Midnight Tears - The Beginning of the End
ahoyhoy me plushies, have i made you all suffer long enough? *dodges sharp objects* ok, so, my week has been a little more filled up than i originally thought, but i promise all of you Midnight Tears will be finished before the week's end...no, i swear it will be...it is a goal i am determined to achieve if not for personal reasons then for all of you!! :D anyway, this portion wasn't as long as i originally wanted it to be, but i think it works...you tell me...like the title says *points up*, this is the beginning of the end...dundunDUH!! alright, i'll shut up now...
links to previous chappies in the cut...if it works...*crosses fingers*
much love my plushies...<3<3<3<3
Emily
Chapters 1-11 >>>>>>> http://community.livejournal.com/__vam/1368717.html
Chapter 12 >>>>>>>>>> http://community.livejournal.com/__vam/1391741.html
Chapter 13 >>>>>>>>>> http://community.livejournal.com/__vam/1432485.html
now on with the story...hope you all like...
(Ville's POV)
I don't believe there is a word in any known language for the pain and agony that I feel right now. The sting of his grip still remains on my arm, the bruise already forming and swollen. But his words...Jesus, his words were like boiling oil. His words were like being skinned alive. His words were worse than anything I've ever experienced before in my life. I'm sitting in this car shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I know that I'm crying; I can feel the wetness rolling down my cheeks and the burning in my eyes. The car isn't moving; I couldn't handle driving and I can't control myself let alone a speeding car, so here it sits in a ditch. What road am I on? How far away have I gotten? Not far enough, I know that much.
It's so fucking dark. All around me, inside me; everywhere, pitch black. It's dead silent, the only thing I can hear the howling wind blasting against the car. And yet, it is more chaotic than any moment I've ever felt. I can hardly breath, and all I can think about, all can hear, are the hateful, drunken screams of him; the hateful, drunken screams of...Bam. They consume all I know, that voice...that voice. God, have I ever felt so numb in my life? I felt more alive months ago when I was still with my band, when I was being manipulated and tormented by my best friend. At least then, I was kept alive by the passion of fury and hatred. But now...I can't feel anything. I can't feel anything...
No, I can feel one thing...one tiny yet utterly significant thing. I can feel the baby kick. It feels like someone's punching me from the inside out. My arms wrap around my stomach, clutching for dear life to the one good thing in existance. If it weren't for this baby, I swear on all that is good that I would have smashed this car directly into a tree, 80mph easy. If it weren't for this baby...this baby created by the man that I loved. Loved. One letter changes everything in the world. One fucking letter that means so much. One fucking letter...and a world of hurt... If it weren't for this baby, that letter would be replaced by a whole fucking word: death.
My head suddenly snaps up at the sound of someone knocking on my window. It's a man I've never seen before, and he looks genuinely worried as he tries to talk to me through the glass. After a moment, I press the little button that rolls my window down, tears still streaming down my cheeks.
"Hey, are you alright?" He asks me immediately.
I don't answer. No...I'm not alright...I'll never be alright...
"Were you in an accident? Did you're car break down?" He presses worriedly. "Tell me what's wrong buddy. I'll help you."
One thing at a time, Ville, one thing at a time. No, it wasn't a car accident...it was just the accident of a lifetime. No, the car didn't break down, but I am breaking down if you couldn't tell. What's wrong you ask, kind stranger? Well, my entire world just went up in a blaze of flames and I feel like I'm already dead. You can't really help me with that now can you? If you could, you'd be my god. But you're not. You're just a kind stranger that cares too much for nothing.
He just looked at me as I remain silent. And I looked as well, for I couldn't bear to take my eyes off such blind kindness.
After a few silent moments though, he spoke again.
"Come on. You don't look suited to drive. Want me to take you home?"
I shook my head frantically, tears falling harder at the thought of going back to Castle Bam.
"Ok ok, where is it you wanna go then?"
To hell...where I belonged...
The stranger sighed, both frustration and sadness heard in the deep breath. "Alright, I'll just take you into town. I'm headed that way anyway. Come on."
He opened the door, offering his hand, intent on helping me out of the car. But when he got a good look at me, at my middle, he simply stared for a moment. I clutched my stomach a bit tighter, resting my head on the stearing wheel as I grimaced, the pain causing the tears to fall ever more freely. I really was a freak, a knocked up bitch who nobody really wanted to care about. Nobody; not a stranger, not a friend, not...Bam. Good lord, I wanted to die...
"Hey man, you shouldn't be driving in the first place if you're pregnant." The stranger said after a moment.
I turned my head a little, opening my eyes just the tiniest bit so that I could see him. He looked honestly worried now, no hint of malice or disgust evident in his expression or stance. I couldn't help but stare into his genuinely caring brown eyes. No, he could't be that good. Nobody was that good. Nobody. The world was a mess of greedy, selfish people who stepped on and used those who were vulnerable and weaker than them. That was all. But the man's hand was still in the air, waiting for me to take it.
And why did I do so? Why did I let him lead me to his car where he could very well kidnap me and have his way with me? Why did I let him drive away with me? Well...because I am weak. Because I could hardly breath right or see strait. Because he was just so damn concerned. Because...that fucking car smelled like pain and despair...it smelled like Bam...I think I'd taken off in his goddamn lambo...
I don't really hear the man talking to me or see the darkened scenery flying past me outside the window. I don't really want to comprehend anything right now. Everything reminds me of him; the trees I see, the car I'm in, all the landmarks that we pass...I see him in everything. And I don't want to, because it hurts so fucking much. I close my eyes, and he's there. I try to block everything out, and still I hear his stabbing words. I can't get away from him. I was driving his car, and I can feel him on me, on my hands and back and legs, and it burns. It burns worse than anything I can imagine. I just want to rip of skin off my body. I want to tear my eyes out of my head. I want to rip my ears off. But I know none of this will keep him out of my mind, out of my... I do the only thing I can do: I weep, worried no more about having to drive a vehicle myself.
At what point I don't know we entered the city. It felt like we'd been driving for five seconds. But here we were in the city. More than ever, I was surrounded by him. And I couldn't stand it. Everywhere I looked, I saw his face, his fleeting form, heard his laugh. The stranger said he needed to stop somwhere and then he would take me to his house. No. No. No. As soon as he left the car, disappearing inside of a building, I exited the vehicle myself, walking as fast as I could with my heavy load. I think I made it a good few blocks away, turning this corner and that, and I didn't see the man's car anywhere as I began a slower pace, my asthma threatening me. But I didn't go too much slower. I'm alone, and I'm pregnant, and I'm more vulnerable than I've ever been in my entire life, both physically and emotionally.
I look around myself at one point. The buildings are falling apart and practically decrepit. There is graffiti everywhere. The street signs are worn down and bent. The streets themselves are cracked and in disrepair. In the dark of the night, the only things lighting my way are the dim yellow lights of a few lamps in passing windows and the neon of liquor store and gas station signs.
I was in the ghetto. Or, what I thought was the American version of a ghetto. It was a purgatory of sorts, infinitely better than many of the European ghettos I'd seen in the past, infinitely less cared for than the high class city that could be found a mere, what was it, five blocks away? But, very much like the European ghettos on the other side of the world, the feelings of threat and fear and hostility still hung heavy in the air. Bam was afraid of the ghetto like no other person I'd met. Of course, he'd gone to a 'ghetto' with Dunn and his film crew for an episode of Viva la Bam to get Compton Ass Terry, but that was hardly a ghetto, and he'd had a number of people with him. He'd never go by himself let alone willingly into an area as poor or needy as the one I was in now.
I was slightly comforted by this thought, but then again, I was not. I'd stopped crying moments ago, too engulfed by my surroundings. But thoughts of him still tugged sharply at the tears in my eyes so that I swiped at them absently, trying my damnedest not to break down where I was. Also, those feelings of hostility and threat in the air enveloped me. I hugged myself as if cold, and really it was chilly, but I couldn't care less about that. All I really care about, if anything, is getting out of the open dark. It was too much like the dark abyss that was filling me up from the inside out. I speed up my pace slightly, eyeing a bar in the distance.
As I stumble through the door, there is a slight pause to everything in the pub. Not all but quite a few eyes instantly fly at me. Some of them are uncaring yet curious, others are judgemental, disgust and hate spewing from them. Still, some did not look at all, completely preoccupied with either their own problems or the naked women and girls dancing before them. This place absolutely reaked of cheap liquor and cheap sex. Had I been in any other state of being, I would have been completely disgusted by this. But I was completely overwhelmed by the agony of the nights events and only slightly grimaced at the sour stench of the establishment. The air was thick with smoke, the poor ventelation causing the poisonous fumes to build up until they resembled fog. It causes the dim neon lights of the bar to have a sickly haze about them. It adds to the heavy debauchery of the pub.
But I ignore all of it, or try to. As I walk over to the bar, I feel eyes fall from me, but then again, a few do not leave me. In the back of my mind, it makes me uncomfortable. They are staring at my long, dark hair, at my smudged and runny eyeliner, at my pregnant belly. They are judging me. They are wondering where the fuck I came from, why the fuck I was here, how much they'd get in trouble if they did anything to me, a pregnant man. Again, I was only slightly fazed by these thoughts. Reasonably, I should be terrified of these men, but I'm not.
I take a seat at the bar, and despite my obvious pregnancy, the barkeep approaches me, asking if I want anything. I shake my head. He shrugs his shoulders and continues on to other customers who are actually paying him. The music of the bar makes my bones tremble with each heavy thump. And I wonder, can the baby feel these vibrations? Can the baby hear the music? Surely, if the child can hear this music than it would have heard the hellacious fight that had just taken place earlier this night. I wonder how much I've fucked up my child, and it hasn't even left my body yet. Already I'm messing up my child's life. God how I want to die. I wonder how I'm going to raise this child by myself. I wonder how I'm going to do anything by myself. I am totally alone. I have no band, I have no friends, I have no lover... Utterly, completely, entirely alone...
I wrap my arms around my shoulders, my body suddenly trembling. I rest my arms on the bar before me, sinking down until my head is upon my arms. And I'm crying again. I'm weeping in desperation, in utter agony, in utter despair. I don't give a bloody hell if people see me like this. This entire establishment is a gathering place for desperate lingering miskakes such as I. It is hell. And no matter how much this place would otherwise disgust me, I know I belong in the neon darkness inside these walls.
For how long I cried, I have no idea. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but after what seems like forever I can feel myself calming down slowly. It isn't because I'm no longer in pain. It's because I've exhausted myself, because I don't have any tears left to shed. My tear ducts are dry, even as my heart bleeds freely.
I feel someone's hand on my back but I don't move. If someone's trying to comfort me, they won't succeed.
"Hey, it'll be alright." A voice says from behind me.
Fucking drunkard. It might seem like they are trying to be concerned, but really they're just too fucked up to notice anything but a vulnerable piece of ass.
They continue to talk, and I feel them start to rub my back in a soothing manner though it does nothing but make me uncomfortable.
"You wanna drink? It's on me, babe."
I cringe at the last choice of words. Babe. I instantly sit up shaking my head firmly, wiping at my tear smeared face as I catch my breath. I don't want to look at him, to give into his games. But he's persistant.
"Are you sure? It'll make you feel better, I promise. I'll take care of you."
"No!" I practically shout in frustration.
Again, there is a momentary pause throughout the bar at my outburst, but it soon returns to normal.
"Fine, fine. I was just trying to be nice! Jesus fucking christ!" The man yells as he stalks away.
A sharp moment of deja vu overcomes me. I did this night for you, you know! Because you just won't get along with anyone! You're such a bitch! The pain throughout me increases significantly. I'd been wrong earlier. I felt the burning prick of tears in my eyes instantly as the memory pounds through me. I feel as if I can't breathe, can't think...No, I still feel a hand on my back...what the fuck?
I look over my shoulder, slowly, cautiously. And when I see who it is I am tempted to be terrified, to run screaming. I should be. I have no idea how he got here or how he found me. He could kill me any second. But he doesn't. He simply looks at me with blue eyes, a different blue, full of pity and concern, and something else... I sense no threat from him. I sense no malice. I sense no hostility or hate. There is nothing to be afraid of... And so I do not run screaming. I am not terrified. I simply stare at him...at the brother I had lost so long ago that seems to have returned to me.
Mige rubs my back once again, but I feel myself stiffen. I can't get the memory of him trying to kill me out of my mind. He senses my nervousness and removes his hand. Our eyes are locked as he takes a seat on the stool next to me. But after a moment, the barkeep once again approaches. Mige orders a double shot of vodka. He gets it, and my eyes never leave him, even as he simply stares down at his hands, at his vodka. Neither of us say anything for the longest time.
"It was Bam?" He asks me finally, his voice gentle yet loud enough to be heard over the blaring music of the bar.
I didn't say anything.
How could I tell him he was right? All those times almost four months ago when he'd told me I was too fucked up to know how much Bam would hurt me, I hadn't listened. When he'd told me how much Bam was going to use me and abuse me and that I was too much of a fuck up to care, I hadn't listened. I hadn't listened to the harsh truth, and now I had it. It pained me to think of how stupid I'd been, how fucked up I really was. It pained me to think that Mige might have really been trying to help me avoid this unbelievable pain that I was feeling now.
"What did he do?" He continued after a few moments.
And what was I supposed to tell him? That he'd screamed at me? That he physically abused me? That he threw me out of his house? That he shattered my heart into a million little pieces? No. I couldn't tell him that.
"Did he do that?" Mige asked, pointing to the swollen and purple bruise that wrapped itself around my forearm.
I turn away from him. He just answered his own fucking question. Yes, Bam...Bam did that to me. And I can't look into your eyes. I can't. I just fucking can't!! Why not?! Because they're so familiar? Because they're filled with such sadness, and pity, and...something else... Because they're the wrong shade of blue... Because I just can't...
I feel the prick of tears, as familiar as anything I've ever done in my life, and I hold myself just a little tighter.
Neither of us say anything for the longest time, or so it seems. The pounding music of the bar is but a dull thump that I register every now and then. I feel so little, so worthless, so unbelievably stupid. I feel as if I shouldn't exist. Why didn't I listen to Mige when he was trying to help me all those months ago? Because of me everything is fucked up. The band, our careers, all the friendships that once were; everything is destroyed just because of my blind, ignorant lust. And I can't stand it...
I can't stand the thought that Bam...
"It's not you're fault." Mige says, his voice louder though not from volume.
I peek at him from the corner of my eye, not daring to look at him completely. He's scooted his stool closer to me, leaning forward so that he's a mere few feet from me. Again, I am tempted to feel utterly terrified. But his eyes look so kind, so understanding...
"It's not your fault, Ville." He repeats, this time a little more firmly.
"Yes it is..."
I'm not sure if he heard me. But apparently he has for he shakes his head, the pity in his eyes increasing.
"No, it isn't. It's his."
I can hear the venom in his voice as he says the last word. Of course I grimace a little bit. Old memories spring back up because of his tone. But the pain of the memories is nothing compared to the present pain.
"No, it's not. If I had listened to you... If I hadn't been so fucking blind... If I hadn't... None of this would have happened..."
I felt the sting of tears again, and it burned so fucking bad. I felt a hand on my back again, but this time, I gave no reaction. It comforted me to some extent though, the feel of my old friend there for me again. I'd missed him. Not the Mige from four months ago. The Mige from a few years ago, when we'd been brothers, when the bond between us had been so strong that we thought nothing could come between us or come closer. I'd missed that Mige, the one that I'd grown up with. Is this he? I'm not sure...but I really want it to be... I really need it to be...
"Come on. Let's get out of here..."
Did I trust him enough to leave here with him? This might be the seediest bar this side of the US, but there were plenty of people here, and there was protection in numbers. If I left here with him, I'd be alone, vulnerable especially in my pregnant state; he could do what he wanted to me and it would be too easy. But, as I look at him, I find that there really isn't much to fear. Nothing about him exudes threat or hate. All I feel is compassion and kindness, understanding and pity. And for once in my life, the pity is well deserved...for I am a pitiful excuse for a man.
I slump off the stool, balancing myself by holding onto the bar momentarilly. Mige must've seen my struggle for he slips an arm under both mine, helping me walk out the door of the bar after paying for his drink. It isn't awkward, my arm draped over his shoulders. There is nothing awkward about our current positions. I am exhausted, both physically and mentally, and he is a welcomed support that I readilly accept. He opens he door to his car and I slide in, he closing the door after I get both feet in. Soon after he gets in as well. Before he takes off, he firmly tells me to put on my seatbelt. He's unfamiliar with these streets, he says, and doesn't want to take any chances. I am comforted by his concern. It feels so familiar and nice.
Mige drives us not to a high class expensive hotel but to a worn down motel that seemed just as seedy if not more than the bar we'd just left. He gets out first, jogging over to my side of the car to help me out and over to the door to his room. He unlocks the door and the two of us walk in. I am immediately bombarded by a horrid stench and I grimace. The walls are white...or, were white. They have water stains, food stains, smoke stains, blood stains... The carpet is just as disgusting, the dark brown material ripped in various places and stained with much the same things as the walls. There are two rooms and a bathroom, a television and chair in the first and bigger of the two, and a cardboard looking dresser in each. The light that spills down from the broken and dusty bulbs above is yellow, almost the color of piss. It only adds to the sickness of the place.
I take a seat, slowly and cautiously, on the bed in the first room. It feels moist though it may just be the coolness of the air (though I seriously doubt it). My legs are hurting again, the weight of the baby taking it's toll again. I scoot back on the bed, ignoring the slightly greasy feel that the tan colored sheets have, until my back is against the thin, cracked headboard. Mige returns from the bathroom, where he'd first gone upon arriving at the room, and takes a seat next to me on the bed. The silence is only slightly uncomfortable. What am I supposed to say? What is he going to say? My unease is growing...
"Where were going to stay tonight?" Mige asks after what seems like hours.
I shrug. I really didn't know where I was going to go.
"Did you run away, or did he throw you out?" His tone was more than a little angry.
"I..." I paused and took a trembling breath. "He..."
"He threw you out?" He finished my sentence. "He threw you out knowing you had nowhere to go?"
I didn't say anything. I felt myself cringing at the rising anger in his tone. It made me feel less safe.
"I'm sorry, Ville..." Mige said softly after a few minutes. "It's just that, I knew he was bad for you. I knew it! And you are so fucking stubborn...I didn't know any other way to keep you from him..."
Silence again.
"And I'm sorry I hurt you..." It sounded like he was struggling with himself. "I shouldn't have done what I did. It should have been different. But I just pushed you closer to him...and farther away from me... I'm sorry I didn't protect you more, Ville..."
I looked at him now, my eyes brimming with tears. I felt my heart shattering for the second time this night if that were at all possible. Because, truly, I did have my brother back, and I'd caused him so much pain...so much pain...I could see it in his familiar blue eyes...
"No...Mige..." I stammered out after a few moments. "Don't apologize..." I saw his mouth move to say something, but I cut him off. "If I hadn't been so...so blind...so stupid...if only I'd listened to you... It's not your fault...it's mine..."
I felt the tears begin to roll down my cheeks as I felt his arm wrap around my trembling shoulders.
"...I just wanted him to love me the way I loved him..."
"Oh, sweet bird..." Mige said, his Finnish words sinking into my soul so that I melted into his arms, burying my face on his chest as I began to weep. "Do not say such things." He continued. "You were innocent, you are innocent... I think he knew this. He should not have done what he did. Especially with the baby."
I felt all the walls of my fear and nervousness fall away with his last words. He'd accepted my pregnancy, was concerned about the baby; he truly did care for me. I think I cried - no, wept for a good few hours, but I'm not sure. And when I finally calmed down, although I was comforted more than ever by my long lost friend, I felt hollow inside. I'd wept for my lost love, I'd wept for the future I'd drempt about, I'd wept for the life and future of my baby. All the beautiful things I'd imagined, the family that I thought I'd have, all those things were destroyed, and I felt emptier than I'd felt in a long time.
I leaned back up off Mige, and he rubbed my back soothingly. He reached over to his bag, which was thrown on the floor beside the bed, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He removed his arm from behind me and lit himself a fag. I stared at it, stared at the red tip and the swirling smoke the came from it, stared at the texture of it, smelled the familiar scent that came from it. Mige looked at me, and I looked at him, and he pulled the cigarette from his lips, offering it to me. Again, I stared at the fag. Thoughts flew through my mind, but they were making my head hurt. I didn't want to think these thoughts...no, no, no...make them go away! The cigarette seemed to hang in the air, the smoke tempting me...and I just couldn't handle it...the old addiction, sitting in the dark waiting for the right time, burst through.
I took the cigarette, putting it to my lips and intantly sucking the poisonously delicious smoke into my lungs. It penetrated every pore of my body, ever little fiber of my mind, every single piece of my soul. Instantly, I relaxed significantly, my muscles loosening up, my shoulders going lax, my eyes falling until they were half lidded. God, how I'd missed this drug...
"It's not your fault, Ville." Mige said once again, taking a drag of his new cigarette. He paused for a few moments, and even in my exhausted, numb state, I could feel the anticipation in the air. "It's his fault. You know that right?"
Did I?
"He's the one that seduced you. He's the one that played with your heart and then broke it. He's the one that tore us apart, my brother. Everything happened because of him." His words were firm, and I couldn't help but believe them. The anger in me was rising, the rage at the actions of my ex-lover. I could feel it rising, especially when the baby kicked. "You have every right to hate him. I know it's...not what you want to hear, but I do...I hate him. I hate him for hurting you. And I won't let him hurt you anymore, my brother. Not anymore, Ville."
The anger in my continued to rise. Yes, it was him. It was all Bam's fault. He'd destroyed my life. He'd broken my heart. He'd taken advantage of me. He'd fucked up the life of the baby, our baby... But do I hate him? I don't know...
"Thank you." The Finnish rolling off my tongue was as sweet as sugar.
I flicked my fag into a nearby trashcan, scooted down on the bed until I was lying down, and closed my eyes, Mige's arms around me a welcomed distraction from the rage that burned inside of me...
********************************************
And???? omg...i hope i didn't disappoint you...*dives under a rock and hides*
links to previous chappies in the cut...if it works...*crosses fingers*
much love my plushies...<3<3<3<3
Emily
Chapters 1-11 >>>>>>> http://community.livejournal.com/__vam/1368717.html
Chapter 12 >>>>>>>>>> http://community.livejournal.com/__vam/1391741.html
Chapter 13 >>>>>>>>>> http://community.livejournal.com/__vam/1432485.html
now on with the story...hope you all like...
(Ville's POV)
I don't believe there is a word in any known language for the pain and agony that I feel right now. The sting of his grip still remains on my arm, the bruise already forming and swollen. But his words...Jesus, his words were like boiling oil. His words were like being skinned alive. His words were worse than anything I've ever experienced before in my life. I'm sitting in this car shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I know that I'm crying; I can feel the wetness rolling down my cheeks and the burning in my eyes. The car isn't moving; I couldn't handle driving and I can't control myself let alone a speeding car, so here it sits in a ditch. What road am I on? How far away have I gotten? Not far enough, I know that much.
It's so fucking dark. All around me, inside me; everywhere, pitch black. It's dead silent, the only thing I can hear the howling wind blasting against the car. And yet, it is more chaotic than any moment I've ever felt. I can hardly breath, and all I can think about, all can hear, are the hateful, drunken screams of him; the hateful, drunken screams of...Bam. They consume all I know, that voice...that voice. God, have I ever felt so numb in my life? I felt more alive months ago when I was still with my band, when I was being manipulated and tormented by my best friend. At least then, I was kept alive by the passion of fury and hatred. But now...I can't feel anything. I can't feel anything...
No, I can feel one thing...one tiny yet utterly significant thing. I can feel the baby kick. It feels like someone's punching me from the inside out. My arms wrap around my stomach, clutching for dear life to the one good thing in existance. If it weren't for this baby, I swear on all that is good that I would have smashed this car directly into a tree, 80mph easy. If it weren't for this baby...this baby created by the man that I loved. Loved. One letter changes everything in the world. One fucking letter that means so much. One fucking letter...and a world of hurt... If it weren't for this baby, that letter would be replaced by a whole fucking word: death.
My head suddenly snaps up at the sound of someone knocking on my window. It's a man I've never seen before, and he looks genuinely worried as he tries to talk to me through the glass. After a moment, I press the little button that rolls my window down, tears still streaming down my cheeks.
"Hey, are you alright?" He asks me immediately.
I don't answer. No...I'm not alright...I'll never be alright...
"Were you in an accident? Did you're car break down?" He presses worriedly. "Tell me what's wrong buddy. I'll help you."
One thing at a time, Ville, one thing at a time. No, it wasn't a car accident...it was just the accident of a lifetime. No, the car didn't break down, but I am breaking down if you couldn't tell. What's wrong you ask, kind stranger? Well, my entire world just went up in a blaze of flames and I feel like I'm already dead. You can't really help me with that now can you? If you could, you'd be my god. But you're not. You're just a kind stranger that cares too much for nothing.
He just looked at me as I remain silent. And I looked as well, for I couldn't bear to take my eyes off such blind kindness.
After a few silent moments though, he spoke again.
"Come on. You don't look suited to drive. Want me to take you home?"
I shook my head frantically, tears falling harder at the thought of going back to Castle Bam.
"Ok ok, where is it you wanna go then?"
To hell...where I belonged...
The stranger sighed, both frustration and sadness heard in the deep breath. "Alright, I'll just take you into town. I'm headed that way anyway. Come on."
He opened the door, offering his hand, intent on helping me out of the car. But when he got a good look at me, at my middle, he simply stared for a moment. I clutched my stomach a bit tighter, resting my head on the stearing wheel as I grimaced, the pain causing the tears to fall ever more freely. I really was a freak, a knocked up bitch who nobody really wanted to care about. Nobody; not a stranger, not a friend, not...Bam. Good lord, I wanted to die...
"Hey man, you shouldn't be driving in the first place if you're pregnant." The stranger said after a moment.
I turned my head a little, opening my eyes just the tiniest bit so that I could see him. He looked honestly worried now, no hint of malice or disgust evident in his expression or stance. I couldn't help but stare into his genuinely caring brown eyes. No, he could't be that good. Nobody was that good. Nobody. The world was a mess of greedy, selfish people who stepped on and used those who were vulnerable and weaker than them. That was all. But the man's hand was still in the air, waiting for me to take it.
And why did I do so? Why did I let him lead me to his car where he could very well kidnap me and have his way with me? Why did I let him drive away with me? Well...because I am weak. Because I could hardly breath right or see strait. Because he was just so damn concerned. Because...that fucking car smelled like pain and despair...it smelled like Bam...I think I'd taken off in his goddamn lambo...
I don't really hear the man talking to me or see the darkened scenery flying past me outside the window. I don't really want to comprehend anything right now. Everything reminds me of him; the trees I see, the car I'm in, all the landmarks that we pass...I see him in everything. And I don't want to, because it hurts so fucking much. I close my eyes, and he's there. I try to block everything out, and still I hear his stabbing words. I can't get away from him. I was driving his car, and I can feel him on me, on my hands and back and legs, and it burns. It burns worse than anything I can imagine. I just want to rip of skin off my body. I want to tear my eyes out of my head. I want to rip my ears off. But I know none of this will keep him out of my mind, out of my... I do the only thing I can do: I weep, worried no more about having to drive a vehicle myself.
At what point I don't know we entered the city. It felt like we'd been driving for five seconds. But here we were in the city. More than ever, I was surrounded by him. And I couldn't stand it. Everywhere I looked, I saw his face, his fleeting form, heard his laugh. The stranger said he needed to stop somwhere and then he would take me to his house. No. No. No. As soon as he left the car, disappearing inside of a building, I exited the vehicle myself, walking as fast as I could with my heavy load. I think I made it a good few blocks away, turning this corner and that, and I didn't see the man's car anywhere as I began a slower pace, my asthma threatening me. But I didn't go too much slower. I'm alone, and I'm pregnant, and I'm more vulnerable than I've ever been in my entire life, both physically and emotionally.
I look around myself at one point. The buildings are falling apart and practically decrepit. There is graffiti everywhere. The street signs are worn down and bent. The streets themselves are cracked and in disrepair. In the dark of the night, the only things lighting my way are the dim yellow lights of a few lamps in passing windows and the neon of liquor store and gas station signs.
I was in the ghetto. Or, what I thought was the American version of a ghetto. It was a purgatory of sorts, infinitely better than many of the European ghettos I'd seen in the past, infinitely less cared for than the high class city that could be found a mere, what was it, five blocks away? But, very much like the European ghettos on the other side of the world, the feelings of threat and fear and hostility still hung heavy in the air. Bam was afraid of the ghetto like no other person I'd met. Of course, he'd gone to a 'ghetto' with Dunn and his film crew for an episode of Viva la Bam to get Compton Ass Terry, but that was hardly a ghetto, and he'd had a number of people with him. He'd never go by himself let alone willingly into an area as poor or needy as the one I was in now.
I was slightly comforted by this thought, but then again, I was not. I'd stopped crying moments ago, too engulfed by my surroundings. But thoughts of him still tugged sharply at the tears in my eyes so that I swiped at them absently, trying my damnedest not to break down where I was. Also, those feelings of hostility and threat in the air enveloped me. I hugged myself as if cold, and really it was chilly, but I couldn't care less about that. All I really care about, if anything, is getting out of the open dark. It was too much like the dark abyss that was filling me up from the inside out. I speed up my pace slightly, eyeing a bar in the distance.
As I stumble through the door, there is a slight pause to everything in the pub. Not all but quite a few eyes instantly fly at me. Some of them are uncaring yet curious, others are judgemental, disgust and hate spewing from them. Still, some did not look at all, completely preoccupied with either their own problems or the naked women and girls dancing before them. This place absolutely reaked of cheap liquor and cheap sex. Had I been in any other state of being, I would have been completely disgusted by this. But I was completely overwhelmed by the agony of the nights events and only slightly grimaced at the sour stench of the establishment. The air was thick with smoke, the poor ventelation causing the poisonous fumes to build up until they resembled fog. It causes the dim neon lights of the bar to have a sickly haze about them. It adds to the heavy debauchery of the pub.
But I ignore all of it, or try to. As I walk over to the bar, I feel eyes fall from me, but then again, a few do not leave me. In the back of my mind, it makes me uncomfortable. They are staring at my long, dark hair, at my smudged and runny eyeliner, at my pregnant belly. They are judging me. They are wondering where the fuck I came from, why the fuck I was here, how much they'd get in trouble if they did anything to me, a pregnant man. Again, I was only slightly fazed by these thoughts. Reasonably, I should be terrified of these men, but I'm not.
I take a seat at the bar, and despite my obvious pregnancy, the barkeep approaches me, asking if I want anything. I shake my head. He shrugs his shoulders and continues on to other customers who are actually paying him. The music of the bar makes my bones tremble with each heavy thump. And I wonder, can the baby feel these vibrations? Can the baby hear the music? Surely, if the child can hear this music than it would have heard the hellacious fight that had just taken place earlier this night. I wonder how much I've fucked up my child, and it hasn't even left my body yet. Already I'm messing up my child's life. God how I want to die. I wonder how I'm going to raise this child by myself. I wonder how I'm going to do anything by myself. I am totally alone. I have no band, I have no friends, I have no lover... Utterly, completely, entirely alone...
I wrap my arms around my shoulders, my body suddenly trembling. I rest my arms on the bar before me, sinking down until my head is upon my arms. And I'm crying again. I'm weeping in desperation, in utter agony, in utter despair. I don't give a bloody hell if people see me like this. This entire establishment is a gathering place for desperate lingering miskakes such as I. It is hell. And no matter how much this place would otherwise disgust me, I know I belong in the neon darkness inside these walls.
For how long I cried, I have no idea. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but after what seems like forever I can feel myself calming down slowly. It isn't because I'm no longer in pain. It's because I've exhausted myself, because I don't have any tears left to shed. My tear ducts are dry, even as my heart bleeds freely.
I feel someone's hand on my back but I don't move. If someone's trying to comfort me, they won't succeed.
"Hey, it'll be alright." A voice says from behind me.
Fucking drunkard. It might seem like they are trying to be concerned, but really they're just too fucked up to notice anything but a vulnerable piece of ass.
They continue to talk, and I feel them start to rub my back in a soothing manner though it does nothing but make me uncomfortable.
"You wanna drink? It's on me, babe."
I cringe at the last choice of words. Babe. I instantly sit up shaking my head firmly, wiping at my tear smeared face as I catch my breath. I don't want to look at him, to give into his games. But he's persistant.
"Are you sure? It'll make you feel better, I promise. I'll take care of you."
"No!" I practically shout in frustration.
Again, there is a momentary pause throughout the bar at my outburst, but it soon returns to normal.
"Fine, fine. I was just trying to be nice! Jesus fucking christ!" The man yells as he stalks away.
A sharp moment of deja vu overcomes me. I did this night for you, you know! Because you just won't get along with anyone! You're such a bitch! The pain throughout me increases significantly. I'd been wrong earlier. I felt the burning prick of tears in my eyes instantly as the memory pounds through me. I feel as if I can't breathe, can't think...No, I still feel a hand on my back...what the fuck?
I look over my shoulder, slowly, cautiously. And when I see who it is I am tempted to be terrified, to run screaming. I should be. I have no idea how he got here or how he found me. He could kill me any second. But he doesn't. He simply looks at me with blue eyes, a different blue, full of pity and concern, and something else... I sense no threat from him. I sense no malice. I sense no hostility or hate. There is nothing to be afraid of... And so I do not run screaming. I am not terrified. I simply stare at him...at the brother I had lost so long ago that seems to have returned to me.
Mige rubs my back once again, but I feel myself stiffen. I can't get the memory of him trying to kill me out of my mind. He senses my nervousness and removes his hand. Our eyes are locked as he takes a seat on the stool next to me. But after a moment, the barkeep once again approaches. Mige orders a double shot of vodka. He gets it, and my eyes never leave him, even as he simply stares down at his hands, at his vodka. Neither of us say anything for the longest time.
"It was Bam?" He asks me finally, his voice gentle yet loud enough to be heard over the blaring music of the bar.
I didn't say anything.
How could I tell him he was right? All those times almost four months ago when he'd told me I was too fucked up to know how much Bam would hurt me, I hadn't listened. When he'd told me how much Bam was going to use me and abuse me and that I was too much of a fuck up to care, I hadn't listened. I hadn't listened to the harsh truth, and now I had it. It pained me to think of how stupid I'd been, how fucked up I really was. It pained me to think that Mige might have really been trying to help me avoid this unbelievable pain that I was feeling now.
"What did he do?" He continued after a few moments.
And what was I supposed to tell him? That he'd screamed at me? That he physically abused me? That he threw me out of his house? That he shattered my heart into a million little pieces? No. I couldn't tell him that.
"Did he do that?" Mige asked, pointing to the swollen and purple bruise that wrapped itself around my forearm.
I turn away from him. He just answered his own fucking question. Yes, Bam...Bam did that to me. And I can't look into your eyes. I can't. I just fucking can't!! Why not?! Because they're so familiar? Because they're filled with such sadness, and pity, and...something else... Because they're the wrong shade of blue... Because I just can't...
I feel the prick of tears, as familiar as anything I've ever done in my life, and I hold myself just a little tighter.
Neither of us say anything for the longest time, or so it seems. The pounding music of the bar is but a dull thump that I register every now and then. I feel so little, so worthless, so unbelievably stupid. I feel as if I shouldn't exist. Why didn't I listen to Mige when he was trying to help me all those months ago? Because of me everything is fucked up. The band, our careers, all the friendships that once were; everything is destroyed just because of my blind, ignorant lust. And I can't stand it...
I can't stand the thought that Bam...
"It's not you're fault." Mige says, his voice louder though not from volume.
I peek at him from the corner of my eye, not daring to look at him completely. He's scooted his stool closer to me, leaning forward so that he's a mere few feet from me. Again, I am tempted to feel utterly terrified. But his eyes look so kind, so understanding...
"It's not your fault, Ville." He repeats, this time a little more firmly.
"Yes it is..."
I'm not sure if he heard me. But apparently he has for he shakes his head, the pity in his eyes increasing.
"No, it isn't. It's his."
I can hear the venom in his voice as he says the last word. Of course I grimace a little bit. Old memories spring back up because of his tone. But the pain of the memories is nothing compared to the present pain.
"No, it's not. If I had listened to you... If I hadn't been so fucking blind... If I hadn't... None of this would have happened..."
I felt the sting of tears again, and it burned so fucking bad. I felt a hand on my back again, but this time, I gave no reaction. It comforted me to some extent though, the feel of my old friend there for me again. I'd missed him. Not the Mige from four months ago. The Mige from a few years ago, when we'd been brothers, when the bond between us had been so strong that we thought nothing could come between us or come closer. I'd missed that Mige, the one that I'd grown up with. Is this he? I'm not sure...but I really want it to be... I really need it to be...
"Come on. Let's get out of here..."
Did I trust him enough to leave here with him? This might be the seediest bar this side of the US, but there were plenty of people here, and there was protection in numbers. If I left here with him, I'd be alone, vulnerable especially in my pregnant state; he could do what he wanted to me and it would be too easy. But, as I look at him, I find that there really isn't much to fear. Nothing about him exudes threat or hate. All I feel is compassion and kindness, understanding and pity. And for once in my life, the pity is well deserved...for I am a pitiful excuse for a man.
I slump off the stool, balancing myself by holding onto the bar momentarilly. Mige must've seen my struggle for he slips an arm under both mine, helping me walk out the door of the bar after paying for his drink. It isn't awkward, my arm draped over his shoulders. There is nothing awkward about our current positions. I am exhausted, both physically and mentally, and he is a welcomed support that I readilly accept. He opens he door to his car and I slide in, he closing the door after I get both feet in. Soon after he gets in as well. Before he takes off, he firmly tells me to put on my seatbelt. He's unfamiliar with these streets, he says, and doesn't want to take any chances. I am comforted by his concern. It feels so familiar and nice.
Mige drives us not to a high class expensive hotel but to a worn down motel that seemed just as seedy if not more than the bar we'd just left. He gets out first, jogging over to my side of the car to help me out and over to the door to his room. He unlocks the door and the two of us walk in. I am immediately bombarded by a horrid stench and I grimace. The walls are white...or, were white. They have water stains, food stains, smoke stains, blood stains... The carpet is just as disgusting, the dark brown material ripped in various places and stained with much the same things as the walls. There are two rooms and a bathroom, a television and chair in the first and bigger of the two, and a cardboard looking dresser in each. The light that spills down from the broken and dusty bulbs above is yellow, almost the color of piss. It only adds to the sickness of the place.
I take a seat, slowly and cautiously, on the bed in the first room. It feels moist though it may just be the coolness of the air (though I seriously doubt it). My legs are hurting again, the weight of the baby taking it's toll again. I scoot back on the bed, ignoring the slightly greasy feel that the tan colored sheets have, until my back is against the thin, cracked headboard. Mige returns from the bathroom, where he'd first gone upon arriving at the room, and takes a seat next to me on the bed. The silence is only slightly uncomfortable. What am I supposed to say? What is he going to say? My unease is growing...
"Where were going to stay tonight?" Mige asks after what seems like hours.
I shrug. I really didn't know where I was going to go.
"Did you run away, or did he throw you out?" His tone was more than a little angry.
"I..." I paused and took a trembling breath. "He..."
"He threw you out?" He finished my sentence. "He threw you out knowing you had nowhere to go?"
I didn't say anything. I felt myself cringing at the rising anger in his tone. It made me feel less safe.
"I'm sorry, Ville..." Mige said softly after a few minutes. "It's just that, I knew he was bad for you. I knew it! And you are so fucking stubborn...I didn't know any other way to keep you from him..."
Silence again.
"And I'm sorry I hurt you..." It sounded like he was struggling with himself. "I shouldn't have done what I did. It should have been different. But I just pushed you closer to him...and farther away from me... I'm sorry I didn't protect you more, Ville..."
I looked at him now, my eyes brimming with tears. I felt my heart shattering for the second time this night if that were at all possible. Because, truly, I did have my brother back, and I'd caused him so much pain...so much pain...I could see it in his familiar blue eyes...
"No...Mige..." I stammered out after a few moments. "Don't apologize..." I saw his mouth move to say something, but I cut him off. "If I hadn't been so...so blind...so stupid...if only I'd listened to you... It's not your fault...it's mine..."
I felt the tears begin to roll down my cheeks as I felt his arm wrap around my trembling shoulders.
"...I just wanted him to love me the way I loved him..."
"Oh, sweet bird..." Mige said, his Finnish words sinking into my soul so that I melted into his arms, burying my face on his chest as I began to weep. "Do not say such things." He continued. "You were innocent, you are innocent... I think he knew this. He should not have done what he did. Especially with the baby."
I felt all the walls of my fear and nervousness fall away with his last words. He'd accepted my pregnancy, was concerned about the baby; he truly did care for me. I think I cried - no, wept for a good few hours, but I'm not sure. And when I finally calmed down, although I was comforted more than ever by my long lost friend, I felt hollow inside. I'd wept for my lost love, I'd wept for the future I'd drempt about, I'd wept for the life and future of my baby. All the beautiful things I'd imagined, the family that I thought I'd have, all those things were destroyed, and I felt emptier than I'd felt in a long time.
I leaned back up off Mige, and he rubbed my back soothingly. He reached over to his bag, which was thrown on the floor beside the bed, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He removed his arm from behind me and lit himself a fag. I stared at it, stared at the red tip and the swirling smoke the came from it, stared at the texture of it, smelled the familiar scent that came from it. Mige looked at me, and I looked at him, and he pulled the cigarette from his lips, offering it to me. Again, I stared at the fag. Thoughts flew through my mind, but they were making my head hurt. I didn't want to think these thoughts...no, no, no...make them go away! The cigarette seemed to hang in the air, the smoke tempting me...and I just couldn't handle it...the old addiction, sitting in the dark waiting for the right time, burst through.
I took the cigarette, putting it to my lips and intantly sucking the poisonously delicious smoke into my lungs. It penetrated every pore of my body, ever little fiber of my mind, every single piece of my soul. Instantly, I relaxed significantly, my muscles loosening up, my shoulders going lax, my eyes falling until they were half lidded. God, how I'd missed this drug...
"It's not your fault, Ville." Mige said once again, taking a drag of his new cigarette. He paused for a few moments, and even in my exhausted, numb state, I could feel the anticipation in the air. "It's his fault. You know that right?"
Did I?
"He's the one that seduced you. He's the one that played with your heart and then broke it. He's the one that tore us apart, my brother. Everything happened because of him." His words were firm, and I couldn't help but believe them. The anger in me was rising, the rage at the actions of my ex-lover. I could feel it rising, especially when the baby kicked. "You have every right to hate him. I know it's...not what you want to hear, but I do...I hate him. I hate him for hurting you. And I won't let him hurt you anymore, my brother. Not anymore, Ville."
The anger in my continued to rise. Yes, it was him. It was all Bam's fault. He'd destroyed my life. He'd broken my heart. He'd taken advantage of me. He'd fucked up the life of the baby, our baby... But do I hate him? I don't know...
"Thank you." The Finnish rolling off my tongue was as sweet as sugar.
I flicked my fag into a nearby trashcan, scooted down on the bed until I was lying down, and closed my eyes, Mige's arms around me a welcomed distraction from the rage that burned inside of me...
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And???? omg...i hope i didn't disappoint you...*dives under a rock and hides*