The Next Chappy...
Alright sweethearts, here's the next chapter...i hope you all like it! :)
Emily
Title: Midnight Tears
Author: me! wee!
Rating: PG right now...will turn NC-17
Warnings: major angst, major language...yanno...all that jazz...this is an mpreg peeps...
Disclaimer: I know/own nobody...unfortunately...
Summary: Why is Ville all of the sudden pushing Bam away? What's he got to hide? And how will the skater deal with it?
A/N: i am sooooo tired...i hope all of you like this chapter...Bam's pov once again...
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
CHAPTER 3
Being in Europe brightened my spirits slightly no matter how much I tried to deny it. The people here were just too much fun sometimes, especially here in Germany. They just knew how to laugh and have a good time, to brush off that which was bothering them and instead focus on better things. Like beer.
Oh my God, did I say beer? No, I don’t think I said it.
BEER!!
The week I spent in Munich, Germany, I was almost constantly drunk. The beer was just too damn delicious. It was like drinking gold if that were at all possible. Besides, it wasn’t like Germany had random skate parks in every city like America did. What else was there to do beside get drunk? Nothing according to the natives, bless them.
While I was there, the guys and I met up with The 69 Eyes. Apparently they were playing a gig at my skate competition. I hadn’t known how much I’d missed Jussi and the guys until, at the end of my third night of partying with them, I found myself laughing my drunken ass off hysterically. I hadn’t laughed like that in months. It felt good. The last time I had, I’d been with him, with Ville. And so, it was in the hours that I was left to my own, I found myself weeping as if it were the morning after sex and I’d woken up to an empty bed. I tried to hide the fact but I could still clearly see the looks of worry that were exchanged between my friends. God did I hate that look. Smile for chrisake! You’re alive! You’re not me!
Finally though, the day of the competition came. And, no matter how not fun it was, I didn’t drink the entire day before. Being drunk might have been heaven, but skating was a little more important to me and I had to be at my best. As everyone made their way into the arena, 69 Eyes departed, promising to meet up with us again after the competition. I was a little sad to see them walk away when they did, but the fact that Dunn and the crew were still taunting DiCo about actually getting on a plane and leaving the township of West Chester for the first time in years made me smile and laugh.
No matter how much my friends got on my last nerve, especially these days, I couldn’t have loved them more.
I warmed up with about ten other guys for an hour before the competition actually started. For the next two hours, I watched my competitors intently, watching how they perfected classic moves with ease and executed unique tricks with unbelievable skill. I hadn’t been at a live skate competition in forever it seemed. The excitement and thrill of it all got under my skin, made me hoot and holler in praise of the fantastic talent being performed before me, made me jump up and down at times in enthusiasm. It all seemed so new, so awesome, and I loved it completely.
As the name of the skater before me was announced, I took my cue and made my way up to the top of a ramp to await my turn patiently. I stood there, tapping my fingers on my board in anticipation, my foot unconsciously bouncing to the beat of a band which played on a nearby stage. As my competitor finished his run, the sound of my name being announced on the loud speaker sent a shiver down my spine. The sound of the cheering crowd, though, a sound I hadn’t heard in so long, made my breath catch. I felt a hand squeeze my shoulder softly and I turned around to face Ryan. I smiled at him and winked, my heart slightly jumping at the brightness that covered his features. Turning away, I dropped down the half pipe and began my run.
Everything had been going perfectly. My tricks were being carried out better than I’d planned and the crowd was responding to them fabulously. It was only when, when my run was very nearly over, I heard it that everything turned to complete shit. It being the familiar sound of familiar instruments playing an all too familiar song. When the first riffs of "Behind the Crimson Door" echoed through the stadium, I nearly lost my balance and busted my head mid trick. I could hardly think strait, could hardly breath properly. It wasn’t as if it was the song itself, God knew I forced myself to play HIM on my stereo daily to avoid suspicion, it was the fact that I wasn’t at home with my stereo and I knew I shouldn’t be hearing that song at this place at this point in time. The sound of that song meant only one of two things: that someone had covered "Behind the Crimson Door" perfectly…or HIM was actually playing it. The former was highly unlikely, and I just couldn’t fucking think strait.
Just when I thought I’d composed myself to a descent level, his voice sounded throughout the arena. That voice that I’d been haunted by for months, that voice that I hadn’t heard once save via CD, that voice that I missed so fucking bad it hurt; I heard it. If I thought I couldn’t think strait before, I’d been utterly mistaken. I’d been completely coherent compared to what I felt now.
And what I felt now was pain. I suddenly found myself sprawled out flat on my stomach.
For fuck’s sake, I couldn’t even control myself on my board.
I felt my hands shaking, but not from injury or pain. He was here. He was in this arena. He was HERE! I could feel the familiar burn behind my eyes of tears threatening to burst forth. I could hear a few people screaming (they’d obviously never seen a skateboarder take a spill before), I could hear the majority of the crowd gasping in shock probably because I hadn’t yet gotten up, I could hear my friends calling out my name frantically in worry. But mostly, I could hear his voice still singing. I closed my eyes, fighting the tears as hard as I could.
Eventually, I felt hands prodding me and voices screaming in my ear. I opened my eyes but didn’t look anyone in the face, just leaned on them for support. My body really was aching from the spill, my shoulder throbbing worst. And, I really couldn’t stand on my own considering my emotional state. It was only when we got away from the crowds, away from the prodding press and cameras, that I fell onto the nearest body and burst into tears. After a good ten minutes of weeping, my sobs died away and my mind became faintly coherent once more. I became coherent enough to feel the rough texture of a beard against my forehead.
It was Dunn holding me, Ryan comforting me. He truly was my best friend.
"I’m sorry, Bam. I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were here." He kept saying to me.
I shook my head softly, the tears continuing to fall. "I need to talk to him. I just need to talk to him." I managed to get out between gasps of air.
"They’re in the middle of a show and - "
"I just wanna talk to him for five seconds, Ryan." I said, raising my voice slightly in desperation.
"Bam, you just had a bad spill. You need to be checked for injury before you go anywhere."
"No!" I nearly screamed, sitting up and looking him in the eye. "I need to see him! I just wanna fucking talk to him for five fucking seconds! I just wanna know why…" I trailed off.
Dunn stared at me, pity clouding his eyes deeply.
"Bam - "
"I’m getting to him whether you help me or not, Ryan." I said firmly, my tears finally ceasing."
And I wasn’t lying. I was going to kill every person who got between me and Ville Valo if I had to. Like I told Dunn, I just needed to know why…