FicWad

Ray
We were getting "important." At this point in time, we probably could have afforded getting two buses. But...we're lazy. Always have been, always will be. So the prospect of dealing with the now-unnecessary clutter was deemed preferable to moving The Warring States into their own bus. And let's just say I could go on living in the same quarters as Danielle for a long time.

Our converging tours were initially slated to end in a few weeks' time. But now that we were gaining more and more publicity, our dates kept piling up.

Things were changing.

Everything was changing.

Gerard was sober now. Apparently, he went off everything cold-turkey for some girl, I don't know.

We had some money now. We were playing in stadiums, not basements. We were getting roadies. Nice kids who just wanted to hang around us.

They were meeting us today.

We were standing outside the bus when they filed up, one by one, most young with tattoos and piercings, beaming and shifting foot-to-foot nervously.

One was different.

Upon his arrival, Isaac, usually so reserved, yelled out, "Rick, dude! It's been like seventy years, how are you?"

Rick was older than the rest by a few years. According to Marshall, he was a genius with the equipment, knew how to wire anything, could rig any instrument to sing. He was kind of skinny, wiry, all muscle. He could go up to people he barely knew and pound their fists facetiously. Everything he said dripped with sarcasm. Motherfucking hipster.

Danielle hugged him when she saw him. His arms went comfortably around her waist. She laughed in his ear, like they'd been friends for years.

Every single part of me quivered with jealousy. And it was only worse from then on.

"We have a break coming up," I heard her say. "You'll have to come with us."

And I'll have to be drunk, I silently vowed.
*
Mikey

We'd just finished our original tour; our new one, complete with new packhorses, was to start in a few weeks. We'd gone home for a few days, done the ritual parent check-in. Then guess where we went.

I'd missed Amy. The last time I saw her was the party at Danielle's rented house some six months before. For a while afterward we maintained a pretty regular correspondence through phone calls and e-mail. Each time we spoke I learned more about her--like how her mom got pregnant when she was sixteen, how she was raised by her grandmother until she died of breast cancer, how she had to give up any hope of college years ago. She sent me stories. In one story a girl couldn't move without breaking a bone and had to be confined, sitting still in a bed, till the very movement of her lungs with breathing caused her ribs to split. In another, a blackened garden was resurrected after a woman bled on it. In the latest, a goddess was kept locked in a room with a fountain and had to keep magicking the water into new people, planets, universes to entertain herself. I knew that she had enough imagination to put Hemingway to shame.

I knew that she had never had a boyfriend. I knew that she was a virgin, and that she was ashamed of it.

I knew her a lot better than Gerard did, that's for sure.

Yet he was the one making the grand romantic gesture. He was the one publicly obsessing over her. He was the one who...

Would probably get her.

I knew this. To a degree, I had always known it. When it comes to Gerard and me, one of us has always been better at getting girls to like us. Two guesses who.

So I had to make a decision. Get hurt now, or even worse later. It was easier, overall, to separate myself from her now, than to suffer doubly when she finally got with him.

I know I had probably hurt her. Well, it goes both ways.

Regardless, we went to Atlanta. Gerard was practically brimming with anxiety while we were waiting for her in a parking lot. "What do you think, Mikey?"

"About?"

"Amy. Do you think she'll come with us?"

"I don't know, Gerard. Maybe."

He sighed. "Probably not. She's always pissy with me on the phone."

"Well, if you don't like that, then maybe you shouldn't..."

"Oh, I like it. Every time she snaps at me, I like her more. It's not healthy, man. I need her around me."

Have I ever mentioned that giving relationship advice to your brother about the girl you like really sucks? Well, it does. "Ever tried telling her that?"

"Sort of. She didn't take it well."

"She doesn't seem to take anything you say well. You know, maybe you should take that as a sign that..."

He slapped me lightly across the chest. "Hey, shut up, she's here," he said as her car pulled into the lot.

Amy exited her car looking stiff. She averted her eyes until we were right next to each other. "Hey," she began awkwardly.

Gerard cleared his throat. "Hi. How are you?" He stepped forward and slowly pulled her in for a hug. Her body language loosened slightly.

"Pretty good." They separated, pulling back simultaneously. "Mikey!" Before I knew it she was wrapping me in her arms; the searing heat of her body sliced into me until my blood squirmed and screamed for me to detach.

"Are you guys okay with having dinner at my place? I thought I'd attempt to cook for you." I nodded. It took a while for me to speak. I was preoccupied with observing. Gerard was transparent in his nerves and anticipation. Amy was tenser, every muscle in her body aching for...something.

I watched. And I listened. I kept listening.

It wasn't till later that night that I heard something worth listening for.

We had dinner. It was unremarkable. Let's just say that being a domestic housewife is not in the cards for Amy. She had put out sleeping bags for us in the living room. I was nearly slipping off to sleep when I heard Gerard getting out of his bag and tiptoeing out of the room. I followed. (So I'm stalker. Like you're perfect?)

Flattened against the wall outside the kitchen, I could hear voices. Two. His and hers.

"I didn't think you were awake still," Amy's shaky voice said.

"I knew you were," Gerard's voice came out confidently. "I heard you in here."

She sighed heavily, but Gerard spoke next. "Why are you so nervous?" There was the sound of shifting feet, then she drew in her breath shakily.

"Please don't touch me," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because...Just because, okay? I don't need to explain myself to you."

"How come you stop being nervous when you get pissed off at me?"

"Maybe because I have a lot of practice in that regard."

"Tch. Touche."

There was moment of silence before Amy spoke again. "I don't want you to think that I'm not happy to see you. I am."

"Not as happy as I am to see you," he argued.

"Fine. Whatever. You win." Her voice was irritated again.

All they fucking do is argue. "Listen," I heard him say, his voice softer. "I want to be with you. I don't know how to make that clearer."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"If I say no, will you start drinking again?"

"I--maybe. Maybe, I don't know. I hope not." He paused. "I don't want you to say yes because you feel obligated. I don't want you to 'save me.' I'm not that guy."

"So prove it."

"How? Am I supposed to spend the next year sober, to prove to you that I don't need you?"

She didn't say anything.

"Well, I'm not ready to say that or do that. Maybe I do need you."

"Which just proves my fucking point, all over again. Just--Just get away from me."

Her feet started banging on the tile; I realized, with a jump in my heart, that she was coming my way. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. This would look bad.

"Wait, wait. Stop. That's not what I meant."

"Don't you get that I don't want to be your excuse for self-improvement? I'm not a fucking supplement, Gerard."

Silence. Then, then a rushing sound of movement, and the sound of lip breaking from lip. He had kissed her. Their breathing was coming out hard and fast. "I don't want you to be," he exhaled heavily.

"So then, what am I to you?"

"A lot of things." They kissed again. "I didn't mean, that I need you to be sober. I like being sober. It makes things realer. I feel things...deeper." And again. Why am I doing this to myself?

She spoke after they broke apart. "I can tell. But what did you mean?"

"I meant...that I'm happier getting screamed at by you than I could ever be by being worshiped by anyone else. So I can't even imagine what it would feel like to have you happy with me. Maybe something like this..." Again.

I could hear her pull away. "Please stop."

"Why? Doesn't it feel good?"

"It does. That's the problem." She sucked in her breath. "I can't be with you."

"Yes, you can. You can do whatever you want."

"You don't understand. We'll, we'll both be trapped. I'll feel inadequate, and I'll punish you. I'll punish us both. I'll restrict you, and I'll restrict myself. We won't be who we are now."

"I don't like who I am without you."

They kissed again. Goddamnit, I wish I'd stayed in bed. "And I can help you. I don't want it to go one-way. I can show you how wonderful you are. Just give me a chance, please."

"H-How?" she stuttered out.

He was quiet a moment, then said, "Tomorrow night, everyone's going to a club, I think. You can come with us, no strings. It will give you a taste of life on tour. Just see if you can stand it, then make a decision."

"Could I bring a friend with me tomorrow?"

"Of course. Just please try."

"Okay. Okay."

"I want to kiss your ears," he whispered out.

She groaned a little. "Uh. Um, I--"

"I want to have sex with you."

"No, not tonight."

"Mmm." He was kissing...something, I don't know. "When?"

"I'm a virgin," she blurted out.

He was quiet again. "I thought you might be. It's okay."

"I mean, it's weird, I've had opportunities, I just..."

"Shh, it's fine. It's fine. I'll go back to the living room."

I could see him coming out of the corner of my eye. I should have been sprinting back to the other room, but I was frozen. I could see her walk behind him, then stop him by grabbing his hands. He turned around and cupped her face as she said, "I'm glad you're here. Really."

For a final time, they kissed. "Me, too. Tomorrow night, we'll see, right?"

She nodded quickly. I took it as my cue to run back to my blankets.

Pain. It's a word. Four letters. But it's not shaped at all like the idea. The idea is blotchy. Like ink blots, resembling formless bats that swoop down and peck away at all you are. That's what I was thinking when I heard Gerard whistling happily as he slipped back into his sleeping bag. Pain. It doesn't even begin to describe this.