Identical Hazel Eyes

"We all are," Georg puts in, sitting up straighter to face you on the bed.

Silence settles over the three. You sit there looking at your jeans, afraid of what your friends have to say. You don't feel betrayed that Tom told, you expected him to do so. You feel more cornered, like a small child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar after your Mom told you not to take one before dinner.

But they cared. That's all they wanted to let you know. And that's how they started after another five minutes of this silence. Tom spoke up, saying that he didn't want you to feel like you couldn't talk to any one of them about anything on your mind, even if it would hurt either of their feelings.

You nod to this, understanding, but not fully wanting to follow through with this action. You prefer to keep things inside, expressing them through lyrics instead of coming out and putting every emotion and thought on the line for someone to come by and hack them up like meat. It wasn't very appealing to want to willingly be honest and true. Even if they were you brother friends, it was just hard and awkward to come out and say that maybe this wasn't for you, as much as you've dreamed to get here when you were younger.

Next, Tom states that Mom, Gordon, Loretta and Dunja will be told. He says they need to know so that you can get better. So that you can come to terms with whatever drove you to your decision.

You sigh, dreading this part. You wanted to keep this a secret. Butterflies dance among your insides at the thought of each of their reactions. You already know Mom and Gordon's concerned ones. But Loretta's is harder to decipher She'll probably sigh angrily and bombard you with countless questions of why. Then she'll feel bad and comfort you, telling you that she's here for you and that she'll do anything she can to help you get better.

But that's something you don't understand. You weren't sick, like everyone's been treating this as. You were depressed and suicidal, not contagious. All you wanted was to be happy, but the world just can't seem to let that happen. The world just wants you to suffer through this confusing life.

"Why?" Tom bluntly spits out. "You have everything, Bill. Why throw it all away?"

You know that. You know you have everything that anyone could ever wish for -- money, girl willing to do anything for you, great friends, fame -- but you don't have what you want the most. All you want is a normal life. Sure, you want to be the rock star, but you also want to be the normal teenager who can go to school and have friends who want to know you for you, not because you're famous. You want to have the bond you and Tom used to have, before all this stardom. Before all the girls began throwing themselves at him.

But that's not the only reason. you dread going back to school in a week. You dread having to deal with everyone who either wants to associate with you because you are Bill Kaulitz, or hate you with every fiber in his or her being because you are Bill Kaulitz. You don't want to be "Bill Kaulitz" anymore. You don't want to have to feel belittled and pushed around by the verbal, and maybe even physical, abuse thrown at you daily by the kids who just don't understand.

Tom doesn't understand this fully. He's more popular and accepted around school. Sure, he hangs out with you, but he has friends to fall back on, loyal ones. You; not so much. Even Georg and Gustav have trustworthy friends they could hang out with. It's kind of like you're the social reject of the group, or something.

You think of how to respond. "It's like... I'm so alone." You don't know how to explain this, hoping they would understand anyways.

You can't look at them, afraid of what their reaction is. Instead, you examine the way the dye in your jeans has faded with wear. The way the dye branches like ink on paper. You trace one of the lines with your painted nail, wondering what its story is. You hope it's not as sad as your own. That it lived a life of smiles and happiness. None of this fake bullshit that surrounds you.

"I'm not happy."

Moving onto the next line, you wonder what life it had. If it had kids along the way with the person of it's dreams or if it held a solo life, a career based one. You think the latter as no spider webs branch off it. It's sad to think that a life can be created out of love, but one day that life may die without carrying on that love. You decide just then that you'd find a way to have children, to find someone who doesn't like you for your fame or status, to carry on your name. You know Tom wouldn't settle down; he doesn't roll that way.

"I'm afraid."

The next line is small. It's thin and ends so suddenly. You frown at the spidery line. This could have been you. A young life lost to the reality of growing up. A soul that didn't want to lose the innocence it held for so long to gain experience. You don't want to be this line, but all the same, you do. You don't want to grow up and branch out. You want to stay an innocent child forever, not knowing how cruel people and feeling can be. But you want to mature, become a better musician than you are now,. You want to be able to control this roller coaster and the only way to do so is to grow into responsibility and take the reins.

"I'm losing control."

Explaining and answering their questions takes a good couple of hours. They're now able to comprehend your state of mind and what drove you here. Tom calls Loretta, letting her grasp this. You feel increasingly childish as you wait for punishment of some kind. Some sort of sign that you are in trouble beyond the disappointment, but none comes. Lorette advises you to sit down and talk all this out with a professional. She's even willing to set something up, anything for you to understand that there is better things in the world than to focus on the bad.

Naturally, Mom is told. She's not angry like you expected. She tells you she understands, that she's even been in that position once in her life. The phone call that started with your stomach turning in worry, ends with you in tears, a smile on your face as you begin to understand yourself.

"We'll talk more, Hon, when you get home."

You nod, feeling foolish for even thinking about killing yourself. "Okay, Mum."

Although Mom wasn't the professional Loretta was talking about, she helps none the less. Despite her career as a therapist, she's easier to talk to than some stranger.

"I'm sorry," you apologize for the thousandth time this phone call for the mistake and putting everyone through this.

"No need," Mom calms. "It's understandable. You're confused."

After you hang up and dry your tears, Tom comes out of the bathroom, inching his way to you on the bed. He sits across from you, attempting to cross his legs despite his baggy jeans. You crack a smile at his frustrated sigh. He gives up, smiling back and right then everything seems all right.

"I'm sorry, Bill," Tom confesses, changing the mood quickly.

You stay silent, listening to each of your breathing and the buzz of the light.

"I didn't realize that I wasn't even paying attention to you," he adds to his confession, playing with a loose string from his purple shirt. "I just... I got so caught up with... everything, y'know?"

You nod, knowing the feeling he's talking about as you have experienced this. "I know, but it's like you don't want to be around me... ever. You act like you don't want to be my brother."

Tom is suddenly pulling you into a tight hug. You wrap your arms around his back, joy filling you at the comfort that you haven't experienced in a long time from Tom.

"I would never not want to be your brother, Bill. You should know that."

You fall asleep that night relieved. It's out; you don't have to hide anymore. There are no more secrets to keep lying about.

The next morning you wake on your own. Your eyes ache with sleep and a yawn escapes your waking body. You want to lie here all day, wrapped in a warm cocoon, but the ringing of your cell phone brings you out of your lazy state enough to get up the energy to answer.

"Hallo?"

"Hey, Sweetie," Mom greets in such a way that reminds you of being back home.

"Good morning, Mum." A yawn breaks through your response.

"Morning?" she questions, her voice full of confusion. "It's almost... three there."

"But I just woke up," you whine, wondering where most of the day has gone to.

You slowly drag yourself out of bed, the covers flying off onto the floor as you hold the cell to your ear. You fall to your knee's as you realize yo only have three hours until the show tonight, if she's right. Only three hours to get showered, dressed, styled, do an interview of two and do sound check.

"Are you feeling better today, Dear?" she asks in that motherly tone.

Digging through your clothes, you set your mind to wearing your black velvet jeans with the double sippers and your red The Icon shirt. You think about the question as you do so. "Um," you stall. "Kind of. I feel better that it's off my chest."

"Good, good. Well, call me back when you have the time, okay Honey? I don't have to see any patients for the rest of the day."

You hang up to continue your morning routine, wondering why no one has called you to wake you earlier. After pulling your clothes on, you brush your teeth with your cell pressed to your ear, waiting for him to pick up.

"Hallo?" Tom answers, his voice gravely with sleep.

"Why didn't anyone wake me up?" you fret, holding your toothbrush loosely as your hand comes up in frustration.

"What time is it?" he asks, a loud yawn coming through the phone. You hear the rustling of sheets and that cracking of bones.

"Um..." you leave the bathroom quickly, looking for the clock you know has to be around here somewhere. Finding it, you let out a relieved sigh. Mom was wrong. "It's only noon. I thought it was like, four now because Mom said it was later when she called. Did you just wake up?"

"N-no," his lie is broken by a loud yawn. "Good thing we didn't have press today, huh?"

You let out a sigh of relief at his laugh. A bunch of stress fell off your shoulders at not having any interviews to do, but a load more was added when the thought of Georg and Gustav not being awake came to mind.

You hold the phone to your shoulder as you finished brushing your teeth before leaving the bathroom. Unzipping your suitcase, you quickly spotted your make up bag and pulled it out. You stood and rushed back to the bathroom, the phone almost dropping into the sink as you open the bag.

"Tom?" you wait for some sort of response before continuing on with the question forming on your tongue. "Are Georg and Gustav up?"

"You know Gustav is," Tom replies, another yawn breaking the conversation. "Georg, I don't know."

You hang up after telling Tom you had to get ready. You back out of the bathroom and toss your phone across the room, successfully getting it onto the bed. You hurry back to the mirror, picking up your eyeliner pencil from the heap on the light marble counter. You uncap it and lean closer to the mirror, pulling on the skin with your left hand while bringing the black liner to your lower eyelid.

You think about how normal Tom was on the phone with you. He wasn't as tense as he was last night, but you could hear the awkward tone he used at the beginning of the phone call, but it was underlying. So much so, that you almost didn't catch it.

Pulling away from the mirror, you look at yourself, satisfied with he work done on the first eye, you move onto the next. You back away again, examining yourself from a distance before leaning in again. You make the lines thicker, adding gray shadow to your eyelids Satisfied with the look it gives, you place the make up with the others and begin styling your hair.

Brushing it out, making sure it lies flat on your head, you back comb the short top layer. It creates a slight poof that you douse in hairspray. The whole process, shower and all, takes about forty-five minutes.

"Almost done, Bill?" Tom's voice startles you, forcing you to be satisfied with your look.

Your eyes shirt to his reflection in the mirror. He's leaning against the bathroom door frame, watching you move with a few strands about. Your lips turn up as your eyes shift back to your own image.

"Just about."

He stands around to watch as you finish fixing your hair and push the strewn about make up and hair products away from the sink. Turning to him, you put another smirk on and brush past him, your mood lifting at his own smile.

"I've got to get my phone," you tell him, snatching up the device from he bed. You stuff it in your pocket and grab the strap of your black and while bag and matching hoodie from the desk chair. "Ready," you announce as you hurry across the room.

"Good," Tom sighs. "Gustav was betting that it'd take you at least another twenty minutes. You beat Georg, though."

You laugh as you watch him bring his arm up to read the watch on his left wrist. It was an ongoing joke, which spent more time on their appearance. Of course, most of the time, you won as your tried to look your best for all the flashing bulbs on the street.

Exiting the room, you both make your way up to Georg's room once again, chatting about today's plans. Tom informs you that everyone would be brought back to the hotel that night.

"What? Why?" you question.

Tom shrugs, unsure himself. "I think we get another night. We'll be leaving tomorrow morning for Northampton."

"Oh," you shrug off the weird schedule. "It mustn't take that long to get there, then."

"Dunja said about two hours, or something."

Dunja was the bands assistant and manager. She made sure you all were to appointments and shows on time. She took a load of stress on herself to make sure everything went smoothly during the tours. She was like the mother, along with Loretta, on tour.

An hour and a half later, the four of you were downstairs in the lobby, waiting for the car to come around the block that'd take you to the venue. Dunja and Loretta were talking avidly into their cell phones. They were continuously planning.

"Bill?" Georg call.

"Huh?" You turn your head to him, playing with the strap your bag slung over your shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yeah," you nod. "I was just thinking about the show tonight. It'll be good to perform again."

"It seems like it's been weeks, not days, huh?" Georg nods.

"Yeah. Too long, that much is true..."