Shut Your Eyes - Chapter Five
Title: Shut Your Eyes
Authors: goten0040 and garnetice
Chapter: 5
Rating: M
Ship(s): Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.
Summary: Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.
Chapter Five
I broke away from the group in search of a bathroom, stepping in through a heavy metal door into a club called Fate. The place looked to be an old jazz hall from way back when, but it seemed that, over the years, the club had deteriorated into a dingy bar. Cracks snaked up the wall from a wobbly foundation, and caused the few pictures to reside crooked in their places. The floor was a stained concrete that had worn just a little rough, and I couldn’t help but feel like the ceiling was going to fall in on me at any moment. As I moved forward into the main stretch of the club, I could make out a bar, lit dimly by orange light, and through a plume of cigarette smoke, tables set up around a small, round stage, that definitely had seen better days. It was lit up with a single fluorescent spotlight, making it stand out in an almost heavenly fashion, and they seemed to be setting up for a performance.
I was more interested in making my way down the hall, however, and getting rid of the many shots of alcohol I had consumed that evening. Besides, the others were probably lingering outside, waiting for me, and it wasn’t exactly the safest part of town. By the way the customers were staring at me, it was pretty obvious I wasn’t dressed for the place. At least not as it was. I imagined the old building still had a little romance in its walls somewhere, but a sport coat and tie weren’t necessarily the fashion choice of the pierced, skinny people that hung over the wooden, marked up tables, with a sense of apathy that was so strong it chilled me just to look at them.
I dragged myself into the dirty bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind me. The place had to be crawling with germs. The tiles were chipped and dirty, and the single fluorescent light that hung over the mirror flickered from time to time, dimming the room substantially and making it hard to see. Still, I hadn’t always been under bathroom conditions of the rich and famous, so I shrugged it off and stepped up to the urinal.
There was a used needle on the floor right next to it. I stared at it for quite some time. We really were in the underbelly of Los Angeles. Maybe we’d gone a bit too far.
I looked in the streaked mirror while I washed my hands. The lighting cast dark shadows on my face, under my cheekbones and around my eyes. I felt like I was looking into my own skull. And the white scar was illuminated right at my hairline, a stark reminder of everything that had happened, and almost telling me that the shit wasn’t done hitting the fan just yet. I stood there for a long time, looking at myself, not quite wanting to go back out onto the streets yet. As the alcohol dissipated in my gut, the warmth went with it, and in its place came that worried feeling that I’d been dealing with since my plane landed - or really, even before then. I felt suddenly alienated from my group. Carlos was married and having kids. Logan was caught up in his career, and starting to get completely caught up in Camille again. Katie had her business and her boyfriend, and Mom was still taking care of all of us even after all these years.
Where did that leave me?
I’d been the leader for so long, raising my sword and charging into danger like some Knight in shining armor, but now, I didn’t have anything to lead. My friends had moved on with their lives, and I thought I had too. Then, it just so happened that I really hadn’t at all. I’d just been going through the motions. I brushed the scar with my fingers, and if the mirror hadn’t been so disgusting looking, I probably would have leaned against the cool glass.
“Hell.” I really need to stop fucking up my own life.
But even after all the drinks and the laughter and the warm feelings of home, I just didn’t feel right. James was missing from our activities, our shenanigans. And there seemed to be a growing hole in my life where he might have been. I guess I just expected everything to just fall into place, like it did for me so often, and when it didn’t… I really didn’t know how to cope with it.
I finally made my way out, feeling more down on myself than when I went in, keeping my head down and my hands in my pockets to subtly move away from the dangerous looking crowd around the stage.
That was when I heard it. The small strike of the guitar, and the voice pouring out over the mic.
“When you were here before,
Couldn't look you in the eye.
You're just like an angel,
Your skin makes me cry.
You float like a feather,
In a beautiful world.
I wish I was special.
You're so fuckin' special…”
That voice.
“But I'm a creep.
I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here.”
I knew that voice. I whipped around so quickly I was certain my neck would snap. The little bit of alcohol left in my system whirled me somewhat into the concrete wall and I leaned against it for support, watching, listening. On the stage, a young-looking, familiar man leaned over a guitar, his dark hair spilling over his face, large sunglasses masking the rest of him from the world. His arms were covered in ink, tattoos of all different things from the cap of his worn, holey t-shirt, to his bracelet-clad wrists. His guitar was worn away from where the hand had stroked it many times, the wood much brighter under the stage lights.
But next to him…
Oh, God.
“I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control.
I want a perfect body .
I want a perfect soul.”
He was lit up like an angel under that light, his hands gently gripping the microphone in front of his lips. He was wearing a black crew-neck shirt which had grayed with age, and his fingernails were chewed away. His ears were pierced, multiple-times in fact, and his sandy brown hair was a frizzled mess, yanked back behind him, close to his neck. And he was singing. Good God, he was singing like every word was stabbing him in the heart, and I knew it was because it was.
Because James Diamond was singing it.
“I want you to notice
when I'm not around.
You're so fuckin' special.
I wish I was special.”
James.
I felt my head spin again, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol. I was paralyzed in my place, watching James wail into the microphone, and the only thought I could get to go through my head was that God, James was so fucking skinny, and why was he so fucking skinny? I didn’t care that the others were probably starting to get worried that I’d had my head bashed in. I didn’t care that some of the patrons of the club were still glowering at me like I didn’t belong there, when they should have been looking at James. Because fuck, James didn’t belong there either. With the dramatic, almost raspy lilt to his voice, he should have been singing in front of screaming fans, not apathetic bastards with nothing better to do than to just watch some guy pour his heart out on stage.
Another thought went through my head. He was dirty. He matched the club wall, smudges of dust and grime all over him.
“But I'm a creep.
I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh…”
I wanted to cry, or yell, or interrupt the whole thing or… or something. But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t get myself to move from my spot against the wall, just staring, staring, staring, at someone who had been missing from my life for so long. And there he was, right there in front of me, just lunged right back into my head and my heart like he’d never been missing in the first place. And it sent striking, slicing pains through me, just to watch him, withered, hunched over the mic like it was the only thing keeping him standing. And Guitar Dude was right there next to him, accompanying him, looking just as bad off.
“Whatever makes you happy,
Whatever you want.
You're so fuckin' special.
I wish I was special.”
Shit. I was crying. I had tears running down my cheeks like they’d never stop. I felt like he was singing to me, and I really wasn’t that fucking special. I couldn’t even move any closer to the stage. I just fucking stood there and watched, like he would see me beyond that ridiculously bright spotlight, like he would turn and wouldn’t look so skinny and dirty and pathetic anymore. Like the lyrics to the song weren’t exactly about how he had gone unnoticed and had felt so un-special. Like I wasn’t absolutely terrified at that idea. It just wasn’t fair. Not in any sense. It wasn’t fair at all.
“But I'm a creep.
I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here…
I don't belong here…”
I bowed my head. I wanted to convince myself that this dirty, stray of a person couldn’t possibly be James, that I was just missing him too much. But I couldn’t deny that voice if I tried, and those heavily lashed eyes, and Jesus, his white teeth. He’d never had a problem keeping perfectly white teeth, even when the rest of him didn’t look so pure anymore.
“Thank you,” he said into the mic, even though there wasn’t just a whole lot of applause. And then he made his way off stage.
I panicked. I couldn’t let him just walk out of my life again, could I? Did he really walk out before, or was that me? Either way, I couldn’t let him leave without finding out. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, so many things I never got to say, and if he left then, I was afraid I’d never see him again ever. The club was called Fate wasn’t it? It had to be some sort of fucking sign. It just had to.
“James!” I felt it, raw in my throat, expel from my lips, over that seething mass of people, to him at the back exit door. He was talking to the bartender, but he looked up wildly, like a caged animal. I started to push my way through the crowd.
Unfortunately, a loud as hell punk band had taken the stage and was blasting through the walls with music, and the apathetic crowd turned into a raging mob, and I was shoving through them and getting knocked around more than I usually did at a hockey game. I tried my hardest to keep James in my view, but time and time again, he slipped out and I kept feeling the cold sting of fear in my gut that he’d be gone when I got through the masses. The music rang in my ears, and I winced as I was shoved up against a table, it jutting straight into my ribs. Finally, I emerged on the other side of the wave, sweaty and a bit strung out.
Actually, I felt a little more like I was going to vomit, but I was pretty sure that was either the alcohol or the nerves twisting in my gut.
“James! James?” I called out, and I had lost sight of him in the chaos. I had to look a bit rapidly around the bar.
He was shaking hands with the bartender. He’d obviously been paid for his performance. He kept his head down; taking his money and shouldering the small, ripped up satchel and heading for the door.
“James! James, wait!”
Oh, God. If he had walked out the back door of that club, I honestly don’t know what I would have done with myself. The ache that passed through me when I realized that he might not hear me was devastating.
I managed to force myself forward, and I stumbled a little, shoving him into the wall on accident. He was even skinnier than he looked. I could feel it beneath my palms as we toppled over to the floor. Guitar Dude turned around to survey the problem, looking over his sunglasses in confusion.
“Dude! What’s your fucking problem-“ James started, but the sentence died in his throat as soon as he looked at me. He blanched. “…Who the fuck are you?”
He had to be pretending. He just had to be.
“James, it’s me! How do you not-“
“Kendall Knight? No way,” Guitar Dude said, looking almost as shocked as James, though not nearly as sick to his stomach.
“Fuck, Joseph, did you have to do that?”
First, I thought, “Who’s Joseph?” And then I realized that Guitar Dude probably had a name and it was, in this situation, more than likely Joseph.
“Dude, he’s your best friend! Aren’t you happy to see him?”
I looked at James, and I couldn’t say a word. The look on his face plainly said “No. I don’t want to see him. I never want to see him.”
I felt guilty. That’s an understatement.
“James…” I couldn’t stop saying his name, regardless, because, fuck, he was right in front of me! I was overwhelmed.
James cast his eyes away, and they looked glassy and so not like his. “Kendall… what the hell are you doing here?”
I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. “Who cares, James?! Where the fuck have you been?!”
James wouldn’t look me in the eye, and the more I stared, the more furious I became. The music had died to silence as the next band was making their way to the stage, though the idle chatter was still a roar in my ears.
“James,” I demanded. “James, look at me.”
He did. Those hazel eyes shifted to one of the darkest shades of blue, and I was left gaping at him with my heart hurting.
“What happened to you?” I found myself asking, my voice a hushed whisper.
Before he could answer, I heard over the crowd. “Kendall?! Kendall! Where are you?!”
They’d finally come looking for me. A selfish part of my mind wanted them not to find me. I had just found James again and he hadn’t said much at all, and I suppose, in a way, I needed a moment with him to help me realize that it wasn’t my fault that he left.
I didn’t know if I’d ever get that moment.
“Kendall!” Logan was yanking me up off the floor and whirling me around to look me in the face and rapidly ask me questions without giving me time to answer. “Are you alright? What are you doing on the floor? Did you get hurt? Why didn’t you come out and get us? We’ve been out there almost half an hour!”
I stared at him blankly. Ever sense my head was bashed in, I hadn’t really been able to take in that much so quickly. It left me a little winded and confused. “W-what?”
Logan looked briefly annoyed and worried, like my mom when I missed curfew. “Kendall, what kept you?”
I felt James’ name on my tongue, but I couldn’t seem to open my mouth and say it. Something kept my lips clamped shut. I guess some wildly childish part of me wanted them to notice him, to realize it was him, to give me proof that I wasn’t dreaming or just really fucking drunk. I wanted them to see James, now getting up off the floor and dusting himself off uncomfortably.
Logan followed my gaze. I took that opportunity to look to Camille and Carlos, who were just a hair behind Logan, staring directly at James. Camille’s eyes were starting to water, but she didn’t look happy. She looked terrified. Carlos looked beyond apprehensive. I knew that he’d probably seen a lot of young men that looked like James, and time and time again, had been wrong. I couldn’t imagine how much that would hurt. I suppose he just didn’t want to get his hopes up.
Logan went pale, his dark eyes looking almost black in the light, it casting shadows on his face that showed wrinkles starting to etch into his skin.
“…James?” Carlos finally asked timidly. He looked like a kicked puppy dog, and it made me feel sick all over again.
I finally looked at James again, my heart pounding against my ribs. I was begging and pleading with whatever god there was that this would be James. And yet, another half of me wanted him not to be, because this James… he wasn’t healthy. He was just so thin and so frail looking and so lost and just not James.
“…Hey… Carlos,” he finally murmured, his voice already raw with un-cried tears. He looked ashamed of himself.
“Oh… my… God! James!” And then Carlos was a bundle of energy, launching himself at the boy and wrapping his arms around his neck. “James! You’re here! You’re alive!”
He hadn’t been around Carlos in years. And though Logan and I seemed to just pick right up where we left off, James didn’t seem to know what to do with him anymore. He awkwardly stumbled backwards and patted Carlos on the back, his lips drawn into a deep frown. “…Yeah. I am.”
“Woah, it’s a total Big Time Rush reunion,” Guitar Dude - I mean Joseph - said, and I noticed he looked pretty gaunt too. “Crazy. S’up Camille, Carlos, Logan.”
He was acting like we had seen him yesterday. Then again, Guitar Dude was never all the way… there, per se. He seemed even more off than before. When he waved, I caught sight of lines within his tattoos - red and white lines that didn’t belong there.
Logan had finally managed to wrap his head around James standing in front of us. “James? Really? You’re James?”
Something in Logan’s eyes scared me. He knew something. It was that same twinkle of knowing that he had when we had talked to Stephanie, except so much more grave. I felt my throat close momentarily.
“Yeah. I’m James,” he said.
“Well, dude. Let’s get some drinks and catch up!” Joseph suggested with a happy drawl.
“Yeah, with what?” James snapped at him in return.
“We just made a hundred bucks,” he said, but his voice had withered away. They had obviously made some silent agreement about what to do with that money.
“Fuck that!” Carlos exclaimed. “I’ll buy it for all of us! Oh my God!” He turned to me and threw his arms around my waist, crushing his face into my chest. He was crying. “Kendall! You found James! I’m so happy that you found James.”
James shuffled on his spot. Camille had turned away, and she was wiping away mascara tinted tears. Logan was still staring. Carlos was happy I’d found James.
And yet suddenly…
I wasn’t so sure I was.
Authors: goten0040 and garnetice
Chapter: 5
Rating: M
Ship(s): Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.
Summary: Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.
Chapter Five
I broke away from the group in search of a bathroom, stepping in through a heavy metal door into a club called Fate. The place looked to be an old jazz hall from way back when, but it seemed that, over the years, the club had deteriorated into a dingy bar. Cracks snaked up the wall from a wobbly foundation, and caused the few pictures to reside crooked in their places. The floor was a stained concrete that had worn just a little rough, and I couldn’t help but feel like the ceiling was going to fall in on me at any moment. As I moved forward into the main stretch of the club, I could make out a bar, lit dimly by orange light, and through a plume of cigarette smoke, tables set up around a small, round stage, that definitely had seen better days. It was lit up with a single fluorescent spotlight, making it stand out in an almost heavenly fashion, and they seemed to be setting up for a performance.
I was more interested in making my way down the hall, however, and getting rid of the many shots of alcohol I had consumed that evening. Besides, the others were probably lingering outside, waiting for me, and it wasn’t exactly the safest part of town. By the way the customers were staring at me, it was pretty obvious I wasn’t dressed for the place. At least not as it was. I imagined the old building still had a little romance in its walls somewhere, but a sport coat and tie weren’t necessarily the fashion choice of the pierced, skinny people that hung over the wooden, marked up tables, with a sense of apathy that was so strong it chilled me just to look at them.
I dragged myself into the dirty bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind me. The place had to be crawling with germs. The tiles were chipped and dirty, and the single fluorescent light that hung over the mirror flickered from time to time, dimming the room substantially and making it hard to see. Still, I hadn’t always been under bathroom conditions of the rich and famous, so I shrugged it off and stepped up to the urinal.
There was a used needle on the floor right next to it. I stared at it for quite some time. We really were in the underbelly of Los Angeles. Maybe we’d gone a bit too far.
I looked in the streaked mirror while I washed my hands. The lighting cast dark shadows on my face, under my cheekbones and around my eyes. I felt like I was looking into my own skull. And the white scar was illuminated right at my hairline, a stark reminder of everything that had happened, and almost telling me that the shit wasn’t done hitting the fan just yet. I stood there for a long time, looking at myself, not quite wanting to go back out onto the streets yet. As the alcohol dissipated in my gut, the warmth went with it, and in its place came that worried feeling that I’d been dealing with since my plane landed - or really, even before then. I felt suddenly alienated from my group. Carlos was married and having kids. Logan was caught up in his career, and starting to get completely caught up in Camille again. Katie had her business and her boyfriend, and Mom was still taking care of all of us even after all these years.
Where did that leave me?
I’d been the leader for so long, raising my sword and charging into danger like some Knight in shining armor, but now, I didn’t have anything to lead. My friends had moved on with their lives, and I thought I had too. Then, it just so happened that I really hadn’t at all. I’d just been going through the motions. I brushed the scar with my fingers, and if the mirror hadn’t been so disgusting looking, I probably would have leaned against the cool glass.
“Hell.” I really need to stop fucking up my own life.
But even after all the drinks and the laughter and the warm feelings of home, I just didn’t feel right. James was missing from our activities, our shenanigans. And there seemed to be a growing hole in my life where he might have been. I guess I just expected everything to just fall into place, like it did for me so often, and when it didn’t… I really didn’t know how to cope with it.
I finally made my way out, feeling more down on myself than when I went in, keeping my head down and my hands in my pockets to subtly move away from the dangerous looking crowd around the stage.
That was when I heard it. The small strike of the guitar, and the voice pouring out over the mic.
“When you were here before,
Couldn't look you in the eye.
You're just like an angel,
Your skin makes me cry.
You float like a feather,
In a beautiful world.
I wish I was special.
You're so fuckin' special…”
That voice.
“But I'm a creep.
I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here.”
I knew that voice. I whipped around so quickly I was certain my neck would snap. The little bit of alcohol left in my system whirled me somewhat into the concrete wall and I leaned against it for support, watching, listening. On the stage, a young-looking, familiar man leaned over a guitar, his dark hair spilling over his face, large sunglasses masking the rest of him from the world. His arms were covered in ink, tattoos of all different things from the cap of his worn, holey t-shirt, to his bracelet-clad wrists. His guitar was worn away from where the hand had stroked it many times, the wood much brighter under the stage lights.
But next to him…
Oh, God.
“I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control.
I want a perfect body .
I want a perfect soul.”
He was lit up like an angel under that light, his hands gently gripping the microphone in front of his lips. He was wearing a black crew-neck shirt which had grayed with age, and his fingernails were chewed away. His ears were pierced, multiple-times in fact, and his sandy brown hair was a frizzled mess, yanked back behind him, close to his neck. And he was singing. Good God, he was singing like every word was stabbing him in the heart, and I knew it was because it was.
Because James Diamond was singing it.
“I want you to notice
when I'm not around.
You're so fuckin' special.
I wish I was special.”
James.
I felt my head spin again, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol. I was paralyzed in my place, watching James wail into the microphone, and the only thought I could get to go through my head was that God, James was so fucking skinny, and why was he so fucking skinny? I didn’t care that the others were probably starting to get worried that I’d had my head bashed in. I didn’t care that some of the patrons of the club were still glowering at me like I didn’t belong there, when they should have been looking at James. Because fuck, James didn’t belong there either. With the dramatic, almost raspy lilt to his voice, he should have been singing in front of screaming fans, not apathetic bastards with nothing better to do than to just watch some guy pour his heart out on stage.
Another thought went through my head. He was dirty. He matched the club wall, smudges of dust and grime all over him.
“But I'm a creep.
I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh…”
I wanted to cry, or yell, or interrupt the whole thing or… or something. But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t get myself to move from my spot against the wall, just staring, staring, staring, at someone who had been missing from my life for so long. And there he was, right there in front of me, just lunged right back into my head and my heart like he’d never been missing in the first place. And it sent striking, slicing pains through me, just to watch him, withered, hunched over the mic like it was the only thing keeping him standing. And Guitar Dude was right there next to him, accompanying him, looking just as bad off.
“Whatever makes you happy,
Whatever you want.
You're so fuckin' special.
I wish I was special.”
Shit. I was crying. I had tears running down my cheeks like they’d never stop. I felt like he was singing to me, and I really wasn’t that fucking special. I couldn’t even move any closer to the stage. I just fucking stood there and watched, like he would see me beyond that ridiculously bright spotlight, like he would turn and wouldn’t look so skinny and dirty and pathetic anymore. Like the lyrics to the song weren’t exactly about how he had gone unnoticed and had felt so un-special. Like I wasn’t absolutely terrified at that idea. It just wasn’t fair. Not in any sense. It wasn’t fair at all.
“But I'm a creep.
I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here…
I don't belong here…”
I bowed my head. I wanted to convince myself that this dirty, stray of a person couldn’t possibly be James, that I was just missing him too much. But I couldn’t deny that voice if I tried, and those heavily lashed eyes, and Jesus, his white teeth. He’d never had a problem keeping perfectly white teeth, even when the rest of him didn’t look so pure anymore.
“Thank you,” he said into the mic, even though there wasn’t just a whole lot of applause. And then he made his way off stage.
I panicked. I couldn’t let him just walk out of my life again, could I? Did he really walk out before, or was that me? Either way, I couldn’t let him leave without finding out. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, so many things I never got to say, and if he left then, I was afraid I’d never see him again ever. The club was called Fate wasn’t it? It had to be some sort of fucking sign. It just had to.
“James!” I felt it, raw in my throat, expel from my lips, over that seething mass of people, to him at the back exit door. He was talking to the bartender, but he looked up wildly, like a caged animal. I started to push my way through the crowd.
Unfortunately, a loud as hell punk band had taken the stage and was blasting through the walls with music, and the apathetic crowd turned into a raging mob, and I was shoving through them and getting knocked around more than I usually did at a hockey game. I tried my hardest to keep James in my view, but time and time again, he slipped out and I kept feeling the cold sting of fear in my gut that he’d be gone when I got through the masses. The music rang in my ears, and I winced as I was shoved up against a table, it jutting straight into my ribs. Finally, I emerged on the other side of the wave, sweaty and a bit strung out.
Actually, I felt a little more like I was going to vomit, but I was pretty sure that was either the alcohol or the nerves twisting in my gut.
“James! James?” I called out, and I had lost sight of him in the chaos. I had to look a bit rapidly around the bar.
He was shaking hands with the bartender. He’d obviously been paid for his performance. He kept his head down; taking his money and shouldering the small, ripped up satchel and heading for the door.
“James! James, wait!”
Oh, God. If he had walked out the back door of that club, I honestly don’t know what I would have done with myself. The ache that passed through me when I realized that he might not hear me was devastating.
I managed to force myself forward, and I stumbled a little, shoving him into the wall on accident. He was even skinnier than he looked. I could feel it beneath my palms as we toppled over to the floor. Guitar Dude turned around to survey the problem, looking over his sunglasses in confusion.
“Dude! What’s your fucking problem-“ James started, but the sentence died in his throat as soon as he looked at me. He blanched. “…Who the fuck are you?”
He had to be pretending. He just had to be.
“James, it’s me! How do you not-“
“Kendall Knight? No way,” Guitar Dude said, looking almost as shocked as James, though not nearly as sick to his stomach.
“Fuck, Joseph, did you have to do that?”
First, I thought, “Who’s Joseph?” And then I realized that Guitar Dude probably had a name and it was, in this situation, more than likely Joseph.
“Dude, he’s your best friend! Aren’t you happy to see him?”
I looked at James, and I couldn’t say a word. The look on his face plainly said “No. I don’t want to see him. I never want to see him.”
I felt guilty. That’s an understatement.
“James…” I couldn’t stop saying his name, regardless, because, fuck, he was right in front of me! I was overwhelmed.
James cast his eyes away, and they looked glassy and so not like his. “Kendall… what the hell are you doing here?”
I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. “Who cares, James?! Where the fuck have you been?!”
James wouldn’t look me in the eye, and the more I stared, the more furious I became. The music had died to silence as the next band was making their way to the stage, though the idle chatter was still a roar in my ears.
“James,” I demanded. “James, look at me.”
He did. Those hazel eyes shifted to one of the darkest shades of blue, and I was left gaping at him with my heart hurting.
“What happened to you?” I found myself asking, my voice a hushed whisper.
Before he could answer, I heard over the crowd. “Kendall?! Kendall! Where are you?!”
They’d finally come looking for me. A selfish part of my mind wanted them not to find me. I had just found James again and he hadn’t said much at all, and I suppose, in a way, I needed a moment with him to help me realize that it wasn’t my fault that he left.
I didn’t know if I’d ever get that moment.
“Kendall!” Logan was yanking me up off the floor and whirling me around to look me in the face and rapidly ask me questions without giving me time to answer. “Are you alright? What are you doing on the floor? Did you get hurt? Why didn’t you come out and get us? We’ve been out there almost half an hour!”
I stared at him blankly. Ever sense my head was bashed in, I hadn’t really been able to take in that much so quickly. It left me a little winded and confused. “W-what?”
Logan looked briefly annoyed and worried, like my mom when I missed curfew. “Kendall, what kept you?”
I felt James’ name on my tongue, but I couldn’t seem to open my mouth and say it. Something kept my lips clamped shut. I guess some wildly childish part of me wanted them to notice him, to realize it was him, to give me proof that I wasn’t dreaming or just really fucking drunk. I wanted them to see James, now getting up off the floor and dusting himself off uncomfortably.
Logan followed my gaze. I took that opportunity to look to Camille and Carlos, who were just a hair behind Logan, staring directly at James. Camille’s eyes were starting to water, but she didn’t look happy. She looked terrified. Carlos looked beyond apprehensive. I knew that he’d probably seen a lot of young men that looked like James, and time and time again, had been wrong. I couldn’t imagine how much that would hurt. I suppose he just didn’t want to get his hopes up.
Logan went pale, his dark eyes looking almost black in the light, it casting shadows on his face that showed wrinkles starting to etch into his skin.
“…James?” Carlos finally asked timidly. He looked like a kicked puppy dog, and it made me feel sick all over again.
I finally looked at James again, my heart pounding against my ribs. I was begging and pleading with whatever god there was that this would be James. And yet, another half of me wanted him not to be, because this James… he wasn’t healthy. He was just so thin and so frail looking and so lost and just not James.
“…Hey… Carlos,” he finally murmured, his voice already raw with un-cried tears. He looked ashamed of himself.
“Oh… my… God! James!” And then Carlos was a bundle of energy, launching himself at the boy and wrapping his arms around his neck. “James! You’re here! You’re alive!”
He hadn’t been around Carlos in years. And though Logan and I seemed to just pick right up where we left off, James didn’t seem to know what to do with him anymore. He awkwardly stumbled backwards and patted Carlos on the back, his lips drawn into a deep frown. “…Yeah. I am.”
“Woah, it’s a total Big Time Rush reunion,” Guitar Dude - I mean Joseph - said, and I noticed he looked pretty gaunt too. “Crazy. S’up Camille, Carlos, Logan.”
He was acting like we had seen him yesterday. Then again, Guitar Dude was never all the way… there, per se. He seemed even more off than before. When he waved, I caught sight of lines within his tattoos - red and white lines that didn’t belong there.
Logan had finally managed to wrap his head around James standing in front of us. “James? Really? You’re James?”
Something in Logan’s eyes scared me. He knew something. It was that same twinkle of knowing that he had when we had talked to Stephanie, except so much more grave. I felt my throat close momentarily.
“Yeah. I’m James,” he said.
“Well, dude. Let’s get some drinks and catch up!” Joseph suggested with a happy drawl.
“Yeah, with what?” James snapped at him in return.
“We just made a hundred bucks,” he said, but his voice had withered away. They had obviously made some silent agreement about what to do with that money.
“Fuck that!” Carlos exclaimed. “I’ll buy it for all of us! Oh my God!” He turned to me and threw his arms around my waist, crushing his face into my chest. He was crying. “Kendall! You found James! I’m so happy that you found James.”
James shuffled on his spot. Camille had turned away, and she was wiping away mascara tinted tears. Logan was still staring. Carlos was happy I’d found James.
And yet suddenly…
I wasn’t so sure I was.