man. You were having one hell of a nightmare. You were screaming bloody murder." Zim felt his cheeks go very red, as he absentmindedly looked down to make sure there was no piss streaking down his jeans. God damn him if he were to piss his pants right there. He could never face them again.
He subconsciously thanked no god in particular, when he found dryness. He exhaled, as his hands were shaking. "Are...are you sure you're okay, Zim?" Twiggy hesitated to ask. The guitarist didn't answer.
The unbearable urge to cry fell over him, as he looked up at his band mates, feeling pitiful. His eyes filled with tears beyond his control and he hid his face in his hands. "Zim..." Manson's voice went soft and caring as he stepped forward to put his hand on his shoulder.
Before his fingertips could even meet the fabric of Zim's T-shirt, he pushed him away.
"I'm fine."
He got up and ran straight to the bathroom, where he shut the door. He stayed in there for the remainder of the ride, utterly humiliated and in tears. How could he let these feelings rule his life like this?
No one else said much after that. Manson sat there worried. What good is a band with an unstable guitarist? He twisted the mysterious pacifier in his long fingers, as he sat there, just thinking.
He knew he really wasn't fine at all.