the heart of darkness

challenge entries

2008-10-07T23:35:31Z

august 2008 - The Glorious Excess Challenge

Title : Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces
Author : shinobi
Rating : NC-17
Summary : chester tries to make mike see it's not what you do, it's who you are...
A/N : thanks to ross <33

Read here...

+

august 2008 - The Broken Bones Challenge

Title : Sometimes (Tears Say All There Is To Say)
Rating : NC-17
Summary : Rob's gone... is he coming back?
A/N : long. sorry.

Read here...

+

July 2008 - The Side Project Challenge

Title : The World Does Not Revolve Around Chester Bennington
Author : shinobi
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Mike encourages Rob to pursue his dreams
A/N : short, un beta'd...

Read here...

+

June 2008 - The Video Challenge

Title : All Sparks
Author : shinobi
Rating : R
Notes/Warnings : un beta'd
Summary : All sparks burn out in the end...

Read here...

+

May 2008 - The Food Challenge

Title Little Things
Author shinobi
Rating R
Pairing Bennoda
Notes/Warnings Fluff =/
Summary I see a room. With no windows. But there's light coming from somewhere. And then there's the sound of water and that's it, I'm back here...

Read here...

+

May 2008 - The Domestic Challenge

Title The Fear Of Being Found
Author shinobi
Rating NC-17
Pairing Bennoda
Notes/Warnings Not for the faint hearted. And it’s pretty lengthy!
Summary Mike’s running to Chester and together they’re running from Joe.

Read here...

+

April 2008 - The Debt Challenge

Title Time For Deliverance
Author shinobi
Rating R
Pairing braz/bennoda
Summary It was supposed to end something. Not start something...

Read here...

+

April 2008 - The Five Stages of Grief Challenge

Title Into Oblivion (Reunion)
Author shinobi
Rating R
Summary But right now, as I turn to Chester and take in his bloodshot eyes and the tears that are cascading down his cheeks, I realise that there is nothing invincible about any of us anymore.

Read here...

+

March 2008 - The Phrase Challenge

Title: Changes
Author: shinobi
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Brad tries to figure out if change is really worth it…
Phrase used: 6) He's not your type. You really should have known.
Notes: Blah. My best shot =/

Read here...

+

February 2008 - The Valentines Day Challenge

Title: Roses For The Dead
Author: shinobi
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Moving on. Forgetting. Remembering. Forgiving yourself. Recovering.
Pairing: slight cm
Notes/warnings: Drug use/Cursing

Read here...

+

January 2008 - The Secrets Challenge

Title: Fuck Love, Give Me Fire
Author: shinobi
Rating: R
Summary: Mike unintentionally gets Brad and Chester a new toy...
Pairing: Braz/Delnoda

Read here...

+

January 2008 - The Four Elements Challenge

Title: Prelude
Author: shinobi
Rating: R
Summary: Brad realises that even the wildest of dreams can come true.
Pairing: Delnoda.
Notes/warnings: Erm, slightly what-the-fuck inducing. I chose to go with all four elements. Plus glitter-rain, goblins and pools of blood.

Read here...

drabble 2

2008-01-04T15:45:10Z

Everything He Wants

There’s something about the way Rob looks down at you as you as you’re between his clammy thighs, something that makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat. Your body momentarily loses the ability to move and you become paralysed by his feral stare. You’re aware of your heart pounding in your chest and your heavy breaths making themselves the only sound in the room.

You’re on your knees and mesmerised; you’re everything he wants you to be.

There’s something about the way Rob suddenly grabs your shoulders and pulls you to your feet. It’s fierce and commanding and a small part of you is scared. Your hands are bound, your knees are grazed and there’s nowhere for you to run but honestly, it’s not like you really want to run anyway. No, you want him to slam you against the dresser, throw you onto the bed, pin you down and fuck you senseless. And he does.

You’re on all fours and desperate; you’re everything he wants you to be.

There’s something about the way Rob thrusts inside you and forces your legs further apart each time he hits your spot. Your eyes are seeing stars and your bound hands are clinging onto the sheets beneath. You can feel yourself being broken but you don’t care; you never do. You just can’t get enough of the fact that he’s inside of you. No one else. You.

You’re on the verge of passing out; you’re everything he wants you to be.

There’s something about the way Rob digs his fingers into your hips. You can feel blood trickling on to the sheets beneath your writhing body. You feel him wrap his arm around your throat as he comes inside you, his grip tightening so hard that you start to choke but he’s still thrusting in and out and clawing your hips. You can’t help but come, a strangled cry escaping your lips as you dirty the sheets.

You’re so predictable, Mike.

drabble

2008-01-04T15:40:56Z

Desk Job

In the corner of the room stands an oak desk. It’s grand in its design, intricate patterns carved deep into the drawers. Rob says it looks like it could be antique. All Chester can do is think about how it would feel to fuck Rob over it, to hear it creak and slam against the wall. But Chester has a boyfriend, Michael, the man who is caressing his shoulder with his fingertips as Chester bites his lip and watches Rob leaning over the desk to get a better look at the finishing.

“Mike, dude, you should get this valued.”

“It’s just a desk,” Mike murmurs, his voice lost as he begins to kiss Chester’s neck.

“It’s more than a desk.”

Chester mumbles an agreement. Of course it’s more than a desk, it’s smooth and silky and ready and fucking well begging to have Rob’s naked body sliding back and forth against it. Or is that Chester? He’s not sure because Mike’s kisses are distracting him and Chester nudges him in the stomach with his elbow.

“Mike,” He utters, “Please, at least wait until Rob’s gone.”

Mike rolls his eyes, slips off the bed behind him and mutters something about going to get some drinks. Chester waits till his boyfriend’s footsteps have disappeared down the stairs then casually leans back on his elbows, head tilted as he watches Rob get down on the floor.

“There’s definitely some markings under here Chaz,” Rob sounds distracted, “You mind if I take a look?” He asks, his voice slightly muffled as he crawls under the desk, his back to Chester.

“Sure,” Chester smirks, biting down harder on his lip.

He’s done it before and Chester thinks, as he slides his hand down to the zipper on his jeans, he’ll more than likely do it again. Rob’s ass is all he can focus on as he slides his hand into his pants and wraps his hand around his erection. He slides it back and forth, eyes watching Rob like a hawk as he scrambles about, muttering under his breath, ass wiggling in the air.

“Fuck! It’s dated back two hundred years!”

Chester arches his back, “Fuck!”

“I know man, how amazing is that?”

Rob leans further forward, palm of his right hand pressed against the floor as he tilts his head to scrutinize something Chester can’t quite see. It turns Chester on no end; the way Rob’s back curves; the way he can see a flash of skin when his shirt rides up; the way his fingers flex against the floorboards.

“That’s fucking amazing Rob,” Chester pants out, tightening his grip, “Really. Fucking. Amazing.”

“This has got to be worth something, I’m telling you.”

“Mmm, I bet,” Chester gasps, “I fucking bet,” He murmurs, suddenly aware of the sound of Mike’s footsteps pattering across the kitchen downstairs.

Rob slips further beneath the desk and Chester grabs onto his erection; tightens his grip and bucks his hips. He can hear Mike walking down the hallway; hear the bottom step creaking. His hand starts to move faster and he bites down on his lip, free hand tightening around the bed sheets beneath him. Rob moves forward, shirt riding up so Chester can just about see the waist band of Rob’s boxers.

Chester’s eyes snap shut, he is certain the bed is creaking violently beneath him but like all the other times he just cannot stop. Something flashes before his eyes and he tightens his hold, suppresses a cry and falls back against the mattress, coming all over his hand.

“Mike should really get this valued.”

Chester sits up faster than lightning, shoving his cock back into his shorts, fingers fastening his zipper just as Rob gets to his feet and turns around.

“It’s a desk Rob,” Mike sighs, pushing the door open with a tray of drinks in his hands, “Just a desk. Now are you coming into the studio or what?”

Rob sighs and rolls his eyes as Mike leaves to join the others in the room next door. Chester gets to his feet as Rob passes him and gently pats his sticky hand against the younger man’s shoulder.

“I love your enthusiasm about our desk,” Chester smiles, casually wiping his hand against Rob’s shirt, “I fucking love it.”

make damn sure 13 through 21

2007-11-25T18:29:54Z

Title : Make Damn Sure
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : C/M
Rating : NC17
Summery : Chester makes sure that Mike regrets ever ending their relationship...

[13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21]

NEW FIC =)

2007-08-22T15:47:43Z

Title : This Suffering
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst
Pairing : Implied bennoda
Rating : R
Summery : [standalone] Chester sits and waits for Mike to return.

This Suffering

+

He sits alone at the table, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate. He stares into the mug, eyes watching the steam as it rises and floats upward toward the brightly painted ceiling of the café he’s been hiding in for what seems like hours. People come and go, chairs scraping across the wooden floor, hugs and greetings being exchanged above the soft classical music that pours from the small radio on the counter. A tall girl with jet black hair stands behind it, tapping her pen against the worktop in between serving the people who have come inside to hide from the rain. Her eyes are so deep and dark and he can’t help but think of Mike when he catches them.

She smiles cheerily and he looks away.

He can’t smile. It wouldn’t be appropriate.

Besides, he doesn’t have the strength.

So he goes back to staring. Eyes lock with the red painted surface of the table then the bitten nails at the end of his cold fingers then the couple who have just walked in through the door and are shedding their wet rain coats as they sit down. The music is turned up, it’s jazz now, all erratic and spontaneous. The girl walks over to the couple, chewing bubble gum as she takes their order. She smiles and shoves her notepad into the pocket of the red and white spotted apron that’s tied neatly around her waist.

She catches his eye again and he looks away.

He can’t look into those eyes. They remind him too much.

Besides, he doesn’t have the strength.

He watches the rain instead through the windows he can see the rest of the town spilling out in all directions below. The rain cascades down in sheets, pouring down on the shoppers and youngsters who walk in and out of shops and cafes, coats and scarves pulled tight around their bodies. He suddenly feels cold and takes a sip of his drink. The warm liquid slinks down his throat and soothes his insides. He clutches the mug tighter and stares at the empty seat opposite. He wishes Mike were there and for a moment he can picture him sitting in his green parka and resting his elbows against the table. He can picture Mike staring back with a smile on his lips as he reaches across the table and picks up a teaspoon. He leans over to reach Mike’s hand when he starts to spoon sugar into his drink and then he’s gone.

The waitress walks past with a tray of drinks, eyes frowning at him and when she returns from the table she lingers briefly, concern evident on her face. She’s about to say something, he can tell that much and that’s why he downs the rest of his drink and gets up from the table. He leaves a handful of coins and a slightly crushed note before shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and putting his head down as he leaves the café.

She calls goodbye and he looks away.

He can’t look at her. Her smile reminds him too much.

Besides, he doesn’t have the strength.

+

It’s cold when he gets home and Brad is concerned. He stands in the hallway whilst Brad fetches a towel from the bathroom. He doesn’t respond when he’s asked where the hell he’s been for the past two days. He’s too numb to talk anyway.

“You can’t go on this way Chester,” Brad sighs as he passes him the towel, “It’s doing you no good.”

Chester takes the towel, drops his dripping clothes to the floor and stands there naked and shivering. There’s a moment when Brad just stares but he can’t react, he can’t even move so Brad has to take the towel back and wrap it around his shivering form.

“Chaz this is crazy,” Brad continues, sliding his hand around Chester’s back and guiding him into the lounge.

It’s warm in there, Chester notices as he’s pushed onto the couch in front of the log fire that’s burning merrily away. He stares into the orange flames and watches, mesmerised by the crackling and hissing that pierces into his eardrums and tries to knock away Brad’s words.

“Chester you’ve got to start facing up to things.”

Brad wonders out of the room, returning a few minutes later with another towel and a pile of clothes. Chester just sits and stares. He doesn’t have the energy to communicate with Brad, let alone argue with him.

“Chester he’s not coming back.”

“Don’t say that.”

Brad looks surprised. Even Chester looks surprised. He hasn’t spoken for days. Not to Brad, anyway. He hasn’t had the strength or the courage or the words and he certainly hasn’t had a voice. He can’t sit back and let Brad say that though.

“Please Chester. It’s been twelve months.”

“And what? I’m supposed to give up. People go missing for years and they suddenly turn up.”

“Mike’s not coming back,” Brad whispers, “Chester he’s not coming back.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“It’s been a fucking year Chester, that’s why.”

“And I thought you were supposed to be my friend, meant to support me.”

“That’s why I’m telling you this. You’ve got to let go.”

“I can’t let go Brad. Not while he’s still out there.”

“Chester you know the chances of that are slim.”

Chester glares at Brad and snatches the towel from him. He doesn’t speak as he dries himself down and pulls on the dry clothes that Brad had brought him. The jumper is too big and the t-shirt itches but he doesn’t care.

“I just want you to start being realistic, that’s all,” Brad whispers.

“So what? You want me to just pretend he never existed?”

“Chester…”

“Start again? Throw all his things into the trash? Paint the bedroom walls? Clean the sheets? Erase him from my life?”

“No I’m not saying that… I…”

“He’s out there. He’s got to be.”

“Chester he was a prostitute on the run from his pimp. He went missing the same night his pimp supposedly moved state. It doesn’t add up to anything pretty, does it?”

“He’s there,” Chester whispers, getting to his feet, “He’s still there. I can feel him.”

He blinks away the tears and Brad reaches out to him but he doesn’t give him chance. He turns away, storms out of the lounge and races to his bedroom. When he gets inside he’s out of breath and kicking the door shut he drops to the floor, cradling his head in his hands.

Brad’s got it all wrong, Chester thinks to himself when he finally has the strength to get to his feet again. His legs feel like weights as he walks over to his bed; Mike’s bed. He sits down on it, running his hands across the sheets beneath him. If he closes his eyes then Mike’s sitting beside him. He can’t close them though. What Brad said keeps on running around his mind.

He knows Brad’s wrong.

So why are those words bothering him so much?

+

Chester doesn’t sleep peacefully that night. He dreams of Mike and broken images haunt him, make him sweat and cry out in his unconscious state. He tries to fight the terrors but they trap him just beneath that fine line of consciousness and as he struggles to open his eyes and be freed of memories of Mike he claws blunt fingernails into his skin and when he finally wakes in the early morning he’s drenched in sweat and blood is trickling down his arms.

Brad asks him to talk about the dreams. Brad makes him coffee and toast and sits down at the kitchen table with his arms crossed. Chester stares blankly into his cereals and his voice tells of Mike screaming out to him, Mike lost and cold and alone, Mike needing him really badly. Salty tears drip down his cheeks and he shakes, pure hysteria racking his body and draining his mind of any rational thought.

Brad holds him, thinks sadly of how this has become an all too regular occurrence.

+

He sits alone at the table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. He stares into the mug, eyes watching the steam as it rises and floats upward toward the brightly painted ceiling of the café he’s been hiding in for what seems like hours. People come and go, chairs scraping across the wooden floor, hugs and greetings being exchanged above the soft rock music that pours from the small radio on the counter. The tall girl with jet black hair stands behind it, tapping her fingers against the worktop in between serving the people who have come inside to cool down from the sun.. Her eyes are so deep and dark and he can’t help but think of Mike when he catches them.

She smiles cheerily and this time he doesn’t look away.

He smiles back, thinks how very much she smiles like Mike.

It’s ludicrous but he needs something to hang on to.

Mike’s out there, Chester thinks to himself. He’s still alive.

“He’s in here,” He whispers softly to himself, rubbing his hand against his chest.

Then he goes back to staring . Eyes lock with the yellow painted surface of the table then the jagged nails at the end of his warm fingers then the couple who have just walked in through the door and are fanning themselves with folded magazines as they sit down. The music is turned up, it‘s ska now, all fast and uplifting. The girl walks over to the couple, pony tail bobbing as she takes their order. She smiles and shoves her notepad into the pocket of the black and white chequered apron that’s tied neatly around her waist.

She catches his eye again and he stares right back.

He can see Mike in those eyes. They remind him so much.

It’s ludicrous but it makes him catch his breath.

Then he watches the sun instead as it cascades through the windows and he can see the rest of the town spilling out in all directions below. The glorious rays beam down in streams, bearing down on the shoppers and youngsters who walk in and out of shops and cafes, t-shirts and board shorts barely covering their bodies. He suddenly feels cold and takes a sip of his drink. The warm liquid slinks down his throat and soothes his insides. He clutches the mug tighter and stares at the empty seat opposite. He wishes Mike were there and for a moment he can picture him sitting in his favourite black shirt and resting his elbows against the table. He can picture Mike staring back with a smile on his lips as he reaches across the table and picks up a teaspoon. He leans over to reach Mike’s hand when he starts to spoon sugar into his drink and then he’s gone.

The waitress walks past with a tray of drinks, eyes frowning at him and when she returns from the table she lingers briefly, concern evident on her face. She’s about to say something, he can tell that much and that’s why he downs the rest of his drink and gets up from the table. He leaves a handful of coins and a slightly crushed note before shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and putting his head down as he leaves the café.

She calls goodbye and he looks away.

He can’t look at her. Her smile reminds him too much it hurts.

And what if Brad’s right?

+

He keeps going back though. Sits in the same place, cradles a drink between his hands for hours on end and watches people come and go throughout the day. And just when he feels like someone is about to come and ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, he leaves. He doesn’t go too far though because he needs to keep watch. He walks down the street and sits in his favourite spot on the city wall. It’s the perfect view of the door to the Windmill Café and he watches it till closing, just in case.

He keeps the piece of paper folded neatly in his pocket and every so often he takes it out. It still smells of Mike’s aftershave as he carefully unfolds it and smoothes out the tiny creases. He holds it by the edges, scared it may rip or tear and his eyes glide over the words; his last thread of hope that Mike’s still coming.

Meet me in the Windmill Café at eleven o’clock, everything’s going to fine. Love Mike xx

He keeps on reading it over and over again and he keeps on coming back again and again. He doesn’t care that this note is nearly twelve months old.

He keeps holding on.

He can’t let go.

Any day Mike’s going to be there, waiting, with a smile on his face.

+

FIN.

Red Sky

2007-08-09T16:01:18Z

Title : Red Sky
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst
Pairing : Rob/Mike
Rating : NC17
Summery : [ standalone] Everyday you make yourself pretend that the life you’re living is okay, that the things he does to you aren’t inhuman and aren’t eventually going to kill you....

this is for roz <3 unbeta‘d, I own all typos and mistakes.

Red Sky.

Everyday you make yourself pretend that the life you’re living is okay, that the things he does to you aren’t inhuman and aren’t eventually going to kill you. You push away reality and drift through your waking hours in a haze of daydreams where he isn’t lying on top of you and forcing your legs apart. Your clothes aren’t being torn away like your dignity and your thighs aren’t stained red from the blood and black from the bruises. You float away to open fields where you’re running through them with his arms around your waist. His fingers don’t dig into your skin, they merely graze against it and as you smile and laugh, hold one another like lovers should he whispers that he cannot live without you.

-

“Mike?”

You dread the moment his voice calls you every morning. Sometimes you’d do anything not to hear it. In fact there have been times when you’ve sat in the kitchen, staring out of the window and praying that he won’t call you. It never happens.

You push your chair back and empty your half finished coffee down the sink. Your legs feel heavy as you drag yourself up creaking stairs and across wooden floorboards until you reach his bedroom door. Your heart is already racing as you grasp on to the cold handle and push the door open.

“Master?” You speak softly. That isn’t his name, it’s just what he likes you to call him these days. You walk over to the window and pull back the drapes, push the window open to allow some air to flow into the room.

“Run me a bath,” His voice is soft as it floats across the room and you simply nod your head as you duck into the bathroom, your feet tingling as they glide over the cold tiled floor. You turn on the taps and fill the bath, pouring in some of the expensive bath oils he favours. Then you return to the bedroom, your eyes settling on him for the first time that day, and it’s just like it always is when you look at him; like the first time you saw him.

He’s flawless on the outside but scratch a little on the surface and there is nothing flawless about him. You know that yet you can’t find the strength or courage to fight him anymore. Gazing over to him as he sits in his bed, black velvet sheets draped over his pale body, you wonder if perhaps today is the day he’s woke up as Rob, the man you fell in love with and not Master, the beast that overtook his body many years ago. There’s a small glimmer of hope when he holds out one of his hands and his deep, brown eyes connect with yours. You walk over to him promptly, your heart tingling because maybe that hand is going to reach out and maybe those lips are going to apologise…

His hand strikes you across your face.

“That’s for taking so long to run me a bath,” He hisses, flinging the sheets from his body.

You stand and stare, one hand clutching your cheek as the covers hit the floor and he gets to his feet, his muscles rippling as he stretches his arms above his head.

“I’m sorry,” You hear your weak voice echoing around your ears.

“Make the bed. I want fresh sheets. These have bloodstains on them,” He stops next to you and leans close to your ear, “Scrub them away,” he whispers.

You close your eyes as he disappears into the bathroom and you take a deep breath.

“He loves me,” You whisper out loud to yourself as you reopen your eyes and begin to strip the sheets from the bed, ignoring the red blotches that you know damn well have spilt from your wounds.

“Michael.”

His voice calls out again and you drop the blankets to the floor, taking a deep breath before crossing the bedroom and timidly stepping into the bathroom. He’s standing naked and staring at you with blackened eyes.

“This water is luke warm,” he spits out.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble.

“Come here,” He holds out his hand and you obediently step forward, letting him grab your hand. In your far away dreams he’s lacing his fingers with yours and bringing his other hand up to caress your stinging cheek. In reality his fingers dig into your wrist and he pulls you down to your knees, thrashes your hand into the water.

“I’ll put some more hot water in,” You gasp out as his grip gets tighter.

“That’s a good idea,” He nods, letting go of your hand. You make fast work of turning the hot tap on and focus on the way the water floods out of the faucet and the steam rises around you, prickling your skin as it collides with your body.

“That’s warmer,” You whisper, shakily getting to your feet as you begin to turn off the taps.

Rob dips his hand in and shakes his head, “Which bath oils did you use?”

You point to the bottle that’s sitting beside the taps.

“I didn’t want those this morning. Are you feeling a little incompetent today?”

“No Master,” You shake your head.

“You are. You’ll have to run me a fresh bath. I feel like bubbles today,” He smiles, “And make sure the water’s hot this time,” He pauses, “Seems a shame to waste this water.”

You freeze as he steps behind you, his hands suddenly on your shoulders. His lips are right by your ears and you shiver as his breath tickles the side of your neck.

“Take off your clothes.”

You gulp.

“Now,” His voice is firmer.

Your hands grip the hem of your shirt and you pull it off over your head. You shudder as the cool air hits your skin. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You’re not sure if it’s from the fear or the cold. Or both. Your hands shake as you unzip your pants and push them down to your ankles. You step out of them and slide them across the floor and then you’re standing there naked because he doesn’t let you wear boxers anymore. Flinching is all you can do when his hand trails down your spine. You used to warm to his touch now you’re just left feeling ice cold.

“You’re getting chubby Michael,” Rob purrs, sliding his hand around your stomach and pinching at your skin, “No desserts for you this week. Now, get in the bath.”

“What?” You don’t mean to respond, it just slips out.

“Don’t answer back Mike, it’s tiring. Get in the bath.”

Your breath hitches in the back of your neck. You remember when you bathed together once. A midsummer’s day when you got caught in a thunderstorm. You’d been out for a walk in the fields surrounding your home. You were both cold and tired and you fell asleep with the bubble infested water lapping around your bodies. You wonder if that’s what this will be like. Maybe Rob will dry you off afterwards. Maybe you can fall asleep in his arms like you did before?

“Now!”

You jump, almost slip and lose your footing as Rob’s voice booms into your ears. Steadying yourself, you place your hands on the side of the tub and dip your toe into the water. It’s boiling hot and sends a wave of discomfort throughout your body but you get in nonetheless, Rob giving you a helping hand as he pushes forcefully against your back. You sit down and pull your knees up to your chest, eyeing up Rob in fear as an evil glimmer flashes in his eyes. What happened to the love that used to be in those eyes? The care and the utter kindness? Something came and ate it all away, that’s what.

“Turn the other way,” Rob smiles, “Face down.”

You stare at him for a few moments before doing as he’s asked, shifting your body so you’re facing the other way and the palms of your hands are resting against the bottom of the tub. The water sways and splashes over the edges as Rob climbs in behind you. You wince as his hands slide down your sides until they’re resting on your hips, teasing the skin with his fingertips for a few moments.

“Lie down,” He whispers.

“I…”

“Do it.”

You take a deep breath, close your eyes and push your body flat until you’re lying down and completely submerged by hot, sticky water. Your heart begins to pound as Rob climbs on top of you, his hands clawing at every inch of you as he begins to rub his body against yours.

You’re taking shallow, timid breaths through your nose, telling yourself this is okay; you can take this. He doesn’t mean it. Maybe he’ll apologise afterwards. Maybe he’ll dry you off and patch up your wounds and even carry you to bed. Maybe he’ll hold you in his arms and he’ll be crying and apologising and you’ll tell him it’s okay, really, because you know that this isn’t Rob.

“Fuck…”

You can hear his voice. His feral grunts and guttural moans coming from above the water. They sound faint and disorientated. You don’t know if that’s because you’re under the water or because you’re starting to lose consciousness. Your arms ache as they slide against the porcelain surface and Rob’s hands glide between your legs, pushing them apart. This is the point where you start to struggle. You gasp for air as he forces himself inside you and your lungs fill up with musky bathwater. The pain that shoots through you is something you still can’t smother, three years since it started happening and it still feels like the first time he’s tearing you into pieces.

“Please…”

That’s the sound of your submerged cries and it makes Rob push in further. You can hear him laughing, grunting and panting all one after the other as he begins to push himself inside you.

“Please!”

Louder this time and your body finds some strength to let your hands push you up. You gasp for breath as your head comes out of the water but it’s quickly forced back down again with a shattering crash as Rob’s hand grabs chunks of your hair and slams your face into against the bottom of the bathtub. You can taste blood now as well as the bath oils. A sharp pain bolts through your head and just when you think you can’t hold out anymore you’re being pulled up above the water and your lungs are instinctively heaving in gulps of air. You cough and wheeze, spluttering everywhere until you can finally focus again.

“Please don’t…” You whisper as Rob’s grip tightens on your hair.

Too little. Too late. That’s how the saying goes. He thrusts inside you, pushes your head under water, pulls it back up again; over and over again until you’re dizzy and your hands can no longer hold you up. You crash against the bottom of the bathtub, head pounding and insides stinging. Then suddenly he’s gone.

“Get up.”

It takes you a few seconds to register his words but as soon as they collide with your mind you push your weary body up, gasping for breath again and rubbing the bloody water from your eyes.

“Get on the floor.”

You’re barely standing up when he grabs you by the waist and drags you out of the bath. Water spills over the edge and you bang your leg against the taps but that’s nothing compared to the pain you feel when he slams you against the cold tiled floor and pins your arms above your head.

Then it’s happening all over again. He’s pushing your legs apart, he’s dragging his fingernails down your back and burying your head into the ground. You bite your tongue when he pushes inside you. You start to sob when his thrusts become harder. Why can’t he be like he used to be? Why can’t he make love to you and kiss you and run his fingers down your spine. You close your eyes and push away the cold tiles beneath you, the creaking sound from the radiator beside your weary body, the hissing and grunting tumbling from Rob’s callous lips. Instead you’re lying on your bed and Rob is gently sliding in and out of you. His hands are warm and soft as they explore every inch of your body. His lips are brushing against your neck, teeth gently nipping at the skin behind your ears. He’s telling you how much he loves you, how beautiful you are and suddenly you’re hard and you’re pushing back against him begging him for more.

“Fuck…” Rob grunts and your hands which have become clammy grip onto the floor below.

“Please,” You hear yourself groaning in pleasure as you push yourself back, “Harder… I need to feel you. Fuck me harder Rob,” You moan.

“Yeah that’s right,” Rob growls, “You like this really don’t you?”

“Yes,” You feel your breath hitching.

“You’re so fucked,” He hisses, pinching the skin on your shoulders, “You’re so fucked up.”

“I know,” You nod, squeezing your eyes tighter as Rob pushes your legs even further apart. You feel yourself slipping from the images that are dancing through your mind. You can’t do that, you think desperately to yourself. You need to focus and you bite your lip, picture Rob’s hands sliding around to your erection and working their way up and down in time with his thrusts. He whispers in your ear again. Tells you he’s going to make you feel really fucking good and you groan, arch your back even more and…

“Fuck you’re so tight. I can’t believe you’re still so tight,” Rob’s hands slide violently up and down your back until they’re pushing against the back of your head.

“No,” You whimper, begging your mind to carry on, “No,” You gasp as you feel Rob pushing your head against the cold floor but it’s too late, you can’t feel his warmth and love anymore, just his harsh, selfish ways and your eyes snap open as he pushes deeper still.

You’re not hard anymore. You’re not feeling anything but crushed and tired and when Rob comes inside you you’re nothing but a corpselike figure stretched out against the floor, tears meandering down your cheeks as he shakes and grabs onto your hips and lets a string of violent words pour from his mouth. He’s rough when he pulls out, even rougher when he kneels down beside you and grabs you by the scruff of the neck.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” He hisses, malice in his eyes.

You don’t even respond, you just let your head drop back down to the floor and watch him through hooded eyes as he takes a piss, splashes some water against his face and brushes his teeth like this is nothing out of the ordinary from his normal morning routine. Oh wait, it isn’t is it?

“I’ll bathe later,” He declares, his feet stopping by your line of sight, “You’re a mess, get yourself cleaned up. I’ll be back when I’ve fetched the mail.”

And then he’s gone. The door is shut behind him. The door his locked behind him. And you’re left lying on the floor staring at the spot he was just standing in. You’re shivering and breathless, you’re bleeding and slipping into a daze. You close your eyes as tears begin to slide down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” You sob to yourself, “Please don’t cry Mike.”

You remember the way he used to hold you when you were upset. The way he’d lie next to you and wrap his arms around your body. He’d pull you close and you’d burry yourself into his warm body. You wrap one hand around the other and tell yourself he’s there. He’s lying next to you, rubbing warmth into your hand. He’s telling you to shut your eyes and go to sleep, telling you to rest, telling you that everything will be okay when you wake up. His breath hits your ears and he presses his lips against your neck. He squeezes your hand and gets up, pulls the covers over your body and traces a hand through your hair. You snuggle against the bed and feel your mind starting to shut down. The soft click of the door shutting momentarily stirs you from your slumber and you shift a little, sinking further into your pillow.

“Please come back,” You’re aware of your voice whispering through the stark bathroom, or through the sunlit bedroom?

You’re not sure.

You don’t know where you are anymore.

You just don’t know.

FIN.

Semi Mental (Freedom Fighters)

2007-08-09T15:55:43Z

Title : Semi Mental (Freedom Fighters)
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Fantasy
Pairing : C/M
Rating : NC17
Summery : [ standalone/mpreg/cm ] You knew something was wrong. Just that sometimes, admitting this is not the easiest thing to do. You’re thinking about that as you step inside the bathroom and see Mike, your boyfriend, crouching over the toilet and clutching his stomach...

a/n : I’m a little nervous, not written anything like this before… mpreg and fantasy. So pleaseprepare to leave reality at the door.

Semi Mental (Freedom Fighters)

+

“Is it me or is Mike throwing up for the fifth time this week?”

You glance up from where you’re sitting at the kitchen table as your best friend Brad sits down and flicks on the plasma screen in front of him. You can just about hear the sounds of someone retching as Brad’s fingers move effortlessly over the handheld keypad that he rests in his lap.

“I’ll go and see if he’s okay,” You murmur, sliding back your chair.

“Cool. You want some breakfast? I’ll order something for you.”

“Sure,” You nod, distracted by the sound of whimpering, “Order me anything,” You say, hurriedly making your way out of the kitchen and down the long, bright corridor that leads to the bathroom.

You knew something was wrong. Just that sometimes, admitting this is not the easiest thing to do. You’re thinking about that as you step inside the bathroom and see Mike, your boyfriend, crouching over the toilet and clutching his stomach.

“Mike?” You call out, footsteps echoing off the walls as they tiptoe over the white tiles.

He shakily raises his head and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. He looks deathly pale and as you crouch down in front of him you think to yourself that this is not good.

“Is it? Are you…?”

Mike closes his eyes as tears begin to trickle from them. He nods his head and your heartbeat suddenly increases. Shit, is all you can think because you don’t know what the fuck to do. You can’t think of the words to say so instead you pull him to his feet and wrap him up in a tight embrace.

+

Brad doesn’t know what to say either.

“Are you… Are you sure?” He finally asks as the three of you sit around the kitchen table.

“Yes,” Mike nods, “Yes I’m sure.”

“But I thought that your Mother was human?”

“My Father was one of The Freedom Fighters. That makes me half human. That means that this is possible.”

“But how do you know? I mean how do you know there’s something in there?” Brad asks.

“I can feel it,” Mike answers simply, “I can feel something there.”

“But surely you guys used,” Brad stops mid sentence and looks at you, “Please tell me you used protection Chester?”

“I… Well… No…”

“Chester!” Brad exclaims, a look of pure disbelief across his face.

“I know, I know, save me the lecture,” You sigh, looking down at your bitten fingernails, “If we’d had been safe then we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“It’s not just that,” Brad shakes his head, “I mean Christ! Mike’s still a kid! He’s seventeen for God’s sake! What the fuck were you thinking?”

You slowly glance up at Mike. He’s staring a hole in the table and his fingers are tying knots around each other. He bites his lip and another set of tears start to trickle from the corners of his worried eyes.

You feel like you want to tell Brad that all you were thinking is how much you love Mike, how much you wanted to be inside of him, how much you wanted to make him feel a part of you. It seems inappropriate though and probably not the answer Brad really wants to hear.

“Can we not argue?” You sigh.

Brad shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I just care about you both, that’s all. I need some air,” He slides his chair back, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

+

You wonder what it was like a hundred years ago when only women could carry babies. You wonder what kind of place the Earth was before the species known simply as The Freedom Fighters invaded it in 2012. You’ve read dusty old books and you’ve scrolled through web pages and watched grainy videos but you never really got a taste of how things were back then. You wonder if it was easier back then. When not everything was computerised. When people wrote with pens and paper instead of the trusty stylus.

Mike lies next to you on your bed in a soft slumber. You run your fingertips across his pale face, tracing the scar that zigzags along his jaw bone. You think about when you first met. You think about your first kiss. You think about the first time you slept together. You think about the fact that your love is in effect actually going to kill him.

“Chester?”

“Sorry,” You whisper, swatting the tears away, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Mike twists and turns until he’s facing you, “I wasn’t really sleeping.”

“No?”

“No. I was thinking about…” He sighs, “I’m scared.”

You want to tell him not to be. You want to tell him everything will be okay but the reality is that’s all utter bullshit. That’s why your tears get heavier and all you can do is hold him against your sobbing body.

+

The story goes that in 2012 a tribe calling themselves The Freedom Fighters were driven off their planet, which was then a small unnoticed blot in the Milky Way. The planet had been over taken by a callous ruler named Zekda, who cursed everyone who didn’t believe in her rules. This basically meant all the non-believers who didn’t believe in slavery and crucifying those who weren’t pure; her policies to turn men into slaves and kill anyone who didn’t have the right coloured hair. It was ludicrous, and those apposed, they became those who called themselves The Freedom Fighters.

The Freedom Fighters invaded planet Earth, not with the intentions of taking over - more so because they were fleeing their former home for their own protection. The number of Freedom Fighters outdid the number of humans; though the only striking differences were their higher IQ and the small matter of the males ability to reproduce - something which was only flawed by the fact that the male would die upon giving birth. This had been the biggest reason they’d fled to Earth, because the good of their species was dwindling and the rest ridden with evil and the prospect of humans to breed with had to be something positive right?

But like everything in life, it didn’t quite work like that. Humans became weary of this new species, unconvinced that they were only there for their own protections. Wars started between the humans and The Freedom Fighters, wars which were sparked by a strong human hatred of change. But like The Freedom Fighter’s views had differed from members of their own race; a lot of humans views differed from person to person as well and throughout the years the wars had dwindled, a lot of the older humans dying in their old years, taking their narrow minded views to the grave. And so had begun an influx of relationships between the so called Freedom Fighters and the Humans.

You rub your tired eyes. Gliding your fingers over the screen you’ve been reading the text disappears into thin air. Three months have passed and a tiny bump is beginning to show on Mike. You get to your feet, walk over to where he’s lying on the couch. He seems to be half asleep, his eyes fluttering open from time to time. You sit down and press a kiss against his forehead.

“Hey,” You whisper when his eyes open, “You okay?”

Mike nods and for a moment you’re just staring at him. He’s all innocence and seventeen years old, almond shaped eyes that stare back at you and make you feel like you could just keep on watching forever. The thing is you don’t have forever. You hate it. You hate yourself because quite frankly you’re to blame. You fell in love with a boy from another species, a boy who was five years younger than you who had beauty and naivety and you couldn’t help yourself in wanting to show him exactly how much you cared. You never even thought of the consequences.

“I don’t want it to be like this,” Mike suddenly murmurs.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

“I mean I don’t want us to act like this for the next few months. I’m not sick,” He sighs, “I want us to act normally.”

“We can’t pretend like this isn’t happening.”

“I know,” Mike whispers, “But I hate this silence between us, I hate the way you tiptoe around me. I hate the way you don’t touch me anymore.”

You sigh, “I’m touching you now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m scared. Look what happened the last time?”

“It’s happened,” Mike shrugs, “We’ve just got to accept that. Chester I don’t want to remember my last days like this, I want to live a little,” He pauses, “I want you to be by my side and smiling, not crying.”

You smile, “I will be. I’m sorry,” You lean forward and graze your lips against Mike’s, “I can’t help but feel that this is all my fault. I don’t want to let you go and yet I’m scared of touching you.”

Mike nods his head, “I think I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, kissing him softly.

“Don’t apologise,” Mike murmurs, his lips smudging against yours, “I wanted to feel you inside me as much as you wanted to be there.”

You gulp and slide your hands around his waist, kissing him harder as you slide down to lie next to him. For a few minutes you stay there together, kissing one another hungrily. You can feel yourself growing hard as Mike slides his tongue against yours and presses his fingers against the waist of your jeans. His fingertips send jolts of pleasure down your spine as they slide underneath the thick material, trailing lower and lower until you have to break the kisses and undo your pants.

Mike watches you as you sit up a little and pull off your shirt. You lean down and kiss him again before you sit up and push down the zipper on your jeans. You reach around to grab his wrists and place his hands on the waistband of your pants, forcing them to push your jeans down until he gets the hint and slides them off your legs for you. They hit the floor with a hint of clumsiness, long forgotten as you slide onto your back and pull Mike between your legs. The friction created as he starts to grind himself against your naked body is unbearable.

The kissing resumes and you hold Mike against you, hands running up and down his spine and sliding under the thin material of his T-Shirt. You can feel tiny beads of sweat forming on his lower back and begin to push his shirt up and over his head, cascading it to the floor as your hands hungrily claw at his tanned skin. Then you stop kissing for a moment as your hands slide over the tiny bump of his stomach. Mike sits up and presses his hands on top of yours.

“He’s going to be beautiful,” He whispers.

“He?” You smile.

Mike nods.

“Come here,” You whisper, opening your arms.

Mike lies down against you, allowing your arms to embrace his body. You stay there for a while, Mike’s head resting in the crook of your neck; your hands sliding back and forth over his bump.

“Chester?”

“Hmm?”

“I want you to come inside me again,” Mike utters, “I love how it made me feel.”

You feel yourself blushing, growing harder and smiling all at once. Mike kisses you and trails his hand down to your erection. His fingers slide around it and you can’t help but gasp out in pleasure.

“I don’t know Mike,” You sigh, “I don’t want to harm you. Either of you.”

Mike gives you a look that says ‘well I’m going to die anyway’ but you brush it aside, press your lips against his forehead.

“I wouldn’t mind feeling it for myself though,” You murmur, relishing at the smile that spreads itself across Mike’s face.

Moments later he’s lying on top of you, his pants removed and strewn across yours on the floor. His hands pin yours above your head and as his tongue trails down your stomach and dips into your bellybutton you can’t help but remember that this is one of the many things you fell in love with about Mike; his hunger for physical contact; his hunger to take off all your clothes, pin you down to the ground and do unmentionable things to you.

Your hips buck as Mike’s tongue traces across the tip of your erection and you slam your head into the pile of cushions beneath you, loving the way he teases you; loving the way his fingers dig into the palms of your hands. You’re seeing stars when his warm mouth encompasses you and you moan in utter delight as he slides his tongue up and down your erection, teasing it like a Popsicle.

“Mike…”

“Hmmm?” He hums, sending vibrations down your cock.

“I want you inside me.”

Mike stops what he’s doing and glances up at you, a smile spreading across his face. It’s a devilish smile and he climbs on top of you again, his hands gripping onto your waist as he grinds his body into yours.

“Tell me that again,” He whispers, his tongue trailing inside your ear, “I like how it made me feel.”

You repeat the words and no sooner have they rolled off your lips, Mike is pressing his mouth against yours, kissing you hungrily and flicking his tongue inside you. What follows are hands clawing one another bodies; slick skin upon slick skin; tongues fighting against one another and finally the strange feeling of one of Mike’s moist fingers sliding inside you.

You gasp out at first but relax quickly as Mike kisses you. Another finger flicks inside, scissoring you open whilst Mike’s free hand cups your face. Your eyes flutter shut, but Mike whispers in your ear, tells you he wants you to keep them open. Obliging, you reopen them and Mike removes his fingers. He spreads your legs and trails kisses down your neck and then he gently slides himself inside you, causing your hands to grab onto chunks of the couch beneath you.

You’ve never let anyone do this to you before.

Mike doesn’t seem like the pregnant teenager everyone else sees him as, least of all right this moment when he’s thrusting inside you and trailing his tongue across your chest. You drag your nails down his back, pull him further inside you and buck your hips in time to his thrusts, very much aware that any moment now you’re going to explode from a complete sensory overload. He feels amazing.

Mike’s lips graze against yours and you slide your hands up his back, tangle your fingertips in his jet black hair and pull his head closer. You can taste nothing but him as his tongue dips inside your mouth again. You can’t seem to keep your eyes open any longer and Mike seems to be having difficulty in doing so as well.

“Chester,” He murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as you stop kissing.

“Mmm?”

“I’m…”

He doesn’t finish. You don’t really need him to either. His hands suddenly grip onto your hips, fingernails digging right into your bones. You’re positive there will be bruises. And then a soft, almost delicate moan tumbles from his lips and you find your eyes opening; staring into his hungry, brown orbs. He spills his seed inside you and you struggle to swallow your breath. The look of pure pleasure; the way his eyes sparkle; that emotion on his face and the warmth that trickles inside you is enough to send you over the edge. Hips bucking, you find yourself spilling your sticky seed all over your stomach; the couch; Mike’s thighs.

And then you stay there just staring at one another.

+

The Freedom Fighters meant only good things when they invaded Planet Earth on that mild September day in 2012. A lot of suggestions however that their impact on humans have had damaging effects are hard to ignore. An increase in homosexual males meant that the attractiveness of a Male from The Freedom Fighters was only made stronger by their ability to conceive. However, the small fact that said Male would die after giving birth was a hidden fact until approximately fifty years after the tribe invaded. It was a curse that had been laid upon them from Zekda, the evil ruler from whom they had fled. A curse which could not be undone, a curse which would, and still does tear apart so many lives. It is inevitable.

You wipe the text away from the screen with your right hand. Your other hand is wiping away your tears. If you could cut Zekda into tiny pieces then you quite happily would. How dare someone so evil and callous be the reason Mike is about to die?

Five months have passed. Five months of strolls on the beach, stolen kisses, holding hands, finding many new sex positions, oh and rubbing Mike’s back as he throws up into the toilet every morning. It’s undoubtedly been the best five months of your life. And somehow, at the same time, it’s been the worst.

Waking up every morning to the sound of Mike retching. Trying to push away the fact that each morning; each new day means one less day. You don’t want it to end. Of course you don’t. That probably explains why you’re hiding alone in your study. Mike was tired and needed to sleep. You wanted to watch him yet at the same time you couldn’t bear to sit and just do nothing. And lamely, that’s why you’ve spent the past hour staring at the plasma in front of you, searching the world wide web for any hint of this not happening. The truth is it is happening and you’ve known that for almost nine months now. Whenever Mike’s been sleeping you’ve crept in here to try and find something, some miracle that will stop him from… You can’t even bring yourself to think about the word anymore.

There’s no stopping it though. And no matter how many times you read the same history pages; the same chunks of italic text, it doesn’t seem quite fair. Mike was funnily the one who said to you only last week that it’s merely the concept of people not thinking of the consequences to their actions. Zekda. You. Him.

He said it with a smile though and a squeeze of your hand. And then he kissed you and told you if you dare break into tears again he would make you sleep in the guest room.

You can’t help but smile.

A strangled cry coming from the room next door quickly erases it though and you get to your feet, rushing over to the door and bolting down the corridor. You crash into the bedroom, your worst fears already confirmed as Mike stands in the middle of the room in a pool of blood. Tears are streaming down his face.

“Brad? Brad!” You yell, your feet dashing over to Mike, “It’s okay,” You whisper, “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to leave you yet,” Mike sobs, his arms clamping around your body, “Not yet.”

Brad crashes into the room before you have time to answer. His face pales as his eyes survey the sight before him and finally click with yours.

“I’ll get the Doctor,” Brad nods, disappearing back through the door.

You guide Mike back over to the bed. You settle him down and plump up the pillows. You hold his hands and wipe away his tears.

You feel so helpless.

When the Doctor arrives you’re told to stand back. You refuse and hold onto Mike’s clammy hand. The Doctor relents and lets you stay. Brad stands in the middle of the room; hands by his sides as he stares. You can’t help but think he looks just how you feel. A combination of fear and shock mixed in with a heavy dose of helplessness. Funny how that word keeps on cropping up.

The Doctor injects Mike’s arm with something. You don’t catch its name, you just hear the Doctor telling Mike it will ease the pain a little. Mike looks terrified. His eyes are wide, ringed with tears and all you can do is squeeze his fucking hand.

It’s all such a mess. You’ve never been good with blood so you look at Mike’s face instead as the baby struggles to free itself from Mike’s womb. The Doctor clatters with silver knives and other surgical tools that glint in the evening light. He spreads them out on a trolley and uncaps a bottle of some lethal looking medicine.

“I’m sorry Mike,” You suddenly hear yourself whispering.

Mike shakes his head, “I don’t want you to be sorry,” He sniffs, “And I want you to stop blaming yourself for this,” He winces, “Don’t think I don’t know that’s what you’ve been doing,” He offers a small smile, “Just think of it as this being how it was always meant to be.”

You can’t speak for a moment or two. You tighten your grip of his hand, gulping when he lets out a cry. There’s blood everywhere and Brad has left the room. Beads of sweat drip down Mike’s forehead. You wipe them away as he begins to shake.

“What’s happening?” You frown, gazing over at the Doctor.

Only then do you realise the small bundle he’s holding in his arms; the knife that he’s using to slice through the umbilical cord. Everything’s red and sticky and your eyes sink down to the deep wound in Mike’s stomach.

“Please save him,” You whisper, “Please…”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“Please. Just try! Fucking try!”

“It’s not scientific. It’s a curse, a horrible curse which no one can ever rectify,” The Doctor shakes his head, “I’m so very sorry.”

You look back at Mike. He looks so pale and you suddenly note that he’s beginning to shiver badly. His eyes flutter open and he smiles softly at you.

“Is it over?”

Over? The word sends chills down your spine.

“It’s a boy,” The Doctor stands up, tiny bundle in his bloodstained arms, “I need to get him warm but hold him for a moment,” His voice is of compassion as he passes the small child; your child into Mike’s arms.

You want to capture that moment; stay in it forever.

The way Mike’s smile broadens as he lays his eyes on your little boy; the way your hand presses against the tiniest of feet; the way the three of you sit there like there’s not a care in the world.

“He’s beautiful,” Mike whispers.

The Doctor clears his throat, “I’m sorry. I need to get the baby warm.”

Mike nods. He glances at you. He glances at the baby. He presses a kiss to his head and the Doctor takes him in his arms. It happens so fast.

“We need a name.”

It’s all you can think of to say.

“Charlie,” Mike whispers, “I’ve always loved that name.”

You smile. A tear trickles down your cheek yet you smile.

“Chester?” Mike croaks.

You brush your hand across his forehead. He’s getting colder.

“Will you hold me?”

You slip into the bed beside him. You pull him in between your legs. You hold him so tight and wrap your arms around him. You don’t want it to end like this. You don’t deserve this; Mike does not deserve this and neither does Charlie. But you can’t be angry, not right now. You breathe in the light scent of Mike’s hair and feel him curling his arms around you.

“I love you,” He murmurs.

“I love you more.”

There’s a stillness in the room. The sun is setting outside and you feel the orange streaks stroking against your skin as they trickle in through an open window. The faint sound of traffic creeps in on a sombre breeze that ruffles the curtains and tickles the end of your nose. You smooth your hands up and down Mike’s back, rocking him gently as his heartbeat begins to slowly fade until it’s nothing more than a dull echo in your memory.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that; holding his body in your arms.

+

“FUCK!”

You wake up with a jolt, hands grabbing for your cell phone that sits on the nightstand next to your bed. You can hardly breathe as you swat away the crumby remnants of sleep from your eyes and flip open your beloved phone. Relief washes over you as your eyes connect with the colourful screen and you see that yes, it is still 2007 then you gaze around and note that yes you are safe in your bedroom.

You drop your phone beside you and run a hand through your hair. You’re covered in sweat. Fucking Hell. You shakily sit up and promptly decide that that is the last time you ever eat cheese before going to bed. Just wait till Mike hears about your dream.

You smirk at the thought and turn to face him only his side of the bed is empty. You glance at the time on your phone again; it’s barely six am. Frowning, you kick your legs over the side of the bed, getting to your feet. Mike never wakes up before ten. He’s not a morning person at all.

“Mike?” You call, pulling the drapes open to let the morning sun into the room.

You’re just about to open the window when you hear the sound of someone retching. Turning away from the gloriously sunny morning you’ve just been greeted with, you pad across the plush carpet that lines your bedroom and head toward the en suite where the door is slightly ajar and a thin trail of light is cascading onto the tiled floor.

“Fuck Mike,” You push the door open, “I just had the most disturbing dream…” You stop in the doorway, mouth hanging open.

Mike is bent over the toilet, pale and wan and rubbing ferociously at his stomach.

“I feel awful,” He grimaces, bleary eyes glancing up at you, “This is the fifth morning I’ve been sick this week.”

That’s about the moment that you pass out.

FIN.

make damn sure - 1 through 12

2007-08-09T15:42:07Z

Clandestine - 10 through 13

2007-08-09T15:30:59Z

[ clandestine - nine ]

2006-12-03T12:08:21Z

clandestine - chapter eight

2006-10-03T14:21:22Z

clandestine - chapter seven

2006-10-02T13:39:48Z

Title : Clandestine
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : C/P
Rating : NC17
Summery : [multichapter] This is the tale of six friends and their journey as they follow their dreams and their garage band turns into a crowd rocking monster; drugs, sex, rock and roll and conflicting relationships meet them on their way but will they help them grow or hinder them more?

Many, many thanks to talilov my new, sexah beta < 3 and thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing so far. Enjoy!

[Chapter Seven]

“How are you feeling?”

“Numb. You?”

“I’m not sure,” Mike whispered in response to my question, “I am so sorry.”

I couldn’t seem to find a reply within me so I just lay in silence and stared up at my bedroom ceiling that hadn’t seemed to stop spinning for the last two hours. Mike and I had barely spoken since brushing ourselves off and taking the long walk home to my place. The calm night sky and soft breeze that had brushed through our tired bodies had done little to ease the tension. After sneaking in through my bedroom window like a couple of teenagers and tiptoeing around so as not to wake anyone up I had called Phi and told him Mike wasn’t feeling one hundred percent so we’d decided to call it a night. He’d sounded slightly disappointed but that was the least of my worries and as I lay on my back, freshly showered and clothed in an old T-Shirt and faded pajama pants, I wished that was all my worries were.

Mike fidgeted beside me and I turned to look at his badly cut face. I’d cleaned it up the best I could with shaking hands and a bottle of ointment. I’d spent the first half of the walk home trying to persuade him that a trip to the hospital would be the best thing. He’d flat out refused, so far as to walk off in the opposite direction at one point. I figured, however, that he was hurting a lot more on the inside than he was on the outside. I should have felt so damn angry with him, yet I felt anything but that towards him. Disappointment, confusion, despair even, but no anger.

“What are you thinking?” he asked me.

“Lots of things,” I whispered, “Like, what the hell were you doing back there?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are but that doesn’t answer my question. I need you to be honest.”

“I’ve known him since I was fourteen,” Mike started and I rolled onto my side, facing him to catch his softly spoken words.

“He shacked up with my mom for a while, got her hooked on crack cocaine, got me hooked on weed. When he left my mom, he gave me a contact number and told me I could call him whenever I needed a fix of something. That’s how it’s been ever since. At first he felt sorry for me, gave me the odd joint for free… Then I started sleeping with him, I was on and off for a few years. Then just before I met you and I had the job working tills at the store, he started asking for money instead, which I was pretty relieved about. You know things got bad over Christmas with my mom? Turns out she decided to pay him a visit and told him that I’d be round to settle the money. Guess she forgot to tell me that,” Mike sighed, “When I got up there just now he was off his head. I only wanted a joint or two to get me through the week. He was shouting at me and telling me that I more than owed him and before I knew it he was…” Mike shut his mouth and a lone tear slid down his cheek.

“Ssh,” I soothed, sliding my arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace, “It’s alright. He won’t be hurting you anymore,” I gulped, a sense of panic running through me, “I’m sure of that.”

“I’m so sorry though,” he sobbed, “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen…”

“I know you didn’t,” I whispered, rocking him in my arms, “I know you didn’t. Listen Mike,” I paused and slowly pulled away, keeping my arms around him, “I need you to be honest.”

He nodded his head.

“Did he… did he rape you?”

Mike closed his eyes and nodded his head once more as fresh tears trickled down his bruised face. I felt my heart momentarily stop. Why didn’t I go inside with him? Why did I let him go in the first place? Why was I such a lousy fucking friend who had taken so long to put together the pieces to the puzzle that was Mike Shinoda?

“Are you hurting?” I asked, realising what a pathetically dumb question that was. Of course he was hurting yet contrary to my thoughts, Mike was shaking his head.

“I’m used to it,” he whispered solemnly, opening his eyes and blinking back the tears.

“You mean, he’s done this before?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“It’s happened before,” he told me.

“Do you mean when you were younger?” I asked, feeling strangely like he was inviting me behind one of the many walls he’d built up so long ago.

“Not just then.”

“Recently?”

He nodded his head before burying himself in my arms.

Oh God.

“Mike?”

“I don’t think I can take anymore,” he whispered.

If there was ever a time in my life when I found myself utterly speechless beyond belief, then this sure as hell was it. I was fumbling for questions, trying to grasp onto coherent words, but Mike had rendered me speechless.

“W… What do you mean?” I finally uttered, my hands gingerly rubbing his back.

“Nothing,” he murmured, visibly clamming up.

“Nothing?” I echoed in disbelief, “Mike, has this happened before or not?”

“Yes.”

A formidable silence followed, enveloping my senses. My best friend of five years was frankly confusing the hell out of me and I wasn’t sure whether he was inviting me to probe the subject further or if I should just let him tell me in his own good time what exactly the traumas he’d kept hidden to himself were. I found myself thankful when his voice bravely carried on.

“He’s always there,” he whispered, “When I close my eyes, he’s there. I used to think that would make him disappear but it doesn’t. So, I open my eyes and there he is, everyfuckingwhere.”

As he paused I felt him shaking but with fear or anger, I wasn’t sure. All I was sure of was that for the first time in what felt like ages, Mike was finally opening up to me again. I gently squeezed his hand reassuringly, as I waited for him to continue.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Mike sighed, “That’s the worst part of it all. He doesn’t mean to hurt me, but that’s all he does.”

“Who?” I whispered, “Who are you talking about?”

Mike shifted uncomfortably beside me, scrunching his eyes up and shaking his head. More tears were spilling from beneath his eyelids, trickling down his cheeks and soaking into the pillowcase beneath his head.

“I… He…” Mike stopped and opened his eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“What? What for?”

“For being like this,” he sighed, sniffing as he released his hand from mine and vigorously wiped his tears away, “For being a wreck.”

“You’re apologising?” I murmured, “That’s ridiculous. You’ve just been -”

“Don’t,” Mike cut in immediately, “I don’t need reminding.”

“You can’t run away from it.”

“You think I don’t realise that?” he scoffed.

“So you’d rather turn away, pretend it’s not happened? And what about that asshole, hey? Are you going to let him get away with it? I swear to God I could have killed that fucking bastard.”

Mike’s eyes grew wide, as did mine. I took a deep breath and let one heavy sigh escape from my lips. I could have killed him. Never in my life had I felt such hatred and ill feeling towards someone. I could have literally smashed his skull into tiny pieces and as I lay back down, trying to slow my breathing, it suddenly panicked me that I very nearly did.

“Sorry,” I whispered, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Mike sighed, “It’s true. Sometimes turning away is so much easier than facing the truth though, don’t you think?”

“It is at first. But not in the long run.”

“What if the long run never happens though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what if the thing you’re running away from never catches up with you?”

“It always does.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “Everything catches up with you in the end. Unless you’re one hell of a cowardly son of a bitch and you, you aren’t that, Mike.”

“I am.”

“Not.”

“I am, Chester,” he told me with an air of certainty.

“Well I don’t think you are,” I sighed as a yawn escaped my lips.

“What time is it?”

“Late,” I yawned again as I craned my neck to look at the clock on the wall, “Half past four. Look are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing new.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean Mike? You keep telling me that and then pushing me away when I question you. I’m trying my hardest here Mike. I’m not going to fucking hurt you.”

“Then give me some time,” he whispered, his voice undoubtedly tinged with fear, “Please Chester?”

“Maybe we should sleep,” I sighed and pulled the covers closer around us.

He didn’t answer as he rolled away, turning his back to me and I wasn’t quite sure what else to say. The sound of cars hurtling down the freeway few and far between diffused my thoughts and as I felt sleep finally tugging at my eyes I couldn’t help but murmur the words that I always seemed to be telling him these days; words that I’d told Josh so very often.

“I’m always here,” I whispered faintly, “Don’t forget it…”

+

My sleep was plagued with nightmares; visions of a bloodied skull as it cracked against wooden floorboards and oozed crimson tinged sticky liquid which, when I lo oked down at my shaking hands, was trickling down my wrists, sliding along the floor and enveloping my body as I collapsed to my knees. Needless to say, I woke up with a start and a pounding sensation deep within my head. I rubbed at my eyes as the onslaught of a migraine began to kick in. I hadn’t had one in ages, in fact, it had been a good few years since my migraines had kept me bed ridden and hiding under my pillow for days on end. I only prayed they weren’t making a comeback.

When I finally woke up properly and my eyes had grown accustomed to the light surrounding me, I was fast to realise that the spot beside me was empty - except for a deep patch of red that had soaked into the sheets where Mike had fallen asleep.

Oh shit.

I scrambled to my feet, shoved on my glasses and found my eyes drawn to the patch of sticky blood once again. I didn’t need to touch it to know that it was still wet. Grabbing a sweater, I was already racing out of my bedroom before I’d even pulled it over my head.

The house was quiet, the bathroom empty. I carried on down the hallway and stepped into the kitchen greeted by the faint smell of bacon that had been cooking a few hours earlier. The clock above the stove was telling me that it was eleven thirty and a note tacked to the fridge said that everyone was out; Dad at work, the others out at the supermarket. I stopped at the sink, running a shaky hand through my hair.

Where the hell was Mike?

It didn’t actually take me that long to find him when I stepped outside onto the veranda and saw Mike in the distance, sitting on a swing at the very bottom of the garden. His back was turned to me as he swung gently back and forth, a cigarette in one hand sending spirals of grey smoke up into the cloudy sky. I needn’t have panicked so much and was busy telling myself that as I crossed the dewy grass and walked over to Mike. He didn’t notice me at first and I stood beside him, watching for a few minutes as he puffed nervously on his cigarette and gazed out onto the houses that sprawled themselves out beneath us.

After a few minutes I cleared my throat, unintentionally causing Mike to jump a little, his eyes wide as he turned to face me.

“Sorry,” I smiled softly, “How are you?”

He shrugged, “I’m alright I guess, you?”

“Worried,” I sighed.

“He… Ed won’t come after you, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s clueless, he’s not into picking fights, as long as he has enough money to buy some dope then he’s no harm.”

“No harm? The guy raped you Mike, he was about to pull a gun on me and actually, he was the least of my worries,” I paused, “Mike I think you should go to the hospital.”

“Chester,” Mike sighed, “There’s no need. Honestly.”

“Well the blood on my bed sheets tells me otherwise.”

Mike paled.

“It won’t take long and they won’t ask too many questions. I’ll take you in, we’ll tell them you were attacked and they’ll check you out. Look, I‘m not asking you to go to the Police or anything.”

“I’m fine,” Mike stopped to take a drag from his cigarette, “I’m just a little sore but it’ll fade after a few days, it always does,” he uttered the last part quietly.

“Please?” I moved in front of him, crouched down on the damp grass and steadied the swing with my hand, “Mike I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t take you,” I told him, “I know for a fact that he wasn’t using protection. Fuck, you could be infected or…”

“I can’t,” Mike shook his head, “I have no money remember?”

“Then I’ll lend you some, write you a cheque…”

“There’s no need Chaz. I mean thanks and everything but,” he paused, “Can we just forget this ever happened?”

“Is that what you do every time something bad happens?”

“I thought you knew me better than yourself,” Mike murmured, barely glancing up at me.

I sighed, not feeling like a response was inside my head and instead chose to gaze at the forlorn form beside me. He stared back for a while then turned his head to the side, absently watching the kid next door who had just appeared from the garage with a ball which he was thumping up and down against the fence.

“This needs to be sorted out,” I sighed again, my hands lacing themselves around the ropes of the swing, “Before you get hurt even more. I love you Mike, that’s why I’m gonna tell you this,” I paused as he finally looked back at me, “I’m here for you, whenever you need me so stop being an asshole and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Mike shook his head, a wry smile appearing across his face, “Fuck you,” he uttered, “I’m not being an asshole, I’m…”

“What?”

“Forget it,” he hissed, sliding down from the seat of the swing, “Forget everything that happened. It’s insignificant.”

He stood before me, eyes level with mine and I remember thinking ‘fuck this is the first time we’ve ever argued this bad’ but my thoughts were cut short by fact that Mike’s eyes had started to slowly flutter shut and within seconds he had collapsed against the ground.

+

Carrying Mike back inside and laying him down on my bed was no struggle considering the amount of times I’d carried his drunken body before. His eyes fluttered open just as I’d grabbed my cell phone and was keying in 911.

“Ssh,” I whispered, “I’m just ringing an ambulance and…”

“No,” Mike groaned, his hand grabbing onto mine.

“Mike you just fainted and…”

“Please don’t.”

I sighed and reluctantly cleared the digits from my cell phone’s screen before placing it down on my desk.

“I’m fine Chester,” Mike’s voice rattled my thoughts, “I wish you’d believe me.”

“It’s kinda hard to Mike,” I sighed, sitting down beside him and nervously catching his fingers between mine, “When you look like death and all…”

“I’m fine,” Mike repeated, squeezing my hand, “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

We were interrupted by the shrill tone of the doorbell.

“Well sleep then,” I hushed, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Chester?”

I paused as I reached the doorway, “Yeah?”

“You won’t tell anyone about any of this will you?”

“No. I promise,” I nodded.

I turned away and padded down the hallway, brushing a hand through my messy hair as I unlocked the front door and opened it to reveal, Brad of all people.

“Hey,” he greeted me.

“Hey.”

“Is Mike here? Only, we were supposed to meet earlier and he never showed. Figured he might be here.”

“Yeah he is,” I paused, “He’s not feeling too good though, he’s sleeping. Come on in though,” I motioned standing aside so he could get in, “Phi’s supposed to be coming in a while; we can work on those songs if you want?”

“Sure,” Brad nodded as I shut the door and left him gazing around the hallway.

It was possibly the third, if only the second time Brad had come around - the last time being when he’d dropped in on Mike without a word - very much the way he was now.

“Uh - go on into my room if you want, just don’t wake him yeah? I need to use the bathroom.”

“Cool,” Brad smiled.

I carried on down the hallway and locked myself in the bathroom for some much needed alone time. Stripping from my nightclothes I filled the bathtub with hot water and poured in some of my favourite pink rose bath foam which I got my mother to buy me in secret. What? I had my masculinity to keep intact. Sure, I was gay as they came and proud of it but I was so without being camp, overusing words such as ‘dahhling’ and ‘babe’ and parading the fact that yes, from time to time I was a little effeminate and a total diva.

By the time I’d soaked myself in pink rose heaven, washed my hair twice and sunk under the water with my eyes closed for several moments it was past midday and the sound of doors opening and incessant chatter told me my mom and the others were back home with their shopping. I dried and slipped into some clean clothes, slinging my pyjamas into the laundry basket before I made my way back into my bedroom.

The sight that greeted me momentarily caught me off guard. Brad Delson, the biggest homophobic loser of them all, sitting cross legged on my bed and stroking Mike’s hair. He had his back to me and was whispering something in Mike’s ear; words I strained to hear as I lingered in the doorway.

“You’ve been avoiding me haven’t you?”

There was a strange edge to Brad’s voice, something eerily sugar soft; something I’d not seen from him before.

“You can’t keep doing this. You know I need you around…”

Shit.

I back pedaled, almost knocking my sister over as I collided with her, knocking the contents of her shopping bag to the floor. A couple of magazines and candy bars rolled across the wooden floor and Brad was quick to jump to his feet, eyes darting toward me and Mel as I helped her pick up the copies of Cosmo and Seventeen that had scattered themselves at my feet.

“Sorry sis,” I smiled.

“S’ok dumbass, you can’t help but be clumsy.”

“Yeah…” I paused as she headed off down the hallway and glanced up at Brad whose icy cold stare was piercing into my eyes.

“Phi called,” Brad suddenly spoke, “He suggested a band practice at his place tonight. He can’t make a get together here, says he’s taking his girl out for lunch…”

Ouch.

“Okay,” I nodded, trying not to feel too dejected by that notion.

“Well, I should get going and all. I’ll see you two later, around seven?”

“Sure.”

There was an edge of awkwardness as Brad brushed past me on his way out and it wasn’t until the door shut behind him that I realised Mike was sitting up with bleary eyes and frowning at me.

“Hey,” I smiled, stepping inside my room, “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“What did Brad want?” I asked, crossing my room and opening the window.

I lit up a cigarette and idly flicked the ash out into the yard.

“He just came by to see if we’d be around Phi’s house later.”

“Right,” I nodded vacantly, “What did he mean exactly?” I asked with a frown as I turned to face Mike.

“…”

“I just heard him asking why you’ve been avoiding him. Don’t tell me, he’s being an awkward and intolerable asshole again?”

Mike smiled softly, “Something like that,” he paused, “We’ve not really spoken since I drank my body weight in alcohol and ended up in hospital.”

“Speaking of, are you sure you don’t want me to take you…”

“No.”

“Fine, fine,” I sighed, “Just don’t come crying to me when you realise you’ve contracted some STI.”

“Chaz, it’s not going to come to that,” Mike hushed me.

“Sorry. I’m just…”

“Worried. I know you are but you needn’t be.”

+

I cooked rice and peas for lunch - about as far as my culinary skills would stretch. Mike and I sat together on the veranda with our bowls, forks clanking against their sides as we watched the day go by and I struggled with myself and tried so hard to keep my mouth closed. But how could I? How could I stay silent after the turmoil that had unfolded in the past twenty four hours. To keep quiet and forget what had happened would do Mike no good. To speak up and talk things over it seemed would only hurt Mike furthermore. I was most certainly going through a bad case of being stuck between a rock and hard place.

It was getting late and after avoiding the concerned looks my Mother had graced my way, Mike and I had resigned to my bedroom once again and we lay like many other times haphazardly across the sheets with various pens and notebooks scattered out in front of us. I’d not had the mindset to actually write anything though and Mike seemed to be sharing a similar vacant expression as he gazed absently at a blank page in his notebook.

I lazily picked it up and flicked through it, my eyes finally stopping on the first page. It contained the first ever song we’d written together, partly in Mike’s neat type; the rest in my scrawled excuse for handwriting. The pen was smudged here and there, the margin scattered with smiley faces and the CND logo. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the palms of my hands, I thought about the lazy summer that the pair of us met and I felt an ache in my heart…

“You’ll just be doing general duties, such as shelf stacking and bag packing for the first few days. We’ll get you trained up on the tills once you’ve settled in. Oh, and here’s another member of the team that you’ll be working with a lot,” The blonde haired lady who had just introduced herself as ‘Pat, the long suffering manager of ‘Pat’s Baskets’’ smiled at me as we stopped in an aisle full of frozen produce. Her more than ample bosom heaved before my eyes the moment her arms gestured to a young guy.

“This is Mike,” she smiled, “He’ll be showing you the ropes,” she paused, “Mike, this is Chester.”

My eyes stared. Standing before me was an incredibly beautiful young man, probably no older than myself, with messy bleached hair and the most amazing ebony coloured eyes. My voice seemed to get lodged in my throat as he held his hand out and I took it, shaking it gently and returning his smile.

“Hey,” Mike smiled, “Welcome to hell.”

Pat whacked him upside the head in a jovial manner before glancing at the white wrist watch on her perma tanned arm.

“Well Michael, you know your duties. I have to be outta here for my hair appointment,” she paused with a wink as she twisted a strand of peroxide induced hair around her pinkie, “Get Chester an apron and show him the ropes. I’ll see you both later…”

She was gone in a flash, almost like a puff of air had whisked her away and all that was left behind was the faint scent of her cheap perfume; something that the fish in the freezer behind me were fast to overpower.

“Well, come out the back and I’ll show you where you need to keep your bag and shit,” Mike nodded, leading me through a maze of aisles housing everything from cereals to magazines to garden tools and condoms.

We finally reached a beat up door, flaked paint hanging loosely off it with a rusted sign that read ‘Staff Only’ nailed to the front. He pushed it open and I was met by a much welcome whoosh of fresh air. Letting the door click shut behind us, he flicked on a light to illuminate a large room filled with rows and rows of boxes which he led me through. Once we’d navigated those, we came to a battered couch beside a fridge and a kettle and then a row of pegs. Mike unhooked a shabby looking apron from one of the pegs, absently kicking open the fire exit door as he did so.

“Here,” he smiled, “It’s Rob’s, who,” he paused, motioning behind the door, “Is incidentally out here on his forth cigarette break of the day.”

“Third you idiot,” A voice retorted from outside, followed by a pale, tall boy who stuck his head around the battered door, “Hey,” he smiled, “Want a smoke?”

“No he doesn’t want a smoke,” Mike chipped in, rolling his eyes at me, “Some of us are actually here to work.

“Oh hail the slave driver,” Rob laughed, “If you ever want smokes buddy then I’m your man,” Rob winked cheekily, “If you however prefer the harder stuff, then Michael here…”

“Yes thank you,” Mike groaned, kicking the door shut, “Sorry about him. Younger brother syndrome or something.”

“He’s… he’s your brother?”

“Oh fuck no,” Mike laughed, passing me the apron, “He just likes to act like it. Annoy the hell out of me.”

“Oh right,” I nodded, tying the apron around my waist.

“You nervous?”

“A little…”

“Don’t be. This job’s a piece of piss.”

I smiled.

“You worked before?

“Sort of,” I murmured.

“Cool,” Mike paused, “You know, I think we’re going to get on,” he grinned.

I couldn’t help but return his smile. I’m not sure if it was because this was the first time I’d stepped outside since Josh had died or because I felt a spark of warmth within me as Mike brushed past me - I just knew that from that day on we were going to share something special.

“Hey. Loser.”

I was jolted from my thoughts by Mike’s voice and the sharp jab of his finger against my ribs. I slowly opened my eyes, rubbing them with the backs of my hands.

“Hmmm?” I asked sleepily.

“You totally spaced out there,” Mike told me.

“I was just thinking.”

“Yeah?” Mike asked, sliding down beside me, “What about?”

“You.”

Mike frowned, “Hmm is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he smiled.

“Totally bad,” I nodded with a smirk.

“So go on, share these bad thoughts,” he paused, “Wait bad as in bad or as in bad?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just thinking about when we first met.”

“Yeah?” Mike smiled, rolling onto his side, “Back in the day huh? When we were young and innocent.”

“Innocent?” I laughed, “When were you ever innocent?!”

“Before I met you. You corrupted me.”

“Oh as if. I think it was the other way around…”

I smiled and closed my eyes. I’d fleetingly forgotten last night’s madness. For a split second had it escaped my mind that I’d almost knocked a stranger unconscious - more so that I’d seen my best friend being raped…

“You know, I’m not really in the mood to go and practice tonight,” I sighed, suddenly overwhelmed by a racing mind and a shaky sensation flowing through my limbs.

“I’m glad you said that,” Mike murmured, distractedly gazing up at the ceiling.

“Okay, how about we get pizza and watch some gay film?” I smiled softly, hoping that in someway this might take Mike’s mind of things.

“Sounds great,” Mike smiled, “As long as you mean gay as in ‘crap’, rather than homosexual. I don’t think I can stomach watching any of your porn…”

“Pssh,” I stuck my tongue out, “I don’t own any…”

Mike smirked and raised his eyebrows because he knew as well as me that that wasn’t entirely true. And then I lay still for a while and stared at him because less than twenty four hours ago he’d been raped and here we were pushing it away and making jokes about gay porn. I swallowed hard and absently wondered how many other times it had been this way. How many other times had I tried to cheer Mike up, let him push his problems away. I was forever trying to help him forget but really, that wasn’t the way to go, was it?

+

I just wanted to make him smile, that’s all. At times like those I sometimes forgot that maybe tears shed because Mike was confiding in me were better than smiles shared because I was trying to make Mike happier. I wish I could’ve been a better friend.

+

TBC...

Please comment with any thoughts, i love feedback =D

clandestine - chapter six

2006-10-02T13:38:27Z

Title : Clandestine
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : C/P
Rating : NC17
Summery : [multichapter] This is the tale of six friends and their journey as they follow their dreams and their garage band turns into a crowd rocking monster; drugs, sex, rock and roll and conflicting relationships meet them on their way but will they help them grow or hinder them more?

[Chapter Six]

“I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Two days later and I sat at my desk; gnawed pencil in one hand and a cigarette in the other as my eyes lazily scanned over the jumbled masses of words on the sheet of paper before me. Mike’s words broke me out of my daze yet I couldn’t turn to face him, ashamed that I’d been crying again. I didn’t want him to see me like this. He’d only feel he was the one to blame for my anguish and I wasn’t about to pin any blame on him at all. It was just me being me, completely unstable and feeling sorry for myself as usual.

“Chester?”

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath as Mike’s hand pressed gently against my bare back because all I could see was him lying unconscious on the bathroom floor, all I could feel was the utter panic that had risen inside me as I scrambled to get him to wake up.

“Please talk to me,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he spoke.

It took a lot for me to open my eyes, to pull myself away from the eerie place my mind had escaped to and I sucked in another deep breath, shakily wiped my tears away with the back of my hand then placed the butt of my cigarette into a stained ashtray before I turned to face him.

“You’re crying,” he stated, quickly kneeling down in front of me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, flinching as his fingertips brushed across my tearstained cheeks.

“Please don’t cry because of me. I never meant to make you cry.”

“Well what did you fucking think I’d do, huh?” I snapped, slapping his hands away.

Mike stood up, quickly stepped back as I got to my feet and snatched a tissue from the box on my nightstand. An eerie silence was quick to drift between us and for a good few minutes I was mentally collecting all thoughts in my mind before I began to speak.

“After Josh I swore to myself that I’d never, ever get close to someone again. The day after his funeral I made a pact with myself. I vowed that it’d just be me and only me for the rest of my fucking life. I figured that way that I’d never get hurt again. Then I started to realise that I was being selfish and locking my feelings away from everyone else was really not working at all. It felt safe for a while, y’know but then it turned to loneliness and that’s one of my biggest fears. So I let you in Mike, I let you in and now I feel like ‘what’s the point?’ because you bottle things up inside, you keep things from me and won’t let me help you with your problems.”

My words hung in the air, floating around the room in silence long after they’d left my mouth. Mike stared at the floor, shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his grey hoody and I slowly sat down on my bed, fiddling with the rings on my fingers as I tried to collect some thoughts in my head.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered earning a solemn glance from Mike before he stepped over and sat down beside me on the bed.

My hands drew lazy patterns against the patchwork quilt that I’d had since I was about five years old. My Grandmother had made me it one winter and it had kept me warm for nights on end. I couldn’t help but wonder what stories it would be able to tell if it could speak. They’d range from hilarious to downright miserable is all I could conclude as Mike’s ice cold hand brushed against mine and tugged me back to reality.

“No,” he paused, “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how fucking angry you must be with me, believe me, I’m just as angry with myself. I know what it’s like to find someone half dead,” he stopped, “I know how much it hurts and I’m so sorry I put you through that…”

“It was an accident though, right?” I whispered, “I’m not angry with you… Please don’t take this the wrong way but it all reminded me of what happened with Josh and Mike I can’t face going through that ever again, I think it would break me completely…”

“I didn’t try to kill myself though Chester,” his voice spoke full of urgency.

“I know… I know, I just get scared so easily.”

Silence drifted between us. Hell, there was so much I had to say; so many words whirring around inside my head but I wouldn’t have known where to start with them. Mike shifted closer and it wasn’t until I felt his arm sliding around my waist and pulling me closer that I began to cry. Maybe it was relief, maybe it was my own weird way of letting all of those untold words out. Whatever it was, it worked because I could feel Mike holding me and he was there with me; he was alright, he was still alive.

“You smell of chocolate,” I whispered into his neck, closing my eyes as he enveloped me in his arms.

“You’re not going to eat me are you?”

“Depends,” I smiled.

“On what?”

“How good you might taste,” I whispered in a faux seductive voice, cracking my eyes open.

Mike burst into laughter and pushed me against a pile of cushions, promptly picking one and thwacking me over the head with it. Blindly making a grab for my pillow I aimed it in the general direction of his stomach, giggles emitting from me as he snatched away my weapon and continued to assault me, now with one of my sisters heart shaped cushions.

When we finally settled down, our laughter fading into small hiccups I flopped down against my bed once again and shook my head.

“Just promise me something Mike?”

“Sure,” he smiled.

“From now on you talk to me more often and stop using the drink and drugs to comfort you…”

His smile faded but he nodded his head, “I promise you.”

But even your soul mates can break their promises.

*

Several days later and the sun shining down on me, seeping through a crack in the window behind me was doing little to help my concentration and before I knew it I was placing my pen and paper down on the floor and walking out of Phi’s kitchen into the back yard where the rest of my band mates minus Mike sat around, talking shit and catching sunrays.

It was so easy for me to get distracted and as I sat myself down on the low wall next to Phoenix I couldn’t help but check my watch because Mike had sworn he’d be back hours ago and now as the afternoon started to draw on, I wondered just where he’d got to. He’d spent the past few days obviously trying to erase his incident from not only his mind but everyone else’s as well. Things had felt a little more relaxed though but he did keep clamming up when I’d mentioned his drinking habits which had resulted in him hiding away in my bedroom writing page after page of lyrics. Today had been the first time we were supposed to meet as a band, find some rehearsal space and getting practicing for the Spring Festival. But Mike had left before me, telling me he needed to visit his Mother before handing me one of his notebooks and telling me he’d be over around noon. It was now four thirty and I was vaguely aware of someone’s eyes on me, watching me like a hawk as I chewed nervously on my fingernails and tried to pay attention to the conversation.

It was Phoenix who was watching me closely, a look of bewilderment upon his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft so as not to alert the others to our conversation.

I sighed, “Nothing…”

“Yeah, right,” he smiled, “And nothing makes you look like you’re in dire need of some therapy?”

“Hey Phi, is your old drum kit set up in the garage yet?” Rob called across the yard, where he sat in an old deckchair bouncing a tennis ball on the patio.

“Yeah.”

“Cool, let’s go and get some practice in then. I’m itching to bang something…”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” Joe laughed.

“Ha, ha,” Rob rolled his eyes, “You coming Brad?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, pausing to glance at Phi and I, “Maybe you two can join in the fun later on if Mike shows up?”

“Sure,” Phi smiled half heatedly before tugging my hands and pulling me to my feet, “Come on, inside. I want to talk to you about something.”

I followed him back into the kitchen, which was currently littered with half used paint tins and dust sheets. Phoenix had moved in only a few weeks ago and was getting in some much needed decorating in the spare time we had before May when we had to go into the recording studios and make ourselves a mini album to arm us for the summer tour that Rocky was setting up for us. It all seemed like too much of a headache to me though. I was so damn grateful we’d been given these opportunities… but it felt like too much at the wrong time.

“I think you should talk to me,” Phoenix told me very matter of factly as he pushed the back door shut, “Now that the others are out of the way. You’ve been walking around with a face like a wet weekend for the past few days.”

“Is it any wonder?” I sighed leaning back against a cupboard door, “My best friend nearly died and everyone’s walking around, acting like nothing ever happened. Do you know how hard it is to get the image of his twisted, bloody body out of my mind? I thought he was dead,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut in some lame attempt to stop my tears from falling.

“Chester, what happened was an accident,” Phoenix sighed, stepping beside me and somewhat attentively placing his hand upon my lower arm, “Mike’s okay now…”

“No,” I whispered, “He’s not. His Mother is going through another manic phase and I can’t seem to make him see that he’s starting to need help just as much as she does…”

“Hey, calm down,” Phi soothed, “I know it shook you up, y’know, finding Mike the same way that you found Josh. But it’s not the same Chester, he’s still very much with us so…”

“I’m scared though,” I sighed, “I’m just so scared of fucking up again and not noticing if one of my friends is hurting over something. It’s crazy but I need to know he’s okay all the time. Hell, I’m even worried sick right now because he’s later than he said.”

“Come on,” Phoenix smiled, “How often is Mike actually on time? Look, I understand how you feel, I really do. I’m worried about him too. I’m also worried about you as well as a ton of other things. That’s why I’ve been hiding away, doing this place up. It’s the only way I can take my mind of things. You’ve every right to worry about Mike, I’m not denying you that, but working yourself up, not eating or sleeping properly is not the way to go about it. You need to sit down and tell him what you just told me…”

“He’ll think I’m crazy… besides I already told him how I feel. He just doesn‘t seem to want to open up about it.”

“Chester, you are crazy.”

I laughed and nudged him in the ribs.

“Just chill. Please?”

I nodded, “You’re right. I really need to sit down and chat. I just don’t want him to think I’m interfering…”

“He won’t. He’s a little messed up right now and I’m sure deep down all he needs is you to be there for him, okay?”

“You’re right,” I smiled, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he smiled.

“So, what’s eating you?” I asked.

“Ahh, I think you have enough on your plate…”

“Yeah?” I asked, raising my eyebrows, “Well humour me.”

“Okay,” he paused, “It’s about Sophie, the girl I’ve been seeing for a while. I really like her. I really do…”

“Are you trying to convince yourself?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I like her a lot. But as a friend. We’ve only been seeing each other for a few months and she still doesn’t know that I’m bisexual.”

“Does that matter though?”

“That she doesn’t know? I’m not sure… Look,” he sighed, pausing to look me dead in the eye, “Can I be brutally honest here?”

“Sure,” I nodded, “Shoot.”

“I think I prefer men. As in, I think I’d prefer her as a good friend or…”

“Anything but your girlfriend?”

Phoenix looked down to the floor, stood awkwardly for a few moments as his scuffed trainers rubbed against the faded lino tiles.

“Why is it so hard for me to know?”

“I guess it’s just a matter of time Phi, you can’t expect all the answers…”

“Yeah but I’ve been to-ing and fro-ing between men and women since I was sixteen.”

“Then maybe you’re just stuck in the middle, maybe you are bisexual?”

“But I don’t want to be stuck in the middle. Every time I get with a guy I start comparing them to girls. It’s the same when I’m with a girl.”

“You’re just plain awkward,” I smirked, “Picky,” I laughed, sticking my tongue out.

“I know,” he smiled, “But seriously, I want to know. I don’t want to go through life with a constant question hanging over me.”

“Dude it doesn’t have to be like that you know. I don’t even think it’s about finding the right gender. It’s about finding the right person. They might be female or they might be male, but when you find them you’ll know, you’ll feel like they’re the only person you ever want to wake up with, the only person you want to share every last fucking thing with. You’ve just got to be patient, not worry about it so much.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged.

“I wish I’d met him.”

“Who?”

“Josh.”

“How do you know I’m talking about him?” I asked with a small smile.

Phoenix frowned, “I didn’t. I just assumed. Sorry,” he paused, “You’re right. I should stop fretting. I’m telling that to myself all the time. I just don’t want to end up married with kids and wishing I was out at a gay bar getting laid.”

“Then doesn’t that give you some kind of indication?”

“What, that I’m gay?”

“Well yes, if that’s what you fear you’ll secretly end up wishing for.”

“But that’s the thing, I also don’t want to end up with some guy and be constantly craving the family life…”

“It’ll come to you,” I nodded, patting him on the back, “One day, when you least expect it, you’ll find that perfect person and you’ll wonder what you did all the worrying for.”

“You’re right,” he nodded, getting up to grab a couple of cans of beer from the fridge, “What about you? Have you found that perfect person yet?” he asked me, passing me a beer.

“Thanks,” I nodded, cracking open the can, “I dunno. Sometimes I think I might have done. Sometimes I’m not so sure. To be honest, since Josh, I don’t think I could cope with getting that close to anyone,” I told him, taking a swig of beer.

“What about Mike?”

“Mike?” I chuckled, “Mike’s my soul mate…”

“Yeah, soul mates make good lovers, do they not?”

“I can’t believe you said that you sick fuck,” I laughed, prodding him in the ribs with my free hand, “That’s like fucking incest or something. God I love Mike with my heart and soul…”

“And you’re saying he wouldn’t be your perfect partner?” Phoenix mocked.

“Shut up! Maybe when we’re in our forties and have no one else, then maybe…”

“Oh I’m sure he’d love you for that! His last resort! His backup plan!”

I ignored that comment and downed some more beer, glancing momentarily at the clock. It was almost five o’clock. So much for midday then.

“It’s a shame. You’ve got a lot of love to give Chester, a lot of good in you. You’ll make some man very happy one day,” he smiled, “And before you laugh or punch me, don’t. I’m being sincere here,” he paused, “Well, as sincere as one can be with a can of beer down their throat…”

“Keep sweet talking me like that and maybe you can be my backup plan,” I grinned, hopping down from the kitchen worktop and grabbing another couple of cans from the fridge.

Phoenix smiled back, taking one of the cans and popping it open as I leant against the fridge door. For a moment neither of us spoke and as I guzzled down the beer I let my mind wonder to the familiar beat that was reverberating from the garage next door. I knew I knew the song but what exactly it was wouldn’t come to my mind. It was starting to annoy me when Phoenix piped up with the answer.

“Teenage Kicks by The Undertones,” he smiled.

“How did you know I was thinking about it?” I asked.

“Ahh, you know, great minds and all that,” he shrugged, “So,” he paused looking at me intensely for a few moments, “How much more sweet talking do I have to do?”

I laughed out loud, “You are terrible, you know that right?”

“I know,” he grinned, “Think we should show our faces to the others? Doesn’t look like Mike’s coming does it?”

“No,” I shook my head and placed my empty can down on the worktop behind me, “I’m not really in the mood to hang with them to be honest. I’ll only feel bad if we’re having a whole load of fun without Mike.”

“See what I mean Chester. Always putting others before yourself, always got so much love to give…”

“Are you still trying to sweet talk me?” I smiled.

“No,” Phoenix shook his head, “I really meant that. Come here,” he sighed, opening his arms as he stepped over to me and embraced me.

I sank into his arms and slowly relaxed, let my hands slide around his waist. Hugging Phi was different to hugging anyone else. He held me in such a protective manner, with such strong wills inside of him. It was hard to describe but I wasn’t really thinking about it so much when I felt his lips grazing against my neck.

“What was that for?” I murmured, slowly pulling away.

“You just look like you could do with some TLC,” he nodded, smoothing his hands up and down my back, “Right?”

Slowly, I found myself nodding my head and wasn’t at all surprised when I felt our heads moving closer, my eyes closing and his lips brushing against mine.

How we made it upstairs and into his bedroom, I wasn’t really sure but it didn’t seem all that long until we were laying side by side on his bed and his lips were still kissing mine as he eased me out of my clothes. The sun was a mere smudge in the sky as I slid Phi’s shirt over his head and gently pushed his jeans down, the sound of his belt clanging against the wooden floorboards the only noise in the room beside our erratic breathing as he pushed me onto my back and straddled me down. Phi didn’t need me to tell him that this was the first time I’d been intimate with anyone since Josh. His movements were soft and slow, his fingers were dancing up and down my sides and his kisses were only interrupted with his voice asking me if I were okay.

Of course I was okay. I was on cloud fucking nine as he started to grind his naked body against mine and my hands slid up and down his smooth back, fingernails clawing at his skin as our lips melted together and my mouth became alive with the taste of his saliva and the sweet scent of the beer we’d been drinking.

“Shit…”

“Fuck…”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in as Phi’s fingers slid inside me. The tube of lubricant that he’d pulled from under his nightstand rolled onto the floor just as my hips bucked and I begged him to give me more. His fingers gone, I opened my eyes, hazily watching him as he gently moved my legs apart and his right arm slid around my waist, holding my tightly as he guided himself in with his free hand. Pain surged through me and my eyes clamped shut as Phi buried himself deep within me. I could hardly breathe. All the painful memories had somehow escaped my mind but as he lay atop of me, breathing heavily and smoothing away my tears, they all came crashing back to me.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered absently, lips grazing against my ear, “Okay?”

I nodded, cursed as he drew back and pushed in but he’d not lied. It felt amazing; he felt fucking amazing. My heart pounded, hands clawed against the sheets beneath me, lips locked with his as he started to come inside me. I couldn’t stop moaning as his warm seed slinked within me and with one final thrust I climaxed, gasping for breath as he collapsed atop of me and my arms slid around his waist, pulling him closer.

My eyes didn’t seem to want to open as I felt Phi pulling out of me and sitting up beside me. His hands smoothed the hair from my forehead and I listened as he stepped around the bed, the sound of clothes rustling telling me he was getting dressed.

“You stay there as long as you like,” he murmured and I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head before his footsteps faded away and the door lightly shut behind him.

I must have fallen asleep because when I next looked around the room it was almost dark and there was a shadowy figure in the form of Mike sitting next to me on the bed with a battered notebook in his hands. The light shining in through the window must have been enough for him to see his lazy scrawls and I watched him writing for a few minutes before he noticed me and looked up, a small smile gracing his face as he put down his pencil.

“Hey,” he nodded, trying way too hard not to let his smirk show.

“Hey yourself,” I nodded back, sitting up beside him, “What you writing?”

“What am I writing?” Mike chuckled, “Forget that. What are you doing naked in Phi’s bed?!”

“Don’t,” I hushed him, feeling around for my T-shirt which I promptly tugged over my head, “Where are the others?”

“Downstairs eating takeout. I’m sorry I was late, had to sort out a few things first…”

“Like what?” I asked, a yawn escaping my mouth as I tried to remember which side of the room Phi had flung my boxer shorts to.

“That can wait,” Mike smiled, “You had sex? About fucking time…”

“Can you pass me my erm, boxers?” I asked, finally locating them as they hung on ceremony from the door handle.

Mike chuckled and got to his feet, flinging them in my direction before he bent down to pick up my trousers. I scrambled to pull them on beneath the sheets before snatching my crumpled up excuse for a pair of jeans from Mike’s hands.

“So where’d you get to?” I asked, feeling around in my back pocket for my cigarettes.

“Just to my mom’s,” he sighed sitting back down on the bed as I wriggled myself into my trousers.

“Everything alright?”

“No, not really,” he paused as he closed his notebook and pushed the pen down the spine, “Chuck left.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah and you know what? I was mildly surprised. The thing is, the house is immaculate and she looks amazing. She was walking around in a Christian Dior dress when I got there, hoover in one hand and the bloody bible in the other.”

“You what?” I asked, staring open mouthed.

“Yeah, the bible. She’s flung herself into religion all over again. It happened once when I was younger. I went to visit her one weekend and there she was, permed hair and immaculate make up, preaching to me about the second coming.”

“Jesus…”

“Exactly,” Mike rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” I paused, “So what now?”

Mike shrugged and fiddled with the binding of his notebook, “I cross my fingers. As much as it scares me to say, the bible bashing version of my Mom is a lot better than the drug addicted shadow of a Mom. God,” he sighed dramatically, “Why can’t I just have a normal family?” he laughed.

“I think that’s everyone’s wish. So is she alright? I mean, she’s not about to flip her lid or anything?”

“Who knows. She cooked me dinner for the first time in my life though,” he smiled, “I’ve learnt not to be too optimistic though. Who knows what mood she’ll wake up as tomorrow?”

“So, you think you’ll be staying at mine for a while longer?” I asked attentively.

“Yeah,” Mike smiled with a nod, “I’d really like that. It sounds selfish of me but I don’t think I could do with anymore of that Christianity crap. Beats being shouted at and called a whore but she seemed content enough when I left her. I’m so fucking tired,” he sighed, “I just need a break,” his voice drifted off.

“I know you do,” I whispered, “You’ve been through a lot over the past week. You are still meant to be resting, remember?”

“Reminds me,” he smiled weakly, “I’m a shit friend, I know I am.”

I frowned about to protest before he leant down and picked his record bag up from the floor. Hoisting it up onto the bed I watched him fumbling through the contents before his hands finally wrapped around whatever he’d been looking for, which, it turned out were two small packages wrapped in blue holographic paper.

“Belated,” he paused, passing me the parcels, “But still with as much love. I’m so sorry for what happened on your birthday Chaz.”

“Hey,” I smiled, “It’s alright, okay? It’s over now and you’re here, that’s the main thing,” I smiled as I began to unwrap the slightly larger of the two presents.

The foil paper fell to the bed beneath me as I unfolded the bright pink T-Shirt that had been hiding inside; the words ‘fucking rockstars’ printed on the front in black stencil.

“It’s for when we make it big,” he smiled, “I do listen to what you say, despite what you might think and you’re right, we are gonna make it. One day.”

“We better,” I grinned, “Now you’ve gone to all the trouble of making me my very own fan shirt,” I smiled as I picked up the second gift and removed the paper to reveal a jewel cd case.

I opened it up, eyes scanning over the pattern that Mike had scribed onto the CD inside which he’d titled ‘I think I love you more than I love Nas’. My eyes scanned over the track listing and I knew I’d be falling asleep with it on later that night.

“Thank you Mike,” I smiled, suddenly a little overcome with emotions as all the ‘what ifs’ and ‘whys’ bounced back at me, but, as I looked up and saw him I managed to shun the worries away.

He was safe, he was still alive and I had the opportunity to help him through whatever was breaking him up inside. I threw my arms around him, embracing him in a bear hug.

“So, was he good?” Mike murmured in my ear.

“Oi you fuck,” I shook my head, breaking the hug, “You so broke a good moment there,” I joked.

“And you so avoided the question,” he smirked.

“Smart ass. Yes, he was good thank you very much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah?” I was the one to smirk this time as I raised my eyebrows.

“Chester’s shagging the bass player,” Mike mocked in a sing song voice.

“Oh kiss my ass,” I retorted, “Get over it. Can we write some lyrics please? Brad’s been breathing down my neck all day about deadlines and how we need more material for these upcoming gigs,” I rolled my eyes as I grabbed a pen.

“Will these songs be taking a new direction?” Mike smiled, “How about some odes to ginger haired bassists?”

“Fuck off. Besides, it’s not ginger it’s auburn.”

+

“That, if I do say so myself was brilliant,” Joe beamed from the deckchair he was sitting on in the corner of Phi’s garage; bottle of beer in one hand and a Marlboro Light in the other, “I’ve got some really good samples that would work so well with that. Especially during the chorus when Chester’s shouting like a maniac. You know, for two people that share so much distain for one another, your voice really goes well with Brad’s guitar,” Joe mused out aloud.

“Thanks,” I nodded, grabbing a bottle of water and downing almost all of it in one go.

Mike stood his guitar down in it’s stand and ran a hand through his sweat drenched hair. I staggered over to Joe and flopped down onto his lap, yawning and stretching my arms above my head.

“So do we have a name for that one yet?” Rob asked from behind the drum kit, referring to the song we’d just belted out five times in attempts to get it almost pitch perfect.

“How about ‘untitled’?” Mike mused out loud, shrugging his shoulders.

“Which roughly translates to a big fat no,” I nodded.

“Well if anyone wants to crash here then that’s fine by me,” Phoenix noted, noticed by my paranoia as not even looking in my direction once as he stepped through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Rob nodded, “Think I’ll take you up on that.”

“Yeah me too,” Brad called as he leant down to pack his beloved cobalt blue Ibanez away in its case.

“You stopping?” I asked Mike and Joe as I got up from the latter’s lap and heard him sigh an ‘oomph’ of relief.

“Yes, you heavy bugger,” Joe whined rubbing his legs over dramatically, “For such a skinny person you don’t half weigh a ton…”

“Mike?”

“I need to go and get some smokes,” he told me.

“Cool, I’ll come with,” I nodded, patting my pockets down in search of my wallet.

“It’s alright, I’ll pick some up from the store for you too. I have a couple of other places I need to go too,” he said, lowering his voice and suddenly finding the floor a very interesting place to stare.

“Mike… I thought that you weren’t going to be doing drugs anymore?” I frowned as Joe disappeared through the door.

“I’m only getting some weed,” he paused, “Beside, quitting isn’t just going to happen overnight.”

“Give me a hand here Brad,” I sighed to the guitarist who was snapping shut the clasps on his case.

“I’m on your side,” he muttered shaking his head, “It’s up to Mike here if he wants to pay the price,” he paused glaring in his direction, “Y’know, headaches, hangovers amongst other things.”

“The only thing around here that gives me a headache is you Brad,” Mike chirped, watching as he rolled his eyes and sloped off into the kitchen, “Sorry Chester but if I don’t get some weed then I won’t be sleeping tonight. You of all people know how it is.”

“Fine,” I sighed, “I’ll come with you though, I could do with some fresh air.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “I just need to get my bag.”

A sigh escaped my lips as he headed inside the house and I was left nervously fiddling with my fingers. What was it going to take to make Mike see that he was in need of some help? All that seemed to surround him was a big, fat cloud of denial though. And all I could do was stand back and pretend it wasn’t happening.

“I like the shirt.”

I looked up at the sound of Phi’s voice to see him standing in the doorway.

“Mike made it,” I smiled, peeling it off and replacing it with my jacket. I bent down to grab my bag and folded the shirt up, carefully wedging it behind an old demo cd.

“Suits you,” he nodded, “Does it mean rock stars are fuckers or that you’re fucking them?” he smiled.

“You decide,” I told him as Mike appeared behind him, “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re just going to get some smokes and maybe some food,” I told Phi coolly as I brushed past him and slung my bag over my shoulder, “Want anything?”

“Nah I’m cool.”

“Okay, see you in a bit,” I nodded as I followed Mike down the hallway and out of the front door.

It was almost midnight yet the air was warm and we walked down the street in silence, my feet scuffing at the sidewalk. A couple of blocks into our walk, Mike finally broke the silence as we turned a corner and crossed the road.

“Sorry I snapped at you before,” he sighed as we reached the other side of the street and slipped down an alleyway that ran between two houses.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t be interfering really.”

“You’re not. I appreciate your concern Chester, I really do but I don’t have a drug problem.”

I didn’t answer because I wasn’t entirely convinced, and by the sounds of it neither was Mike. I just didn’t feel like yelling at him though because what was I supposed to say? Yes Mike you do have a drug problem, one that you’re failing badly to hide from me anymore. You overdosed on cocaine and ecstasy last week and despite your protests I still think it was deliberate.

The alleyway led to a tenement building very much like the one Mike lived in, only with trees and a children’s playground in it’s forecourt and less graffiti which gave it a more homely and less unsavoury feel. Looks however, were always deceptive.

“I have to go in,” Mike told me as we came to a stop by the children’s swings, “You can wait here if you like. I shouldn’t be too long,” he smiled, glancing up to the grey building before us.

I wasn’t exactly happy about watching my best friend as he walked away and into the entrance hall, disappearing inside the block of flats where his dealer obviously resided. I didn’t get much chance to protest, the ‘Don’t you want me to come with you’ lodging inside my throat as soon as he turned and walked away. Beside, it was only weed that he’d gone into get and I myself had been in similar places several times before to buy myself a nice fat bag of the green stuff.

Yet as I sat down on one of the swings and couldn’t help but feel like the word ‘gullible’ had floated out of the dictionary and attached itself to my forehead, along with a few other adjectives such as ‘idiotic’ and ‘foolish’. I began to swing back and forth, kicking my legs out and drawing them back as my hands tightened their grip on the chains. It had been a good few years since I’d been on a swing, the last time probably with Mike when we’d gotten very drunk and found ourselves in the adventure playground behind my house. We more than likely woke the whole neighbourhood up with our drunken screaming and giggling and the higher I swung, the more I wanted to be back in that time because three years made a lot of difference.

I should be happy, I thought as I lurched forward and was able to see a light flickering on inside one of the apartments. I should be in my element because my band just got signed and everything I’ve worked at for so long is finally starting to happen. I should be dancing inside because I finally got together with Phoenix and who cared if he just acted like nothing had happened; maybe, just maybe after all these years I’m finally getting over Josh. But, as I watched two shadowy figures moving in the light filled apartment, I felt nothing more than an acute wave of misery washing over me.

I slowed the swing down, my feet scraping against the asphalt beneath me until I was just sitting and staring up at the apartments before me. My gaze fell to the neon filled window, frown easing over my face as I watched one of the shadows slamming the other against a wall, an audible scream filling my ears as the smaller figure was pushed to the floor. Another scream drifted from the open window, a familiar one at that and suddenly I was on my feet and racing toward the door before my mind could even register what was happening.

The elevators were predictably jammed and as my feet raced up the stairs I was mentally counting how many floors up I actually needed to go. Three, maybe four, is what I was concluding as I spun further up the spiral staircase and onto the second floor, guided only by the screams; Mike’s screams that seemed to be getting louder.

The door that led to the third floor was a heavy metal affair and it took some strength to pull it open. My aching legs carried me down the badly lit corridor, screams now turning into cries. I wondered why none of the other residents were racing in the same direction as me, but quickly concluded that fear or the fact it were more than likely a regular occurrence were the main reasons they stopped inside their apartments with music systems and televisions turned up loud and drowning out the noises.

I finally reached a red painted door slightly ajar, number five seven nine, with footmarks against the frame. It was definitely this one. I pushed the door open, almost retching at the smell that emitted from within; a damp and dusty stench heavily scented with weed that was quick to overpower my senses.

“Little fucker. That’s two hundred dollars your Mom owes me. Fuck, I can’t believe you. Coming here and asking for some weed when she owes me fucking money. I swear to God if I knew where she lived these days that she’d be fucking spitting up daises. Whore. Shame about all these bruises on you huh? You piss someone else off did you?”

“Shit, I think you’ve hurt him enough Ed, get off him already,” another voice rang out.

I flinched as I tiptoed down the hallway, my heart fitfully racing as I pushed open what I assumed to be the bedroom door where a trickle of light and the rage filled shouts were pouring from. My breath was knocked away as my eyes were met with a thirty something tattoo filled guy pinning Mike down to the bed beneath him. Another scrawnier guy, owner of the second voice was crouched on the floor over a line of shimmering white powder. Mike’s eyes widened as they caught sight of me and in a matter of seconds the big burly excuse for a man was staring back at me too.

“Get the fuck off him,” I hissed, inching closer and grabbing a conveniently placed baseball bat, the one which the fucker had no doubt used to sock Mike across the mouth with, by the looks of the blood that was spilling from his face.

“Fuck Ed,” his friend gasped, suddenly jumping away from his cocaine, eyes wide and hands wiping at his nose.

To my surprise Ed was quick to scramble away, wrapping the sheets around his body. Mike quickly pulled up his pants and got to his feet.

“I’m not finished with him,” Ed growled, edging toward a desk in the corner of the room his scrawny excuse for an accomplish twitching nervously as Ed’s hand snaked inside one of the drawers.

“Fuck Ed NO, not the fucking gun Ed damit…”

“Like I said,” Ed’s voice growled, “I’m not finished with…”

“Yes you fucking are,” I hissed, “Mike get out of here.”

“He’s got a gun…”

“I said get out.”

Mike’s footsteps faded away as he slipped out of the room and I inched myself closer, grip tightening on the baseball bat. Ed’s hands inched further into one of the drawers but before he could grab what he was hunting for I’d swung the bat back and crashed it against his skull. He fell to the floor with a sickening crunch as his head smacked the wooden floorboards beneath him and seconds later his friend fainted, collapsing ungracefully at his side all the colour having drained from his face.. Suddenly aware of what I’d done, I felt the bat clattering to the floor and turned on my feet, racing out behind Mike as quick as I possibly could.

I could hardly breathe as Mike’s hand grabbed mine and he pulled me with him down the dank corridor and back down the twisting metal stairs. The air outside now felt cold and sticky as it hit our bodies when they dived out of the building doors.

I don’t know how long we were running for, our feet thundering along sidewalks and splashing into muddy puddles. All I could see was that strangers head smacking against the floor and cracking open, the image alone was enough to occupy my thoughts and steer my mind away from the fact that I could hardly breathe and my legs weren’t wanting to carry me much further. My eyes were open yet I could see nothing except his dirty hands all over my best friend, whose own hand was clutched around mine and pulling me away from it all.

Mike pulled me into a passageway and finally coming to a stop, I leant back against a cold wall, closing my eyes as I tried to catch my breath. When I slowly blinked them open I looked around, realising that we’d run a good four or five blocks away and were standing breathless between the general store and a Chinese Takeout. I slumped to the floor, my elbows scraping against the wall behind me before I collapsed and blearily looked up at Mike who slowly sat down beside me, split lip and bloodstained face staring back at me like he didn’t quite know what to say. I didn’t blame him though. I wouldn’t have known what, exactly, to say if my best friend had just become overpowered by utter rage and knocked someone out cold.

Congratulations?

+

TBC...

clandestine; chapter five

2006-03-17T18:15:14Z

Title : Clandestine
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : C/P
Rating : NC17
Summery : [multichapter] Chester wishes he could go back and change the things that went wrong, erase the mistakes, see the things he never noticed and amend the errors he made. Only he can’t and he’s got to live with the fatal consequences. Forever.

a/n; Thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially Bibi for the mammoth review and Sandy for reading this over and her words of encouragement. Okay, another filler chapter, I’m a tease and slowly building up to the real drama. Enjoy!

[Chapter Five]

He was fast asleep, buried securely beneath my old Winnie The Pooh bed sheets. Beside him sat my younger brother’s stuffed bear, Hendrix, keeping a watchful eye over my best friends sleeping form. I rubbed my hand across his, letting a sigh escape my lips as he shifted and murmured broken sentences in his sleep. Stitches ran above his right eye, stopping where the deep cut ended and the dark black bruise which smeared down the side of his face began.

“You idiot Mike,” I whispered, rubbing his hand some more, not sure if it were to comfort him or me.

The sound of the ambulance and raised voices of the paramedics that had burst into Rob’s house had soon woken and somewhat sobered up the others. Their eyes had widened and questions had ran from their mouths when they’d seen Mike and all I could tell them was that I’d found him like this: unconscious, a bloody mess on the bathroom floor. I’d been bundled up into the ambulance, the others following behind in a taxi. I’d been left crying and alone in the waiting room until they had arrived and Phoenix had held me as we waited for news, any news whatsoever.

And now two days later, here he was, fast asleep in my bed with skin almost as pale as mine. My room was lit only by the lamp on my desk and I could hear the soft sounds of the TV coming from the lounge down the hallway. It was almost nine pm which usually meant at least five more hours were left until I went to bed but I felt drained beyond belief and wanted nothing more than to get some much needed sleep.

Suspected overdose, the doctors had told us. I hadn’t yet figured out how they differentiated between ‘suspected’ and ‘actual’ overdose. To me it didn’t seem like there could be a difference. He’d either overdosed or he hadn’t. Simple as. Whether it was accidental or deliberate I still didn’t know, I couldn’t even begin to guess; Mike had plenty of reasons to want to kill himself yet I didn’t believe that he’d ever try it.

Or maybe I just didn’t want to believe that. He had, after all, tried it before and if I were to disturb him from his deep sleep by turning his arms over I would be revealing a thick, white scar that ran diagonally across the inside of his left wrist; a wound he’d inflicted on himself at just twelve years of age.

A mixture of Ecstasy, Cocaine and Painkillers is what the Doctors pumped from his stomach; found in his bloodstream two days ago. I kept on wondering why and how and what the hell had happened, just like I had done for the past forty eight hours. The questions were still whizzing around inside of my head; the answers still on the tip of my tongue as I waited for Mike to talk to me and tell me the truth.

Running a hand through my unkempt hair, I leant back in the chair I’d been residing in all day, ever since my parents had picked Mike and I up from the hospital and brought us back here. He’d been discharged with a bunch of painkillers to help ease the pain in his head that he’d obviously hit against the bath when he’d collapsed. It didn’t make sense to me. He obviously had a problem with drugs. Why give him more?

There was a knock at the door and I turned around to see it creaking open as my kid brother, Jack, stepped inside.

“Hey,” I smiled as he stood nervously in the doorway, his mop of mousy brown hair splattered with red paint which I soon saw as I looked down, was also all over his T-shirt and smeared on his hands which were holding a piece of paper.

“What have you got?” I asked as he stepped further into the room and let the door shut behind him.

I couldn’t help but smile as he toddled over to me, a grin on his face and that twinkle in his brown eyes that never seemed to disappear. My mom always said that I’d looked just like him when I was three years old too. I hoped to God that the cute thing standing in front of me, covered from head to toe in poster paint wouldn’t turn out like me, or find himself in the situations I always seemed to fall into.

“Is Mike going to get better soon?” he asked me innocently.

“Of course he is,” I told him, reaching down to pick him up, “Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine,” I whispered as Jack settled himself on my lap and thrust the piece of paper into my hand.

“I made it for Mike,” he told me proudly.

A smile graced my lips as my eyes scanned over the picture in front of me, a swirl of bright colours and Jack’s handprints dashing across the piece of paper.

“It’s Mike,” he smiled, prodding one of his chubby fingers against a blue and red blob in the bottom hand corner.

I found myself smiling further more as he pointed at various other shapes and smudges, telling me in his small voice that the picture was that of Mike dancing with a hippo, two sheep and a chocolate cake.

“Your chocolate cake,” he grinned, “I helped Mummy make it. It’s in the kitchen and you have to blow off the candles.”

“Out, you mean? I have to blow them out?”

He smiled and laughed, but his grin was soon to fade as he turned to look at Mike. I was still holding his pale hand, still stroking the back of it with my thumb as Jack stared at his sleeping form. I watched him for a while, watched the way his eyes took in Mike, the way his smile had faded so quickly. He knew something was wrong, yet he was all so innocent to the whole sorry situation. He just thought Mike was sick, that’s all we’d told him. And in a way I wanted that to be the case. I wanted him to just have some bug, the flu or something. I didn’t want the mess of my best friend before me to be the consequences of too much alcohol and too many poisonous drugs. I wanted to be like Jack; innocent and shielded from the bitter truth because it seemed like it would be so much easier to accept.

I heard the creek of my bedroom door opening and glancing behind me I saw my Mom was standing there with a damp facecloth in one hand and a paint stained towel in the other. She stepped inside, walking over to me and stopping behind me, her hand resting on my shoulder. I glanced away, eyeing the watch on her wrist as it ticked away, averting my eyes from the time down to her red painted nails before my gaze finally settled on Mike again.

“Hey you,” she sighed, reaching her hand around me to ruffle up Jack’s hair, “I’ve been looking around the whole house for you. You’re just like your big brother here, he never wanted to have a bath either,” she chuckled.

Jack seemed to be still staring at Mike and I realised it was probably best he left already. A small yawn escaped his mouth, followed by a sigh as he rested his head against my chest.

“Come on buddy,” I sighed, “Bedtime.”

He nodded, obviously too tired to scream and cry like he often did when the words bath or bed were mentioned and my Mom leaned over me and took him into her arms. She squeezed my shoulder and I turned away from Mike, letting his hand go for the first time in hours.

“You okay?” she whispered.

I nodded, smiling as Jack began to fall asleep in her arms. His paint stained hands were clutching onto her black smock and she tucked her long mousy brown hair behind her ears before letting go of my shoulder, her smooth hands gone as she turned to walk out of the door.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she told me once she’d got to the door only I’d already turned back to Mike, was running my hand through his hair and tucking the covers tighter around him.

I heard the door click shut and wiped away the tears that had started to fall down my cheeks.

*

I lay awake in the comfort of my bedroom, lit only by the glow of the moon that was creeping in through a crack in the curtains. It was early morning but I still hadn’t fallen asleep. I was cold and the thin pyjama pants I was wearing probably accounted for my shivering but I couldn’t be bothered to get up and find something a little warmer to wear. My mind was too preoccupied with other things.

Mike was still fast asleep beside me. He’d not woken and through the dark my eyes could just make out the outline of him, his fragile features emphasized by the sighs and whimpers that had left his lips all night long. I could have sworn that he was having nightmares but he’d seemed immune to my attempts to wake him and given that he was supposed to be resting, I had decided not to try anymore and instead was keeping an eagle eye on him from where I lay in my twisted sheets.

The Darth Vader clock that I’d had since I was seven was ticking away on the wall beside the bed, it’s methodical clunk, clank noise hammering deep inside of my mind, punctuating every thought that fluttered across the mess inside of my head. I tried to stop myself thinking about Mike, about his crumpled body on Rob’s bathroom floor. I tried to stop envisaging the blood that had been seeping from his head and staining the tiles with it’s crimson inkiness. I’d tried everything I could, singing songs to myself, counting the days left until Christmas, calculating how many times I’d said fuck in my life and wondering what my voice would sound like if I sang upside down suspended by a length of rope over a cliff.

It wasn’t working though. It all came back to my best friend.

Every song I sang was one we’d written together. Every time I counted down the days till the festive holidays I remembered our short lived jobs at the local supermarket one year as Christmas elves where we had to dance around and entertain the customers every time Noddy Holder’s voice got blasted throughout the store. I couldn’t begin to figure out how many times I’d cussed in my life, yet I knew it had to be less than Mike as every other word he uttered was ‘fuck’. And every time I saw myself being suspended over a cliff I began to fall, and as I tumbled down surrounded by nothing but thin air, I could see someone above me with a pair of scissors, glaring at me. And that person was Mike, he was staring and staring and as I reached the bottom I heard him call something out.

You didn’t save me.

I groaned and sat up, rubbing my eyes as I swung my legs out of bed and set my feet on the soft carpet beneath me. I grabbed a hoody off the floor as I tripped over a pair of shoes on my way toward the door with all intent and purpose of getting myself a glass of water. Or a stiff drink.

But why I found myself sitting outside in the freezing cold on the love seat in the back yard was beyond me. I just, stumbled out there, found a packet of cigarettes in the pocket of my sweater and promptly lit one up. A cloud of dusky smoke drifted around me as I curled my legs underneath me and looked up at the house I’d lived in almost all my life.

It belonged to my Grandparents, who’d seen it fit for my parents and me to live there with them when my Mother had fallen pregnant with me at just sixteen. It had only ever been a short term idea, just whilst my mom and dad got themselves on their feet. Only twenty two years later, here we all were; my grandparents, my parents, me, my younger sister Steph and my baby brother Jack all crammed into the small bungalow that creaked in the summer and smelt of my Grandmother’s baking in the winter.

It was weird.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe sitting outside at three am and reminiscing over it was weird, or at least making me feel weird about it all. I flicked some ash into a plant pot beside me, suddenly cursing as I realised it was where Jack kept his pet snails. They were probably frazzled to death now, burning, melted by the hot remnants of my smoke. I felt bad for a few seconds before making a mental note to find some more snails later on in the day.

Snails.

I laughed to myself and lit up another cigarette. All this shit was going on with Mike. He was lying in my bed looking like death warmed up, I’d spent the night not able to shake his situation from my head and now I was thinking about my kid brother’s snail collection. Or deceased collection…

I had come outside to stop my cycle of thoughts though, but I found myself looking back up at the house again, my eyes watching the lonely hanging basket that swung in the night breeze from it’s home on the veranda. The blue paint of the back door was chipping off, despite my Dad’s promise that he was going to paint it. That had been several summers ago, just before I’d moved back in and the guest room had become my bedroom once again and the door had faded more and more, blue paint flaking off every time it got slammed shut.

A chill ran through me as I thought back about more and more things. I’d moved out when I was fifteen, to live with my one and only, the guy I thought I’d live with forever more; Josh. Flicking more ash onto the ground beneath me I could almost feel him wrapping his arms around me, just like he always would when I felt down. I closed my eyes and shivered, taking a deep breath before I found myself staring at the paint deprived door again. So many times we’d crept in late at night, so many chaste kisses had been shared by that door, so many hugs and whispers of goodnight.

I was crying again. Tears were streaming down my face, sobs escaping my lips as I angrily wiped my hand across my eyes, trying to push back in the cries that were building up inside and begging to be set free.

We’d been so happy together. We’d shared so much. We’d dreamed of being together forever, no one could have torn us apart; no one whatsoever. My parents had loved him to pieces. They’d welcomed him with open arms; they’d never had a problem with him let alone my sexuality. I’d always put their open mindedness, their care free ways down to the fact that they were so young. Now they were barely forty years old, they’d made mistakes but had never been the kind to hold me back from making my own. I’d probably not had been sitting outside in the cold had it not been for them. I’d probably had been six feet under, spitting up daises. Dead.

When Josh died my whole world had crumbled. Josh passing away had been so out of the blue; at least to me it had. But of course, no one kills themselves without a real reason, without the need and want to escape the world not having built up inside them for months on end. I never knew he felt low. I never knew that my own boyfriend, the one person I’d die for had been rotting away for months on end, plotting his way out of the world right behind my back.

And at sixteen years old I fell to pieces. Of course I did. What else was expected of me other than to sit and cradle the memories of my dead boyfriend in my mind night after night and ask myself relentlessly where it had all gone wrong and why I’d found him one morning in the bathroom, crumpled on the floor choking to death on his own vomit; drowning in his own blood.

After that all I could remember about moving back home was the fact that my mom had hassled my dad to paint the door one evening as I’d sat in this very place, watching the clouds of the summer slowly drift past above me. I couldn’t remember the pain, or the tears. Just the bloody door and the way my dad had answered ‘Yes dear, I’ll do it tomorrow’. Sometimes tomorrow was a world away with him.

Sometimes happiness was a world away with me.

I stubbed out my cigarette and got to my feet. My ass was cold, my fingers were numb and as I trudged back inside the warm house I wondered when in hell I was going to stop being so melodramatic.

Shutting my bedroom door quietly behind me, I realised I hadn’t even gotten myself a drink like I’d intended. I was too tired to go back though, I wanted nothing more than to snuggle up in bed and sleep the night away, and possibly the next day too. The walk outside appeared to have made me drowsy and I was just about to grab my pillow and settle myself on the floor so as not to disturb Mike. I’d slept in cramped camper vans. The floor would be a doddle. Only Mike let out a whimper as I slid my pillow out of the bed.

“Ches..?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Hey,” I whispered back, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

My eyes had grown accustomed to the dark so I was able to see the fragile look on his tired face as his eyes slowly fluttered open and he glanced around the room in what looked like a somewhat confused manner. Leaning behind him, I flicked my desk lamp on, filling the small area around us with its dusky orange glow.

He blinked back at me as I reached my hand to his head and brushed my fingers through his hair, repeating the words I’d found myself uttering earlier on.

“Idiot,” I sighed.

He frowned, his chapped lips forming to say something, only no words were spoken. Instead he just closed his mouth and stared back up at the ceiling. My clock was ticking once again, echoing around the room. I had a good mind to fling it across the room. I so hadn’t missed it while we’d been on the road. Even the sound of a running clapped out engine didn’t drive me as mad. Maybe I’d take the batteries out.

“Come on,” I sighed again, crossing my legs and resting my hands in my lap, “I’ve got the right to say that.”

“I know,” he murmured glumly.

“I’m tired,” I paused to take my pillow before I got to my feet, “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Chester.. Where are you going?”

“Floor? I’m not sleeping too well. I’ll probably kick you or wake you up again or something,” I told him, dropping my pillow to the floor.

Truth was, I couldn’t sleep next to him because my mind wouldn’t switch off from the terrifying facts that were repeatedly slapping me in the face harder than one of Brad’s scathing remarks.

“You can kick me all you like,” Mike whispered quietly, no hint of humour whatsoever in his voice.

I bent down and picked up my pillow, swiftly realising what a selfish asshole I was being. My best friend had just overdosed, for whatever reasons and was now looking at me as if I’d just slapped him hard in the face, which metaphorically speaking aside I might as well have done. I’d never felt the need to drive a huge wedge between us any other time, nor did I plan to start creating one.

“Okay then,” I smiled, plonking my pillow, then myself down onto my bed.

Mike moved up a little as I pulled the warm covers over me and snuggled up beside him. I lay for a good few seconds just watching him as he stared back at me. The cut on his face looked painful, as did the black smudge of a bruise which had specks of blue dancing across it, tainting his complexion. He’d taken some fucking fall. I wanted to curse at him for not being more careful, for not letting Brad stay with him, for drinking and getting smashed but I knew he’d had his reasons.

“How are you feeling?” I finally asked, turning onto my side so I was facing him.

“Crap,” he replied honestly, chewing nervously on his chipped black fingernails.

A sigh escaped my lips as I leant forward and took his hand. He stopped chewing his nails then, he stopped and looked at me, nervously biting his bottom lip instead as I began to speak.

“Why?” I asked, “Why did this happen?”

He frowned, “What did Brad tell you?”

“Hmm? What does that have to do with anything? He just said he left you in the lounge at Rob’s, you’d passed out or something,” I explained, figuring that the poor thing was obviously still delirious from the medication he’d been given. That or the bump on his head.

“So he didn’t say anything?”

“About what?”

He shrugged, fiddling with the bed sheets with his free hand. I watched him for a few minutes as he fidgeted about beside me, staring past me with worried eyes. My hand instinctively tightened around his, my throat feeling dry as I tried to ask him the question I was dreading hearing myself say.

“Mike,” I sighed, waiting until he was looking at me before I carried on.

His brown eyes flicked to mine, and I knew that he was scared as hell, maybe out of confusion, or maybe because he was remembering what he’d done. That had to be why he was starting to resemble a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. Just spit it out already, I decided.

“You, you didn’t try to… y’know… kill yourself?”

“W.. What?” he spluttered, “Is that what you think?”

Obviously not then.

“No… I… Yes. Well what am I supposed to think Mike?”

“I didn’t, Chester I swear I didn’t,” he paused, “God I’m sorry. All I remember is Brad leaving and then I felt sick,” he closed his eyes, “I must have gone to the bathroom for some painkillers. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight… I must have fallen…”

“It’s okay,” I sighed, a weight falling from my shoulders as Mike smiled weakly back at me., “Let’s sleep,” I whispered into the night air, “I’m shattered.”

*

I opened my eyes, finding myself somewhere between a state of consciousness and the dark depths of the bad dream I’d been having. Groaning, I rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands and sat up a little, blearily scanning the room around me, my gaze finally resting on the clock which glared back at me, letting me know that it was almost midday. The sleeping figure beside me stirred, causing me to jump a little, my tiny mind having forgotten that Mike was there. I shuffled onto my side, wincing as I saw the bruises on his face had darkened; their colour intensified against his pale skin. I let my hand wonder, fingertips tracing gently across his forehead, feeling sleep tug at my eyes once I again. I felt them close only to snap open once again when I heard someone else beside me clearing their throat. My body grappled to sit up and my eyes met with the one thing I didn’t particularly want to see first thing. Ever. It was Brad, a smirk on his face, glint in his eye ever present as he sat himself down on the chair beside my bed.

“He okay?” he asked after a short spell of silence in which I’m sure the glint in his eyes went from manic to normal in a matter of nanoseconds.

Whatever. I’d just woken up. I had a shitload of things on my mind and now was not the time to be trying to figure out Brad Delson.

“He’s tired,” I told him, carefully dislodging myself from under Mike’s body and getting myself to my feet, my arms automatically stretching themselves out above my head, followed by a yawn, “Anyway, how’d you get in?”

“Your Mom let me in, told me to come to your room. Been here a for a while now,” he paused, “Cosy, were you?”

I rolled my eyes and chose not to answer Brad’s question as I got to my feet and brushed past him, resisting all temptation to jab him in the shoulders or do something equally as mature. Making it to my window without falling over my clothes and some other random belongings, I pushed it open and revelled in that poor old undervalued thing called fresh air. Fumbling about in the tobacco tin that had been in wait on the windowsill, I took out a cigarette, lit it up and allowed myself a long, hard drag from it before turning toward Brad as he headed over to me.

“He’s going to be okay, right?”

I raised my eyebrow at him. For once in his life Brad Delson seemed genuinely concerned with someone else’s welfare as a pose to just being centred on his own. How refreshing, I thought bitterly as I flicked some ash out of my window, took another drag then decided to answer him.

“He’s going to be fine. You should have stayed with him y’know,” I pointed out.

“Yeah I know and right at this fucking moment I really wish I had, okay?”

A pang of guilt swam through me as Brad sat down beside me on the windowsill with a thud and a somewhat dejected sigh escaped through his lips. He ran a hand over his skull and glanced across at Mike’s sleeping form before his eyes settled on me once again.

“Have you spoken to him yet?”

“He didn’t say much,” I sighed, watching as more ash floated through the air, spiralling down to the ground outside and fading away from my eyes, “He says he felt sick so he went to the bathroom, took some painkillers and then he thought he must have fallen… least that’s all he can remember.”

Brad let out a long sigh and I stubbed my cigarette out into a half full ashtray that I couldn’t even remember when I’d last emptied before I shut the window and leant back against it, my forlorn gaze finding itself on Mike’s sleeping form once again.

“And that’s all he said, right? He didn’t say anything else?”

“No,” I sighed, momentarily watching Brad who seemed as jumpy and uncomfortable as I was feeling.

My eyes were soon on Mike again though and as Brad made his excuses and left the room, mumbling something about having to be at work, I barely heard because my eyes were trained on my best friend and the small whimpers that were now escaping his lips as he slept. Frowning, I got to my feet and walked over to him, kneeling down beside my bed as I took one of his cold hands and squeezed it tight.

“Hey,” I smiled as his eyes slowly opened looked at me for a few seconds before they flickered up toward the ceiling, without a word from his lips.

“I get it,” I sighed, “You want to sleep and forget about everything and the last thing you want is a lecture from your best friend?”

Mike smiled a little and nodded before closing his eyes and rolling onto his side.

“You know, I swear you can read my mind at times,” he whispered, eyes still shut.

“I wish I could.”

Mike cracked one eye open and looked right at me, “No,” he sighed, “No, you really do not mean that,” he told me before closing his eyes and burying his head into the pillows.

“We’ll talk later,” I sighed, squeezing his hand before I got to my feet.

Grabbing some clothes, I headed into the bathroom and less than twenty minutes later I was showered and dressed and ambling into the kitchen, allured by the aroma of my Grandma Lila’s cooking that had been wafting down the hallway. She stood by the stove, talking to my mother who was sat at the table typing away on her laptop and swatting my brother’s hands away every time they jabbed at the keys.

“Ahh it’s alive!” My dad smiled from where stood in front of the kitchen sink, planting what looked like something completely illegal and knowing my father it probably was. Everything bad; my annoying traits and my mischievous habits, I’d picked them up from him.

“Yes, it’s alive,” I jested, swooping down to pick up Jack from his chair. He giggled as I spun him around a couple of times.

“How’s Mike?” My mom asked, looking up from her work.

“Tired,” I sighed, “I’ve left him to sleep.”

“That’s probably a wise idea,” she nodded, “He can stay as long as he likes okay? Just you make sure he knows that.”

“And make sure he eats something too,” Lila added with a smile, “I’ve cooked plenty and you two boys look like you need fattening up. All this time travelling around it’s a wonder you have time to eat properly,” she told me light heartedly.

“Yes Lila, whatever you say Lila,” I quipped.

“Less of that cheek,” she chuckled, “Or I’ll be giving you extra helpings of vegetables, you hear me?”

I smiled and lifted Jack onto my shoulders, momentarily forgetting that my life felt pretty shit but as Lila had said to me many times; whenever you feel like shit, you’ve got to carry on regardless. I wasn’t sure if I were putting on a brave front, or if my family who I’d seen so little of in the past year were just reminding me with their smiles and caring ways that when it came down to it, happiness came from those around you. Or something along those rose tinted lines.

Smiling at the complexity of my inner thoughts, I found myself at the sink, watching with suspicious eyes as my father placed handfuls of soil and compost into several terracotta plant pots, his stubby fingers pressing down into the mixture.

“What you planting?” Jack asked inquisitively.

“Plants,” My dad smiled.

“No, what Jack means is what kind of plants,” I smirked, watching as my father threw me a playful glare.

“It’s a special plant,” he paused, “It helps heal people,” he grinned, picking his words carefully.

“And it will also get you into a lot of trouble if anyone finds out Lee!” My mother scorned, “I thought I told you to be discreet with that crap that god forbid you insist of having in here!”

Jack squirmed in my arms and I bent down and let him toddle off, laughing as my father muttered something about it being for medicinal purposes, which lets face it, was a load of bollocks. I headed out of the kitchen, passing the living room where I paused at the door and watched in amusement as my Grandfather attempted to change channels on the TV before exclaiming something along the lines of ‘Ahh screw it’ and throwing the small device down onto the table. I chuckled, causing him to look up.

“Ahh, didn’t see you there son. How are you doing? Good birthday was it?”

“Yeah, yeah it was alright,” I nodded.

“Nothing special birthdays aren’t,” he nodded, “Soon as you get past twenty one it’s all the same; another year, another day. How’s young Michael doing?”

“He’s okay,” I answered.

“Good good. You make sure he’s more than okay, won’t you?”

“You know I will,” I smiled, carrying on down the hallway and stopping once again as I came to my sister’s doorway.

She was lying on her bed, staring up to the ceiling with a somewhat forlorn look on her face. Pressing my hand against the slightly open door, I rapped my knuckle against it, half expecting her to tell me to piss off.

“Come in,” she sighed.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside her room, dodging hair straighteners, clothes and battered magazines that scattered themselves across her floor. It looked like she was taking after me in the stakes for messiest room.

“You alright?” I asked, settling down on the edge of her black and red spotted bed sheets.

“Not really.”

“What’s wrong then?” I asked, gazing around her cluttered room.

Her walls were lined with posters of Robert Smith and Kurt Cobain. School books and sheets of coloured paper littered her desk which stood underneath an old shelf filled with My Little Ponies and Barbie dolls with badly cut hair. The wardrobe in the far corner was bursting open with clothes and shoes and another poster, this time of Billie Joe, was tacked to the inside of one of the doors and his baby face, kohl rimmed eyes were staring back at me. Her room was every teenage girl. She was so not ready to become a mother.

“Steph ?”

“It’s Mom. She’s doing my head in. She just keeps going on about everything, y’know, what I’ve got to do, where I’ve got to go, what I can and can’t do. She’s even banned me from going to see you guys play next month. I mean, how unfair is that?!”

“Aww come on Steph , I’m sure she didn’t say you couldn’t come…”

“She did too.”

“It’s tradition. We always go to the Spring Festival together and beside, you’ve got to be there to see the one and only Hybrid Theory playing!”

“That’s exactly why she won’t let me go. I told her I was going to be front row, cheering you guys on and she totally flipped out…”

“And did she say you couldn’t go?” I asked, knowing damn well she hadn’t.

“Well, no, not in so many words…”

“You’re pregnant Steph . You can’t exactly be bouncing about in a mosh pit for an hour can you?”

“But all my friends will be there…”

“Steph ,” I sighed, “I know it’s hard…”

“Do you? How’s that so Chester, huh? I don’t remember seeing you carrying a foetus.”

“Okay okay. I don’t know, but I can imagine, okay? I sympathize with you.”

“I don’t want your fucking sympathy,” she groaned.

“Fine. I’ll be a total bastard,” I huffed.

“You? A total bastard!? I don’t think so bro. You’ve not got it in you.”

“What?!” I giggled, throwing a star shaped pillow at her, “I have so.”

“No way. You’re way too gay to be mean to anyone. Even Brad. And I know how much he pisses you off.”

“That’s beside the point,” I smiled, “Listen Steph. Mom just wants to do the best for you. Let her have her ‘mother knows best’ moments and be done with it. You’ll thank her for it in the long run and hey, at least she’s not thrown you out like a lot of parents would have done…”

“Yeah well she could hardly do that with her track record, could she?”

“Steph ! Listen to yourself!”

“It’s true. I mean, how old was she when she had you? Sixteen? So how can she preach to me about me being too young, tell me what a mess I’ve made of things; dictate to me what I can and can’t do and just generally make me feel like I’m one huge disappointment to her.”

“That’s not true. She is not disappointed in you at all,” I sighed, grabbing a heart shaped cushion and fiddling with it’s frilly edge for a few seconds, “You know, when mom got pregnant with me, she was so depressed. She didn’t know what to do or who to turn to and she did a brave thing telling Lila. She was mad at first, but then she came around to the idea and she did all she could to help mom.”

“I bet. I bet she didn’t make her feel like shit. I bet she didn’t make her regret having this thing inside her,” Steph hissed, prodding her stomach.

“You don’t think mom regretted having me?” I asked, raising my eyebrows, “Because I know for a fact that she did. I wasn’t planned, just like you didn’t plan to become pregnant either but Steph , you’ve got to work around this. It’s not the ideal situation, I know it isn’t but for God’s sake just stop being so stubborn. Let mom do her thing, because she’s been there, she knows how you’re feeling.. You know if you spoke to her, it might help make things better. You know what mom calls me?” I smiled wryly, “The best mistake of her life and that little thing in there,” I paused, pointing to her stomach, “That could be the best mistake of your life if you accept it…”

Steph sighed and bit her lip, “I hate you Chester,” she smiled, “You always make so much sense.”

I raised my eyebrows as I got to my feet and placed the cushion back down on her bed. Make sense? Me? Hardly. Anything but make sense is how I felt half the time. Mumbling see you later, I headed across the hallway and into my bedroom, softly shutting the door behind me. Mike was fast asleep and I went and sat cross legged beside him on the bed because something told me that he really needed me at that moment in time.

*

Life would have been so much easier if I’d had known the whole truth and the real reasons why Mike needed me so badly. Sometimes I wish that I could have had psychic powers back then. That way I would have been able to stop so much shit from happening not only to him but to myself as well.

*

TBC……

Please leave a review, I really need to know your thoughts on this! Thanks.

graffitti decoration challenge archive ;

2006-03-14T19:36:33Z

Challenge #9 -- The Tattoo Challenge
Title: All Hail The Heartbreaker
Author: shinobi
Rating: NC-17
Pairing (optional): m/c
Word count: 2136
Any notes/warnings: Mike’s p.o.v This is dark and abrupt.
Summary: It’s just a heart. That’s all it is. I used to think that it was yours and that you’d given it to me to keep but now as I look down at my arm and trace my finger over the black outline on my inner wrist, I come to realise that it was nothing like that.

All Hail The Heartbreaker

*

Rob birthday -- Drabble
Title ; A Static Lullaby
Author ; shinobi
Word Count ; 317
Pairing ; Rob/Mike
Notes ; Rob's P.O.V

A Static Lullaby

*

Challenge #7 -- The Movie Quote Challenge
Title: Imagine?
Author: shinobi
Rating: R
Word count: 1702
Quotes used: 10) "I saw him... I saw him. I can hear his voice in my head." (The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King)
11) "I promise that one day, everything's going to be better for you." (Donnie Darko)
Any warnings/notes: It’s weird. Excuse me.
Summary: Mike doesn’t want to remember what happened anymore. [short standalone (cm)]

Imagine?

*

Challenge #5 -- The Wife Challenge
Title: Thug Mentality
Author: shinobi
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2970
Any warnings/notes: A lot of cussing. Sorry people!
Summary: You want revenge against the people who took Mike away from you and you’ll stop at nothing to get it.

Thug Mentality

*

Challenge #4 -- The Lyric Challenge
Title: Shoot, Trip
Author: shinobi
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2062
Keys used: Song 4 ["Echo" by Trapt] Song 1 ["Stitches" by Orgy] and Song 8 ["Weak and Powerless" by A Perfect Circle]
Notes: Inspired by Rock City, my favourite place on Earth to be and the video to ‘hand of blood’ by my Welsh rockers Bullet For My Valentine.
Summary: Another night, another haze. Another night another trip to outer space. Another night to lose yourself in chemical elation and share those dreams, those thoughts; escape.

Shoot, Trip

*

Challenge #3 -- Colour Challenge
Title: Rainbow's End
Author: shinobi
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1575
Any warnings/notes: Just another tragedy from yours truly. Err, be warned, this turned out rather cheesy damit! Apologies in advance. Much love to my Sandy for reading through <3
Summary: Mike/Chester. Mike's world went from thirteen shades of grey to the highest euphoria he'd tasted the moment that Chester walked into his life…

Rainbow's End

*

Challenge #1 -- Picture Challenge
Title: Touch?
Author: shinobi
Rating: NC-17
Keys used: picture four
Word count: 597
Any warnings/notes: (implied rape)
Summary: Chester learns that love hurts. A lot.

Touch?

chapter four ;

2006-02-03T14:43:23Z

Title : Clandestine
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : C/P
Rating : NC17
Summery : [multichapter] Chester wishes he could go back and change the things that went wrong, erase the mistakes, see the things he never noticed and amend the errors he made. Only he can’t and he’s got to live with the fatal consequences. Forever.

[Chapter Four]

(march 2000)

I stood in front of the shattered mirror, trying to make sense of my somewhat distorted reflection as I attempted to apply some of Mike’s ‘Heavily Mental’ black eyeliner to the lower rims of my eyes. I blinked as I finished the two almost neat, thick lines and stepped back from the mirror to straighten out the black shirt and pants I was wearing.

“Wow, someone looks mighty sexy.”

I spun around, a blush creeping into my cheeks as I saw Phoenix leaning against the doorway to the toilet stalls I was in. A smirk was plastered across his face and he smiled back at me as he stepped inside the dank room.

“You okay?” he asked me as I turned back to the mirror and fiddled with the sleeves of my shirt. I rolled them up, then pulled them back down again and was just about to ask Phoenix which looked best when he placed a hand upon my back.

“Nervous?”

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, my tongue flicking over the silver ring that looped itself through my lower lip.

“Just a little. But, y’know it’s okay. I’m just about shitting myself here, Joe’s gone into a state of silence, Rob’s pacing the corridors, Brad’s making jokes and Mike’s… actually he’s the only one being normal. Just his moody self and staring holes into the walls!”

I chuckled and turned to face the bass player.

“What do you think our chances are?”

“Honestly?”

I nodded my head.

“Without wanting to sound big headed or too confident, I’d say we’ve got pretty good chances. I mean, we’re one step up, we have our publishing deal. These guys seem pretty interested in signing us.”

I gulped, the words alone sending shivers down my spine. I couldn’t quite believe it. It was my twenty second birthday and we had just played a set for a major record label that were interested in signing us? I needed to keep pinching myself, only every time I did, it made no difference for I was still in the building that housed the head quarters of the record label and I was still pissing myself.

“Come on, lets get back to the others. Gut feeling here, but I think it’d do us good to all be together.”

“Sure,” I nodded my head and followed Phoenix out of the dank bathrooms and down the dark corridor that led to the room the rest of our band mates were anxiously waiting inside.

Collectively, we looked like we were attending a funeral. I flopped down on the couch beside Mike and glanced around with a small smile gracing my lips. Brad sat cross legged on the floor beside the door, fidgeting nervously with a small pile of plectrums. He wore a plain black shirt, similar to mine and a pair of dark blue jeans. His arms were adorned with a neat collection of black rubber bands and his comedy hair had all been cut off, now shaven close to his head. A few steps away sat Rob who at first glance looked a spitting image of Brad. Only when you looked again did the differences show. His hair was slightly shorter, a neat goatee was growing from his chin and although younger, he was marginally taller out of the two. On a coffee table in the centre of the room sat Joe, his head in a magazine which I didn’t have the heart to tell him boasted articles on the front cover about penis enlargements and gender swapping operations. He seemed to be relaxed, in his own little world as he tapped his sneaker clad foot against the floor. His track suit had gone weeks ago after the rest of us had taken part in a ceremonial burning of it. He wore black pants and a blue shirt that had the words ‘I’ve lost my cherry, can I have yours?’ loudly splashed across it. Mike was fidgeting beside me with a look of nervousness in his ebony eyes. They were heavily decorated with black eyeliner and tiny bits of blue moon glitter that danced about every time he blinked. I couldn’t help but smile at him as he jiggled his leg up and down and chewed on his blue painted nails. He looked round at me and sighed, his fingers gone from his mouth as he smoothed his hands down over his dark shirt.

“How much longer do you think we’re going to have to wait?” he asked.

Everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as Mike spoke. It wasn’t just the fact that someone had finally broken the nervous state of silence that had engulfed the small room, but more so that it was Mike who had been the one to speak.

The past few months had been a strange ride of a roller coaster. We’d taken a short break at Christmas, all residing to our homes and crumby jobs for the festive season. By January we’d barely seen one another and at the end of the month we’d gotten together again to rehearse for a string of gigs that Rocky had found for us. Things had been strained to say the least. Phoenix had been going back and forth between us and his other band, leaving the rest of us to wonder if we had a permanent bass player or not. Rob had spent most of the Christmas period in a drunken stupor and was trying to sober himself up. Brad had somewhat mellowed out and I still hadn’t decided if that were a good thing, or a bad thing. I’d spent the break working my ass off in a greasy diner and trying to keep out of my families way as my younger sister had just dropped a bombshell; she was pregnant and she was also just fourteen years old. And as for Mike, he’d not really been himself since the night the night I spent rubbing his back as he vomited a cocktail of Alco Pops and beer in his bathroom.

He’d been distant. He’d suddenly banished any talk about his Mother. He’d pushed me away when I’d asked him if he wanted to talk, he’d tensed up when I’d tried to give him a cuddle or a shoulder to cry on. Rather than lose my rag I’d decided to give him some space and reminded him on several occasions that I was there whenever he needed to talk. I was still waiting though and as we all sat around without an answer to Mike’s question I couldn’t help but think things over and ask if the outcome of today would make or break us.

In fact, it wasn’t long until the door opened and Rocky walked in, followed by two suited men and a woman. I tried my best to get a look at Rocky’s face but his expression was giving nothing whatsoever away.

“Well, we won’t keep you waiting any longer,” one of the men, who I vaguely remembered introducing himself as Will, spoke, fiddling with a clipboard under his arm, “Anyone got a pen?” he asked.

We all stared back at him with blank expressions etched upon our faces.

“Contracts!” he exclaimed, “Things to sign!”

The six of us sat in silence, still staring blankly at him.

“We want to sign you up!”

I stared at him. At the floor. Back at him. At his smart black shoes which I absently wondered; were they leather or manmade? And he said he wanted to sign us up? A small squeak left my mouth and everyone seemed to simultaneously look my way.

“We’re signed?”

Nine faces smiled back at me and nodded their heads and as the penny dropped a huge grin seemed to stretch across my face.

“Oh my God!” I squeaked, getting to my feet, “I freaking love you!” I exclaimed and before I realised I was running over to a surprised looking Will and enveloping him in a rather giddy bear hug.

He looked somewhat flustered as I pulled away and turned to my band mates who were hugging one another, awash with looks of glee and amazement. I danced over to them, hugging them each in turn as an explosion of happiness erupted deep inside of me. Hell, I was that happy that I even gave Brad a huge, suffocating bear hug.

Mike was the last person I hugged and as we wrapped our arms around one another, somewhere deep inside a part of me didn’t want to let go.

“We’ve done it baby boy,” I whispered, “We’ve fucking done it!”

*

I was cold, tired and hungry. I wanted nothing more than to jump into a hot bath then wrap up in my warm fleece pyjamas and fall asleep. Only it was my birthday and the others were having none of it. That’s why I was sitting in the back of the RV and Brad was driving us down the highway at breakneck speeds. If we made it without getting pulled over, we were heading to some bar in town where the drinks were cheap and no one seemed to mind if you just wanted to sit in a corner and get out of your heads.

I was wedged between Rob and a guitar case and Mike, who along with Phoenix was already half drunk, sat on my lap fidgeting about as he tried to roll a joint. Whilst sat on my lap, I repeat. Whilst also rocking about as Brad hurtled down the road. I watched him in amusement for a few minutes before he gave up and clumsily put the lid back on his tobacco tin with a sigh.

“Are we supposed to feel any different?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face.

“About what?”

“Y’know, about being signed… We’re no longer the band that’s constantly rejected. We actually got signed, I mean,” he paused and frowned, “I don’t know what I mean,” he sighed, hiccupping and shifting about in my lap before he went silent.

I glanced across at Rob who just raised his eyebrows and mouthed ‘he’s wasted already?’ to which I nodded and smiled a little, turning back to Mike as he slumped against me and buried his head into the crook of my neck.

“Maybe I should just take him back to his apartment and…”

“No way,” Rob interrupted, “You’re not getting out of this one! I mean, come on it’s a double celebration tonight! You can’t bail out on us, I mean, you’re normally the one drinking everyone else under the table…”

“That’s because I’m the only one who can handle his drink”

Rob raised an eyebrow, “Yeah? Really? What about that time in the motel then? If I remember the story right, you were drunk after a few mouthfuls of vodka…”

“It wasn’t straight though! Michael here put a handful of whatever he’d scored into it!”

Rob smiled, “You’re such an easy thing to wind up at times but you’re not getting out of it.”

“Okay,” I sighed with a slight smile, although why I was smiling was beyond me. I had bad feelings about the rest of the night.

Defeated though, I pushed my thoughts to the back of my mind as we continued the rest of the journey in silence, give or take the odd swear word from Phi every time we went over a bump as he drunkenly lay on the floor.

It wasn’t long before Brad was screeching the brakes as the van jerked into the parking lot behind the bar. We always left the van here overnight when we went to the bar. It wasn’t exactly a good place to leave it but so far no one had seemed bothered about attempting to break into the piece of shit and drive it away.

Mike groaned and looked at me with a bemused expression on his face.

“Do we get more money to spend on booze now?” he asked, beaming as he got up from my lap and pulled me to my feet.

“Fortunately for you, no,” I replied chuckling as we followed the others outside.

It was quite busy in the bar and past the tables and booths a small crowd of people had gathered who stood watching the band that were playing in the far corner. I found myself being dragged into one of the booths and wedged in the corner. Mike sat one side, Rob the other and I had a feeling it was their way of making sure I didn’t try to escape. Phoenix somewhat stumbled and sat down beside Mike, leaving Joe and Brad to get the drinks.

“Okay so I don’t know about you guys but I am pretty fucking excited about all of this,” Rob grinned.

“Me too,” I nodded enthusiastically, “I think I can say the same for you two as well, right?” I asked Mike and Phi who both sat beside me with dorky smiles plastered across their faces.

“Yeah,” Phi nodded, “This almost rates as high as the night I had a threesome with my mom’s friends.”

“Okay,” Rob smirked, glancing at me, “That’s a little too much information.”

“Yeah but older women,” Phi winked, “There’s something about them. And men,” he snickered.

Rob made a disgusted looking face.

“It’s true, well, it’s certainly true about men,” I smirked, nudging Mike.

“Ugh trust you to lower the tone!” Rob joked, moving aside as Brad and Joe reached the table with a tray full of drinks.

“What about you Brad?” Mike piped up from beside me.

“Hmm? What?” he asked, sitting down as Joe passed out the drinks.

“Older or younger, what do you prefer?”

“Older or younger what?” Brad asked, a bemused look growing across his features.

“Women,” Rob smiled.

“Or men,” Mike added with a smirk on his face.

I began to giggle with him, almost snorting as Brad shot the pair of us, especially Mike, a death glare. Brad Delson had to be one of the most homophobic people I knew. He’d never be violent toward homosexual people, nothing like that. He was just one of those people who upon hearing the phrase ‘anal sex’ would visibly cringe, screw his face up and shriek about it being so completely disgusting and wrong. For the most part he kept his narrow opinions to himself which was one thing I actually liked about him.

“I’d say older,” Brad finally answered as Joe sat down and proceeded to nod in agreement.

“You sure Brad?” Mike asked again, that mischievous glint in his eyes that often came out when he was drunk. Or high. Or both.

“Sure about what?”

I took a sip of my manly drink of gin and tonic and watched with a smile on my face as Mike continued to wind our guitar playing friend up.

“Women. Older ones at that. I mean what about men?” he asked raising his eyebrows, “Don’t you ever fancy a little fumble with some innocent man that you could do all sorts to?!”

I almost choked on my drink and looked around the table to see Phi, Rob and Joe doubled up in laughter, and Brad with the most outraged look on his face which only led me to snort and burst out into hysterics.

“Come on,” Mike grinned, pausing to take a swig from his bottle of Smirnoff Ice, “Don’t tell me it’s never crossed your mind.”

Brad was bright red now, blushing as our laughter calmed down and the five of us smiled back at him. Winding him up was so easy and I realised I should tell Rob that Brad here, was way easier to wind up than me.

“Anyway what we were originally talking about was how exciting all of this is…”

“What, fucking guys?” Mike smirked.

“No,” Rob rolled his eyes, “I was going to say we were saying that finally getting signed, it’s so weird, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Joe nodded, “It’s just a little surreal.”

“Excuse me a second,” Mike spoke, placing his empty bottle down on the table, “Just going to use the bathroom.

He smirked in Brad’s direction as he squeezed past an equally amused Joe and Phi and got lost in the crowds as he headed to the toilets.

Rob carried on his attempts to change the subject and I sat back, letting the guitar riffs and beats from the band playing in the corner of the bar drown out his voice. My head bopped a little and I found myself tapping my foot to the beat, humming along a little at the familiar tune. Finishing my drink, I soon found another one swiftly replacing it and let my thoughts drift away as I listened to the music and watched the conversation going on around me. Brad still looked sorely pissed off but the others had long changed the subject and from what I could tell, they were now discussing blow up dolls.

Glancing at the clock, I realised Mike had been gone for a good fifteen minutes. Ever since an incident a few months ago when I’d gone to the toilet and gotten groped by some old pervert, Mike and I had made this ten minute rule. It was self explanatory really. If neither of us returned from the bathrooms within ten minutes, we’d go check. It was Mike’s idea. He’d come to see if I was okay just as old pervert guy had been forcing my hand down his pants.

I shuddered, downed the last of my drink and slammed the glass down onto the table.

“Just going to the bathroom,” I spoke, vaguely hearing Joe say he would get another round in before I came back as I squeezed past Dave and headed across the dance floor.

More people had gathered. A sweaty mass of bodies were now at the front of the stage, swaying and singing along to the soulful melodies the band were creating. Finally reaching the other side of the bar, I pushed open the black door before me and stepped into a badly lit corridor. The pink door on the right indicated the ladies toilets, the baby blue door on my left the gents and the orange door in front of me was salubriously known as the crack hole. Basically it was the door you could step through for a hit if the toilets were too busy, or a quiet grope with whoever you’d picked up. Mike was either behind the blue or orange door. Unless he’d suddenly turned straight and was perving in the ladies bathrooms, but I seriously doubted it.

I stepped through the door in front of me and sure enough, through the dusky lighting and cigarette smoke, Mike was sat in the far corner of the crack hole, amidst a pile of purple coloured cushions with his tongue shoved down some green haired guy’s throat. I watched in amusement for a few minutes as they groped one another in their dark surroundings and green haired guy not so discreetly shoved something in Mike’s pocket. Leaning against the wall, I watched as the stranger got up, fastened his pants and leant down to peck Mike on the cheek before he turned and stumbled past me to the door.

Mike smiled sheepishly as he spotted me, doing up his pants before he got to his feet and walked over to me, a little more sober than he had been not so long ago.

“How long have you been there?” he asked me with a bashful smile as he opened the door.

“Too long,” I replied, following him into the bathrooms, “I hope that was just weed that you got him off for,” I warned, letting the door shut behind me and blinking a little as my eyes adjusted to the bright strip lights above me.

“Hmm, but you wouldn’t kill me if it wasn’t would you?” he grinned, before turning into one of the stalls and shutting the door behind him.

I sighed and stepped over to the row of sinks, turning on the cold tap and splashing a little of the water over my face. Turning the faucet off, I looked back at my grainy reflection, running a hand through my black hair and tutting in distaste at my reflection. I was getting old but the most of me still looked like I was sixteen. I wondered when I was ever going to look my age and stop getting hassled for I.D in bars. Probably never.

Turning around and avoiding my reflection, I hoisted myself up onto the counter beside the sink, reaching into my back pocket for a cigarette before I leant my head against the cold mirror behind me and waited for Mike. I could hear him shuffling about, sniffing and coughing as I lit up my smoke and took a long drag from it. He was bleary eyed by the time he came out of the stall and I watched him wearily, flicking ash into the cracked sink beside me as he staggered over in my direction.

“Hmphiloveyou,” was all that came out of his lips as he stopped in front of me and wrapped his arms around my waist, instantly burying his head against my stomach. I smiled and slid my arms around his back, looking down at him as he continued to mumble incoherencies toward me.

“That was coke, wasn’t it?” I asked, not sounding too surprised as he slowly raised his head and nodded sheepishly.

A sigh is all that escaped my lips and I took a long drag from my cigarette, blowing out a cloud of grey smoke that slowly drifted upwards toward the flickering light above me. Mike stayed with his head buried against me, barely moving with his eyes shut tight and I had to wonder just why the hell cocktails of drink and drug had recently started to become his closest thing to happiness. I was a lousy friend and I needed to talk him out of this lifestyle before it became the only way he knew to live.

Finishing my cigarette, I dropped the butt into the waste paper basket beside me and gently patted Mike’s back. He raised his head and smiled as he backed away and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Head rush,” he explained as I got down from the counter and straightened out my clothes.

“That’s normally what you get when you get raging drunk and snort a line of cocaine,” I told him bluntly.

“I’m fine now,” he smiled, sniffing and dragging a hand through his black hair, “Come on, lets go and dance,” he grinned, grabbing me by the wrist.

There wasn’t time to protest and before I knew it, my very high, slightly tipsy best friend was pulling me back out into the bar and we were in the middle of the dance floor, twisting and turning to the sounds of band as they were blasted out from the speakers. The sounds being that of Kool G and the Gang. Not a good visual at all.

*

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes. I know.”

“You’re also stoned.”

“Well done Einstein.”

“You’re also behaving like an utter prick. I think one of us should take you home.”

“Well you can shove that idea right up your…”

“Mike,” I cut in, “Brad’s right. Maybe one of us should take you home and…”

Mike stared back at me with a smirk upon his face. He never usually got bitchy with me when he was drunk, but I was starting to see that this time he was definitely about to. After wearing me out on the dance floor, he’d proceeded to drink another four beers and now as we sat around the small booth he was most certainly the worst for wear. He could barely sit up, yet he’d not lost his ability to argue the toss with Brad.

“Come on,” Brad sighed as Rob and Joe came over with yet more drinks.

Dave had passed out long before Mike and I had returned, he wouldn’t be a problem though. Mike on the other hand was notorious for his binge drinking to be followed by activities such as lying down in the middle of roads and declaring his undying love for Nas, going into the twenty four hour store and knocking the porn stands over or refusing to leave the bar until the bartender had called the Police…

“Come on, I’ll walk you home, okay? I’m getting kind of tired as it is and…”

“No way,” Rob interjected me, “You pussy. It is your birthday and therefore you shall drink your way under the table with us. I’ll walk him home, take him back to my place because it’s nearest. Then I shall return and make sure the birthday boy consumes vast amounts of alcohol, okay?”

I started to laugh but was cut short by Mike as he got to his feet, stumbled a little and managed to knock his bottle over.

“Ahh shit!” he exclaimed, “I’m… I don‘t need anyone to walk me, okay? I’m not a fucking dog, or a child,” he shot Brad a glare, “If you want me to leave, then that‘s fucking fine. I‘ll get out of all your faces...”

“Mike, that’s not what we meant idiot,” I laughed, my smile soon disappearing as he pushed past Phi’s half cut body and stormed in the direction of the door.

“I better go after him,” I sighed, getting to my feet.

“No, I’ll go,” Brad told me.

“Here, take my keys. Get him back to my place once he’s calmed down,” Rob smiled, digging in his pocket. He passed the set of keys to Brad who took them before swiftly heading in the direction that Mike had pissed off in.

“Well, drink up Chester,” Joe winked at me, sliding a glass of what looked like Jack Daniels and Coke across the table.

*

It was dark outside, dark and bitterly cold. I was trying to get the key into the front door of Rob’s apartment but failing miserably due to the fact that Rob and Joe were in hysterics on the floor and Brad was trying to stand up whilst holding Phoenix who was murmuring something about Luke Skywalker. I’d had more enjoyable birthdays, but perhaps not as entertaining.

Finally the door in front of me sprung open and I flicked the hallway light on, moving aside as Brad and Phoenix stumbled past me and into the living room.

“Mike?”

The small thud that followed me calling his name led me to believe he was in Rob’s bathroom.

“Ssh,” Rob giggled, “You’ll wake the hens up.”

“Hens?” Joe asked, “I thought you had chickens.”

“I have those too. In the freezer.”

“Wait, what’s the difference?”

The pair of them burst out laughing as we stepped into the hallway. I thanked God that I hadn’t drunk as much as usual and was able to negotiate the light as we entered the small apartment and the door swiftly slammed shut behind us.

“You guys should sit down,” I told them, motioning them into the living room, “I’m going to see if Mike’s okay.”

“Where’s Brad?”

“He’s in here remember? He’s passed out with Phoenix.”

“How did we get here?” Joe asked, “How did we get here?”

I rolled my eyes but found a small smile spreading across my face. Part of me wished I was rat arsed like they all were because that way I could just lie down on the floor and not have to be responsible but the fact is I wasn’t drunk, not in the least and that’s why I was going to check on Mike. Sure, it wasn’t out of character for him to go off on one, but very much so for him to yell at someone who had offered to walk him home. No wonder Brad had proceeded to drink his way under the table when he got back. He’d returned telling us that he’d taken Mike back to Rob’s and he was fast asleep in the lounge, but his absence from the room made me conclude that he was probably heaving the contents of his stomach up into the toilet.

Making sure that Joe wasn’t about to fall from the arm of the couch, I turned away from the giggling mess of the both of them and headed back down the hallway, stopping at the bathroom.

“Mike? Are you decent in there?” I called, rapping my hand against the wooden door.

Getting no response, I turned the handle, pleased that he’d not locked the door behind him. The light in the room was on, a pallid yellow shining down from the ceiling as I stepped inside, a high pitched gasp escaping my lips as I saw Mike.

A crumpled heap on the floor.

*

Maybe I should have figured it out at the time. No, not maybe, I should have seen it; I should have opened my eyes and realised. But that’s the worst thing about life, sometimes you can’t see something, even if you are staring it right in the face. Life’s a fucking bitch for doing that to you.

TBC…

PS; I changed the guys ages to adapt to my fic. Comments would be really appreciated :p

the_darkside @ 2005-12-05T20:18:00

2005-12-05T20:19:26Z

Title : Clandestine
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : C/P
Rating : NC17
Summery : [multichapter] Chester wishes he could go back and change the things that went wrong, erase the mistakes, see the things he never noticed and amend the errors he made. Only he can’t and he’s got to live with the fatal consequences. Forever.

[Chapter Three]

“Thank you and goodnight!”

The cheers and enthusiastic vibes from the crowd made the fact that it was past midnight, my throat was royally fucked and I could hardly breathe all minor details because fuck it, we’d just played our last show before we planned on recording a demo tape and a feeling of accomplishment was already washing over me.

“Fuck. You going to stand there gawking at the crowd all night or are you actually going to move your skinny ass?”

I gave Brad the finger before setting down my microphone and jumping down off the back of the make shift stage that had been erected in the far corner of yet another run down club in yet another small run down town. Mike’s hometown in actual fact. It felt strange to be so close to home having spent the last couple of months on the road. I’d help clear the stage later, but right now I just needed some water and a towel to wipe away the tears of sweat that were running down my cheeks.

Following the badly lit corridor and the scent of weed, I managed to find myself in a small box room where Rocky was sat counting out money with the owner of the club and looking extremely unscrupulous whilst doing so. I wasn’t about to question him or his dealings though because the guy was going to be putting money towards our time in a recording studio and in turn I was going to be thankful for eternity.

“Good set you played there Chester,” he smiled, “Darren here’s from a local record label, he’d like to talk with you and the others when they get back.”

I suddenly found myself rooted to the spot, my eyes slowly scanning up and down the male body in front of me. Not only was Darren quite dishy looking, with tanned skin and emerald green eyes; he was also a fucking talent scout? I clamped my mouth shut and grabbed a bottle of water, quickly unscrewing it and downing half of it before I was able to move and speak almost coherently.

“Erm, hey, I’m Chester, nice to meet you,” I smiled, offering my hand.

He smiled back and shook it and I was glad for the loud thud behind me that turned out to be Rob, Brad, Phoenix and Joe all crashing into the small room at once.

“Thank fuck for that! That’s all I can say. I just want to go get in the van, get stoned and sleep until Christmas day, which given that it’s already fucking December does not really give me enough time to recover from the last few months. Someone shoot me already!”

I stared at Joe and was in no doubt that my expression mirrored that of Rocky’s. Put a sock in it already Joe!

“Where’s Mike?” Rocky asked, shuffling a bundle of notes into his back pocket.

“Well let’s see. He’s either screwing or getting screwed by someone! Take your pick!” Joe chuckled.

“I’ll go and find him,” I told everyone, brushing past Brad and making my way back down the corridor, my feet dodging broken amps, several sets of rusting step ladders and a door marked ‘the green room’ with a picture of Bob Marley

Unless put off my Joe’s ability to make our band sound like a bunch of drug and sex obsessed maniacs, we had to be having some good news dealt our way. Why else would an A&R guy want to talk to us? For fun? No way. I’d met plenty of record industry ‘people’ over the past year as our band had begged and pleaded with them for something; anything and fun was not in their vocabulary.

Jumping up onto the stage, my eyes scanned the small club; with his bright blue hair and deathly white complexion, Mike wasn’t exactly hard to find and I soon spotted him leaning against the bar with a bottle of bud light in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was staring into space as I jumped off the stage and jogged over to him, covering his eyes with my hands and causing him to jump a little.

“There’s only a fucking record label guy waiting to talk to us!” I gushed, grabbing Mike’s beer and taking a large swig from the bottle.

He looked at me with a dull expression before taking a drag from his cigarette.

“I sense an ‘and’ is about to leave your lips Mike so don’t you dare say it,” I paused, took another swig of beer, “Come on, we’ve been waiting for someone to come and talk to us rather than us begging to talk to them for how long now? You could at least smile?”

“Sorry,” Mike sighed and stubbed his cigarette out into the ashtray in front of him, “I’m just tired that’s all and I just want to go home, sleep for at least a week and then think about getting another dead end job that will maybe see me with enough money to live on over Christmas and possibly enough money for the recording sessions and I really…”

“Mike. Chill, okay?”

He smiled and took a deep breath, “Sorry,” He sighed, “I’m just pretty tired.”

“How come? Not sleeping again?”

“I didn’t really have a chance. I spent the whole of last night holding my mom’s hair out of the way as she threw up. She stumbled in some time after eleven with grazed knees and a bottle of vodka in her hands. She was absolutely out of it. Third time since we got home.”

“Shit Mike, why didn’t you call me?” I asked, settling myself down onto the barstool beside him.

“I didn’t think,” he sighed, “I couldn’t have bothered you at that time anyway…”

“You know that’s not true.”

He gave me a glum smile as he rested his head against my shoulder and I let a loud sigh escape through my lips. This situation was getting to me so I couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard it was for Mike.

“How is she now?”

“Who knows,” he shrugged, “When she’d finally stopped being sick, she fell asleep on the bathroom floor. She’d gone out by the time I got up this morning. I was even going to ask her to the gig tonight, I thought it might cheer her up to see us playing back here,” he sighed dejectedly, “I don’t know why I even thought she’d be bothered,” he paused, glancing around the bar, “I left her a note and two messages on the phone…”

“Hey,” I soothed, “She probably got sidetracked, you know how she is, she’s probably just sleeping or…”

“Getting drunk and high all over again?”

“Hey, I hate to break up this cosy little gossip up but we’re needed together, as a band. Pronto,” Brad’s deadpan voice came from behind me and I looked up to meet his glassy eyes and expectant expression.

“Yeah. We’re coming,” I told him, giving him the finger as he turned away, “Come on Mike, his Majesty hath called,” I smirked, relieved when Mike chuckled and got down from the bar stool, “We’ll talk later okay?”

It turned out that Darren had been tipped off by someone to come and watch our band play and as we stood around the cramped confines of the box room-come-dressing room, he told us that our sound was quirky, interesting and without doubt something that the record label he worked for would be interested in hearing. He gave us his card, told Rocky that he’d be in touch first thing in the morning and that he looked forward to seeing us soon. Darren had long gone and I was still in a state of awe when Phoenix nudged me in the back and asked if I was okay.

“Yeah… just a little… this is something good right? I mean we’ve never had this kind of interest before?”

Phi smiled his goofy grin at me and nodded his head enthusiastically, “Yeah, it sounds good to me… God this is pretty exciting isn’t it?”

“Just a little!” Rob gushed from where he’d sprawled himself out across a battered armchair which Joe leant against, tapping his fingers restlessly.

“Yeah, I think this calls for a celebratory drink, or three!”

“Or four even,” Rob mused, “Last one to the bar gets the first round in!”

I rolled my eyes, laughing as Joe and Rob scrambled out of the room and their footsteps thundered away as they made a bee line to the club. The rest of us knew them well enough to know they’d get tired of waiting and end up buying the first round themselves. We’d stay in the small room for a good ten minutes, knowing that by the time we decided to go and join them they’d probably be buying their second lot of drinks.

“So,” Brad sighed, his voice thick in the somewhat shell-shocked environment that was clinging around the four of us, “Does this make your mind up as to which band you want to stay with then Phoenix?”

I glared at Brad. As did Mike. As did Phoenix himself. It seemed that only Brad Delson could crush a good moment within nanoseconds of it occurring. I believe he probably prided himself on doing so.

Phoenix, who also played Bass in a band called The Snax, with some of his High School friends just stared back at Brad, until I cleared my throat and thought it best to intervene. I didn’t really fancy wiping blood off the walls, especially not Brad Delson’s.

“Let’s forget about that for now,” I said hurriedly, “I think it’ll be safe enough to join Rob and…”

“No,” Brad interrupted, his voice raising slightly, “I think it would be just grand if David here could tell us where, exactly, his loyalties lie…”

I sunk back against the wall, noting Mike’s eyes as they darted between Brad and Phoenix then down to Brad’s fists which were clenched by his sides. Phoenix was talking, his tone hushed but I could barely make out the words because my eyes were too busy watching Mike; a little unnerved by the way he was suddenly paling, gulping and then suddenly up on his feet and pushing past me just at the moment that Brad leaned forward and hissed at Phoenix in a somewhat threatening manner.

“So then?”

Mike was long gone, the sound of a door slamming his only remainder as I looked back to Brad and the ugly sneer that was present on his face. Phoenix stood up to him, arms crossed over his chest and as selfish as it sounds I suddenly felt the need to get out of there because I was more concerned with Mike than their petty, ongoing feud. It seemed like Brad spent every given opportunity to raise this subject, which was a shame really because when push came to shove, Phoenix and him really got on well, or as well as you can get on with Brad Delson.

Turning away, a punch was thrown and I half hoped that it came from Phi. I headed away from the stage this time, following the grimy corridor down to a steel door. Pushing the bar down, I found myself in a cold, dark parking lot. Crossing over gravel and crushed beer cans, I spotted Mike sitting against a wall with his knees drawn up to his chest.

“You okay?!” I asked, plonking myself down next to him.

He fiddled with his cuffs, “She’s getting worse Chester,” he sighed, gazing at me with his big brown eyes, “She’s getting worse and I can’t do a thing about it. Isn’t she the one who’s meant to be around for me? Isn’t she the one that’s supposed to bail me out of jail, or pick me up from some bar in the middle of nowhere because I’m stoned, drunk and completely delirious? It’s not meant to be the other way around is it?”

I sighed and slid my arm around Mike’s waist, glad that he was letting his tears run free rather than bottling them up inside his eyes like he so very often did. I shivered and dug around in my pocket with my free hand, quickly locating a battered carton of cigarettes. Lighting one up, I passed it to Mike, then lit up another, the flash from my purple lighter hissing and flickering in the dark night air. Placing my ciggies back into my pocket, I took a long drag and watched the smoke as it floated up around the pair of us.

Mike hadn’t really talked about the subject directly, but through another of his shakily penned letters, I’d learnt that his Mother had been diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was eight years old and had subsequently been in and out of various mental hospitals and clinics, even having a brief spell in a secure unit. No one knew the reasons for her condition, except his Mother and those that had worked closely with her over the years. When Mike was twelve her illness started to calm down, and after having spent most of his childhood living with his Grandmother, he’d finally been allowed to move back home with her. Three years later, she’d hit an all time low and after Mike’s Grandmother passed away, it seemed to put a bad spell on everything. She was sectioned and Mike was taken under the wings of Brad’s parents. Three years on, she was certified as being well enough to take care of herself once again and ever since I’d known her, she’d been pretty sane to me. Up until the end of last summer when she met a guy, and along came the drugs and drink and the endless cycle of depression. Her boyfriend didn’t stick around, she lost the only job she’d ever managed to hold down for longer than a couple of months and subsequently drink and drugs had replaced the void of empty days and lonely nights, and Mike, well he was just left to pick up all the pieces.

Maybe that was another reason I spent a lot of my time just longing to pick him up in my arms and place him down in a happier, carefree world. Only fairy tale dreams like that are just about the most impossible thing to achieve.

“You should have called,” I sighed, taking a drag from my cigarette, “You promised me, remember?” I asked.

“I know, and I will if I ever need to. Thank you,” he smiled softly, “I just thought that she was okay y’know? I mean the last time I was home she seemed alright, although it was when she got drunk and hit me and called me a slut then told me that she doesn’t need me to look after her, wasn’t it?” he said wryly.

“Yeah but like you said, she was drunk…”

“So why did I even agree to go out on the road with you guys? I should have stayed here and looked after her and…”

“No Mike. You can’t do it. Not on your own. That’s why you came, remember?”

“No, it’s because I’m selfish Chaz. Y’know, if I had one ounce of good inside me then I would have stayed put, but no, I had to listen to you and Phi and your wild stories of how much good it would do for me to get away…”

I sighed, chose not to answer because Mike was right about the part that it was Phi and I who’d decided maybe taking our band on the road for a while would help Mike, but as I sat next to him and tried to ignore the fact that my ass was turning numb, I couldn’t help but feel like we’d made a bad decision. It’s just that four months ago, getting Mike out of bed had been more than a challenge. His Mother had disappeared and he was spending his days working his fingers to the bone, getting stoned and falling deeper into desperation. The weekly gig we had at a local bar was just sounding worse and worse with Mike’s dull voice and lack of input. We thought a change of scene and a stab at some things better would help. Now I really felt like shit.

“I’m sorry. We were just trying to help.”

“I know,” he nodded, “Don’t apologise. I’m just being a total bitch for no reason. I’m glad we did this… one step closer to success, or something?” he smiled.

He stared at me before looking away, his eyes misting over as he gazed in the direction of our clapped out RV. I didn’t say anything for a while, thought it best to keep the still silence around us and frankly I wasn’t sure what to say. Sure, I knew Mike inside out, I knew when to push and talk to him or when to stop and let him breathe and now felt pretty much like one of the latter moments.

“It’ll get better,” I suddenly blurted out, relief washing over me when he turned to smile at me.

“Well it can’t get much worse really, can it?” he chuckled, nudging me before the door to the back of the club suddenly opened with a loud bang. We both looked in the direction of Phoenix who was storming over to the RV with a split lip and an obvious anger in his step. Mike got to his feet, ran his hand through my hair and muttered something about really needing a drink. He was gone through the door before I had chance to stop him, his tired footsteps fading far into the club.

Phoenix was struggling with the lock of the RV, his face a mixture of anger and desperation. I looked up to the sky and rolled my eyes. It was going to be a long night and I didn’t predict myself, or any of the others sleeping until the sun had risen.

*

Mike and Brad were arguing at the bar, Rob and Joe were too wasted to even notice that the way they were dancing with one another gave them a more then homoerotic appearance and Phoenix just sat beside me with a beer in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other and a swollen lower lip.

“So what happened?” I asked, half watching Brad as he hissed something at Mike, the bar tender glared in their direction and Mike gave him the finger once he’d turned away.

“What does it look like?” Phi retorted, “The asshole slapped me and buggered off before I had chance to pick myself up off the floor. Who does he think he is? It’s not his band. He’s not in charge. Who is he to tell me what to do?”

“Calm down, hey! I’m not in any way on Brad’s side…”

“Yeah,” Phoenix smiled, “I know. I just… I just wish he’d stop being so fucking controlling all the time. I mean it was a fair question when he asked me if I’ve made a decision about which band I want to be with for good, but he’s forever asking it and not in the nicest of ways. I mean, look at him now! Mike looks like the epitome of fed up and there Brad is, going on and on and on at the poor thing.”

I nodded my head, watching as Mike visibly sighed and Brad continued his verbal barrage about god-knows-what. All I knew is that the moment I’d dragged a very pissed off Phoenix from the RV into the bar, the first thing that I’d heard was Brad hissing the words ‘I hope you weren’t saying anything…’ cut short by his smug smirk as he realised I was standing behind him. Now, over an hour later I sat without having touched one ounce of alcohol and watched as the rest of my friends all seemed to be drowning themselves in all number of intoxicating substances. That’s probably why I promptly picked up a bottle of Smirnoff.

“So you didn’t even talk about it?” I asked Phoenix, fiddling with the straw in my glass of coke now with added Vodka and turning my head to face him.

“We didn’t get chance. I just said ‘not now’. He then called me cunt or a wanker, I’ve forgotten which.”

“Probably cunt,” I mused, oblivious to the wide eye look upon Phi’s face.

“Gee, thanks Chester!”

“Huh? What for?” I asked, glancing across to him, “Oh no, I didn’t mean you are one,” I chuckled, “It’s just a Brad word. So then he just hit you?”

“Hey, give me some credit here!” he laughed taking a swig of his beer, “I took a swing for him first…”

“Good,” I grinned, “Brad getting hit is a joy in itself. Brad getting hit by a poof such as yourself is just stellar!”

Phoenix mock glared at me before getting to his feet and digging his hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“It’s a good job I love you so much,” he deadpanned, “Or I’d be kicking your ass as well. Same again?”

I nodded, “Sure you would,” I smirked as he headed over to the bar and in turn Mike hopped down from the barstool he’d been perched on and walked over in my direction.

“What’s wrong with him now?” I asked, referring to Brad as Mike sat down beside me in with a dull thud.

“Nothing,” he sighed, “Nothing of importance anyway.”

“Meaning?” I frowned, but Mike’s answer was halted when Brad plonked himself down across the table from us, slammed four bottles of beer down and shoved two of them in our direction.

I fiddled with the ice cold beer bottle and watched with worried eyes as Mike downed the contents of his, then moved onto mine, chugging the bitter liquid down his throat just as Phoenix returned with a tray crammed of cocktails.

“Special offer,” he explained before passing one Brad’s way and muttering something about a peace offering.

I wasn’t really listening, too busy chewing on the plastic straw in my drink and watching as Mike threw the cocktails down his neck as if they were water and then started on the Barcadi Breezers that a slightly intoxicated Joe had stumbled over with. Yeah, I sat back and watched.

He could barely stand up as the bartender called for last orders and I found myself helping him out of the door and cursing at the others who’d buggered off and left me to tend to my best friend alone. Not that I blamed them. Joe and Rob were slaughtered, though not to the state Mike was in and Phoenix and Brad had disappeared a while ago to tidy our belongings into the RV which, as Mike and I reached the parking lot, appeared to have been driven off by one of them. Fucking great.

“Mike? Have you got your keys with you?” I asked as he leant his head against my shoulder and groaned something about not feeling very well.

I left out telling him that it was probably because he’d just gone on an all night bender and searched for his keys myself, hands finally wrapping around the cold metal and pulling them from his back pocket. Shoving them into my jeans, I wrapped my arm tighter around him, pulling him upright and grumbling to myself as I realised this was going to be one long walk home. The eerie sounds of trance and electronic beats pounded from the clubs on the main street, blue and neon flashing lights our only guide home as Mike stumbled and spluttered beside me.

It was around one am when we finally got to Mike’s apartment, a shady little two bedroom hole that he’d shared with his mom for the past year on the edge of town, housed on the fifteenth floor of tenement housing. Graffiti signs sprayed across it’s main entrance, the largest hung across the double doors with the scrawled words of concrete jungle, which it had been so aptly nicknamed. Mike was resting in my arms as we took the elevator to his floor and for once in my life I was glad that he weighed short of nothing. The trip down the long, dank corridor was a motion blur, one of me trying to keep Mike upright but in all honesty it didn’t take much effort, I had, after all done this many times. Hell, I could have done it with my eyes shut.

Shoving the key into the lock, I twisted it anti clockwise before pushing the flimsy plywood door open with my free arm. Turning the light on, I felt a twisting sensation in my stomach, guilt perhaps that I’d bought him back here. True, it was his home but looking around the small lobby with threadbare carpet and flickering lights made me wish I’d just taken him back to my place. Sure, it would have meant catching the night bus and attempting not to wake up my whole family in the process but the option of a soft bed and a warm shower would have been there.

Sighing, I let the door shut behind me and realised that Mike had passed out in my clutch and was fast becoming a very dead weight.

“Mike,” I murmured, shaking him lightly, “Mike wake up a minute will you?” I said a little louder.

This seemed to do the trick as he groaned a little and his eyes fluttered open once again, staring blankly at me when they’d focused on his surroundings.

“What? Where am… I think I’m going to be sick.”

Those famous last words tumbled from his mouth and in a matter of seconds I’d managed to successfully guide him into the small bathroom where he landed on his knees with a dull thud and proceeded to spew the contents of his stomach into the toilet basin. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Kneeling down beside him, I ran my hand up and down his back, my mind wondering as my tired eyes focused on the ever growing spot of mould on the wall above the sink. I didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the amount of times I’d been in this very position. What kind of friend was I though? Because this wasn’t right, this really was not right.

“Mike? You okay?” I asked as he finally stopped throwing up.

He shook his head then closed his eyes, resting his chin against the toilet seat. He was burning up, sweat pouring down his reddened cheeks. Sure, we’d been here before. Same cold, dark bathroom, same concrete floor below our sore knees but this time was worse, a whole lot worse than I’d ever known it. Mike was shaking, hands gripping onto the edge of the toilet for dear life. I got to my feet, grabbed a facecloth from the shelf above the sink, eyes fixated on the mould that was creeping down towards the taps as I immersed the cloth in cold water, quickly by Mike’s side again and pressing it against the back of his neck.

“You still feeling sick?”

He slowly nodded his head, scrunched his eyes open and closed before he threw up once again. I winced, watching the black liquid that swum around in the basin.

“Idiot,” I murmured.

“I know,” he whispered hoarsely before throwing up again.

I’m not sure how long it was before he stopped being sick and I was left leaning against the bathtub as he whimpered and cried softly to himself, my hand wrapped around his as I stared up to the ceiling in despair.

*

Black coffee with several spoonfuls of brown sugar is what I’d found was the perfect cure for any hangover. I sat at Mike’s kitchen table with a chipped pink mug and a bar of Hershey’s in front of me, half listening to the weather report on the portable radio whose cheerful tones told me that today was going to be hot and sunny. I glanced out of the grimy kitchen window that overlooked the city. Streams of rain slid down the windowpane, some meandering inside a crack in the dirty glass. It certainly didn’t look like sunshine to me.

Mike’s neighbours were having yet another argument, their screams and shouts violating my eardrums. I tried to make sense of the argument, figuring if I had to put up with it that I may as well know what the conflict was actually about, yet an hour had passed and I was still non the wiser. My eyes gazed out of the window again. I wondered if Rocky had received that important phone call yet. He had promised to get in touch with everyone as soon as he did yet my cell phone remained silent and after picking it up every five seconds to check for missed calls I remained disappointed. A heavy sigh escaped my lips and eyes still staring at the ugly weather outside, I couldn’t help but feel pessimistic.

This was it. Now I had to find a job to keep me going over the winter, save up all my wages and for what? To fund the sessions in some dust filled recording studio, to chip in for petrol and food as we’d be taking ourselves out in the van, driving through unknown towns and cities all over again… I’d wanted this all my life but lately I was wondering just how badly I really wanted it. Finally pulling my eyes away from the window I broke myself off a generous chunk of Hershey’s and popped into my mouth. My mom had once told me she was sure I’d meant to have been a girl. She said I always turned to chocolate when I was down and that was such a girl thing. I’d rolled my eyes at her, though she did have a point, as all Mothers, I guess.

I was half way through the bar and on my second cup of syrupy coffee when Mike’s bedroom door opened and he stumbled, ashen faced, down the hallway. I watched with a smirk as he stood in the doorway dressed in a grey hoody which was inside out and a pair of once white boxer shorts. His black hair stuck out in all directions and to put it quite bluntly, he looked like shit.

“I feel terrible,” he attested, entering the kitchen and plonking himself down on the bench next to me.

“And you look it too,” I chuckled, reaching behind me for the coffee pot.

“Thanks,” he glared at me as I poured him a mug and passed it over.

“This will set you straight.”

“Fuck me over more like. What the fuck’s in this?”

“Nothing,” I smirked, watching as he took a mouthful and his eyes suddenly widened as the coffee slid down his throat, “Just some Columbian stuff I found in the cupboard. It was called Rocket Fuel, I think.”

“Fuck! That stuff gave me palpitations last time I drank it!” he paused and placed his mug down, “I think I’ll pass on that, unless it’s got amazing hangover cures within it?”

“Well it sure as hell woke me up!” I grinned, breaking off some more chocolate.

“God… I don’t even remember last night,” he sighed, shoving his mug across the table and placing his head against the pine surface, “I got really wasted, didn’t I?

“Hmm,” I nodded, swallowing my mouthful of chocolate, “You actually scared the crap out of me at one point. You do realise your vomit was black?” I shuddered.

His face paled, “Thanks for that. I’m still feeling a little tender here, so if you could lay off the visuals that’d be great.”

“Sorry,” I smiled, “You did scare me though Mike. I didn’t think you were going to stop throwing up. How much do you remember?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he murmured, looking up at me with hazy eyes.

“Well, what’s the last thing you remember?”

He scrunched his eyes up as he thought for a few seconds, “I remember talking to you outside. It was freezing cold, then Phi came out so I disappeared inside to leave you guys to it,” he paused, “Because Phi so wants you,” he smirked before becoming serious again, “I don’t know what went next…”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring his comment about Phoenix. Mike seemed to be adamant that my auburn haired best friend had a slight thing about me. Chance would be a fine thing.

“You were with Brad,” I continued, “When Phi, who so doesn’t want me for the record, and I came back you were arguing at the bar like a married couple.”

Mike, if possible, paled some more. I watched as he frowned, his fingers fiddling anxiously with yesterdays tabloid paper that was spread out across the table.

“What about?” he suddenly asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Me neither.”

“Whatever it was, it pissed you off and you spent the rest of the night throwing back just about everything you could get your hands on.”

Mike blushed, “That bad hey?”

“Well, I did have to practically carry you home…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into his hands which were now covering his face.

“It’s okay,” I smiled gently, “Just try not to make a habit out of this, okay?”

Mike slowly nodded his head, “And I’m sorry about my outburst last night. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m really grateful that we went out on this tour. Who knows, maybe this talent scout is the real deal? Maybe one day we’ll make it out of this hell for good?”

My eyes couldn’t help but follow his as he paused and they gazed around the room in what could only be described as utter despair. And I couldn’t really help but echo that sentiment because what kind of life was this anyway? A coffee maker and a toaster for a kitchen. An old pub picnic bench for a table. Browning Sellotape to hold broken windows together. Pots in the sink with no cupboards to live in and behind the wooden sliding door in the far corner, his Mother’s room; a paradise for any drug user with it’s bent teaspoons, rusted weighing scales and dusty surfaces screaming out from behind the half shut door.

“Come and stay with me for a while Mike,” I sighed, not sure where the words had come from, “Just think of it as a break…”

“I can’t Chester,” he smiled sadly, “I’d love to but I can’t leave her again…”

“I can’t leave you here either,” I heard my voice whispering sadly into the cold air.

“Chester…”

“Please? Look, you could call in on her everyday make sure she’s…”

“Morning kids.”

There was a thump and I looked up to see Mike’s mom stumbling through the partition door. She fleetingly reminded me of a character from a Tim Burton film but as quick as that thought came, it vanished with the appearance of a middle aged guy wearing nothing but a pair of faded boxer shorts. He stumbled into the kitchen with as much elegance as a bull in a china shop and proceeded to make himself at home, sitting down on top of an upturned tea-chest and lighting up a cigarette.

“This is Chuck,” Mike’s Mother beamed, “He’s going to be staying with us for a while, aren’t you Chuck? Pass me the coffee jug will you sweetie?”

Mike got up and squeezed behind me to get to the counter and I tried to ignore the way Chuck was eyeing him up like a joint of meat in a butcher’s window. The thought of it just made me cringe. I wrapped my arms around my torso, growing more aware that I was half naked by the second as Chuck’s gazed turned to me and he blew a long line of smoke from between his lips, his tongue darting out flittingly as Mike leant across me and placed the coffee jug down.

“Thanks sweetie. Now if you’re going out today you couldn’t make a detour for your old Mom, could you?”

“Sure,” Mike sighed.

“Thanks, I just need a few groceries and don’t worry about Mr. Kindell, tell him to put it on my tab…”

“Mom,” Mike groaned, “Mr. Kindell won’t let me add to your tab. When was the last time you paid him?”

“Aww what’s a girl to do to get some food around here? Chuck, lend the poor mite a few dollars will you?”

Chuck nodded and leant down to reach into his right sock from where he pulled a few rolled up notes and passed them over to Mike.

“Yer can get me some there fine beers with that too,” he drawled, cigarette lodged between his teeth as he spoke.

“Come on Chaz,” Mike sighed and I all too willingly followed him out into the hall, almost tripping over a pile of unpaid bills that lay in despair on the wooden floorboards.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed as we stepped inside his bedroom and the door shut firmly behind him, “Where does she find them?”

“I think it’s best if I refrain from answering that,” I sighed, pulling yesterdays T-shirt over my head and straightening it out as best as I could. It stank of beer and a hint of vomit but it was better than having some ex-cowboy ogling me.

Mike flopped down on his bed and once I’d pulled on my jeans and stolen one of his hoodies to wear, I joined him, my head hitting his soft pillow as I lay beside him.

“Sure I can’t tempt you?”

He raised his eyebrows, “Are you propositioning me or is this another attempt to get me to come and stay with you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I sniggered, “Think about it?”

“I don’t know…”

“Please? Look, the guy I usually work for will hire you too, he’s always recruiting around Christmas. We can save up some money, get the demo together in the new year and…”

“Chester I just don’t want to leave her again. I’m scared.”

“I know you are. The same way I’m scared of leaving you here. But she’s got Chuck, for now and…”

“How long is it before the shine wears off and he starts using her as a punch bag?”

“And you…”

“That’s only ever happened the once.”

“Still, it happened.”

“Chester I can come by and see you every day.”

“It’s a two hour drive.”

“So it’s okay for me to take that journey back here to make sure my mom’s still alive?”

I pulled the pillow over my head.

“I know you’re right. Okay? And I want to come and live with you, start afresh and be nearer the others so we can rehearse more often and maybe make something of ourselves. I’m just so scared. Can you not understand that?”

“I do,” I mumbled from under the pillow.

“But?” he asked, tugging my barrier away.

Reluctantly, I faced him, letting out a loud sigh before I let the words pour from my lips.

“She’s an adult Mike. No matter what illnesses she has, she is still an adult and she knows that whatever decisions she makes, the consequences are down to her and not you. So if she fucks up and goes on a three day bender it is not your fault. If she chooses not to fight back against these poor excuses for men that she picks up then that is not your fault either. You’ve got to get out of here Mike. For your own good because so help you, you’re going to end up just like her.”

The pillow he’d been holding slipped from his grasp and fell silently to the floor. Mike’s face paled and I knew that my words had gone a little too far.

“I know,” he whispered, “You’re right.”

*

I should have taken him from that hellhole right there and then. I should have grabbed him, slung him over my shoulder, kicking and screaming for all I care now. Then I should’ve gotten us onto the first bus we saw and driven the hell away from everyone; his mother, my family, the whole fucking band. Shame I didn’t have the ability to look into the future.

TBC…

I’m a little unsure so honest opinions please?!

tonight i'm freaking out again.....

2005-09-12T17:57:58Z

Title - Moments Forever Faded
Author - shinobi
Fandom - Linkin Park
Pairing - Chester/Mike
Genre - Angst/Drama/Slash
Rating - NC-17
Summery - [The sequel to Broken Bones] And this is how it goes, what it takes to recover, to mend the wounds and bridge the gaps. Life tinged, souls tarnished with blood and empty cries. I just hope we can make it through…

Moments Forever Faded

brother bleed brother what have you done my son, with your desire?

2005-08-16T12:45:00Z

Title : Brother Bleed Brother
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Pairing : Mild Braz
Rating : NC-17
Summery : [standalone] Chester doesn’t take kindly to the dirty thoughts that Brad’s been having about him…

A/N - Written at the arse end of last year, I edited this today. Enjoy.

Brad Delson seems somewhat flattered when you stop him mid sentence by leaning across the table and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiles at you and blushes, he’s forgotten what the hell he was talking to you about and he begins to stutter out incoherent words as you lean back on the couch and stare back at him. You seem to have that effect on him. Shame.

It’s hot on the bus and as Brad tries to speak once again you get up and stretch out your arms, slowly peel off your shirt and drop it down on the floor. That’s got his attention. He’s staring at you wide eyed, and this time you know he’s completely forgotten what he was talking about. You lick your lips, take pride in knowing your actions are having the desired effect as you turn away and walk over to the fridge.

You sway your hips a little because you know damn well that his stare is locked on you. You can feel his eyes on your ass as you open the door to the refrigerator and take out a pack of beer that Mike probably bought the other day. You blame Mike for all of this, because he’s the only one who drinks beer and therefore it’s his fault that you’re about to get Brad intoxicated. It makes sense in your head as you shut the door and turn back to look at Brad who’s still wide eyed and flushed in the cheeks.

You stride back over to him and slam the six pack down on the table. Tearing into it, you pull out two of the ice cold bottles, crack the lids off and pass him one before sitting down on the table, giving him no option but to look at you. Well, he could look at the floor, or at the ceiling but then it would make it obvious he was avoiding eye contact with you, which Brad thinks would offend you and Brad doesn’t like to offend, and that’s why you’ve sat right in front of him, knowing damn well that he’ll feel obliged to stay there, because that’s Brad for you. He’d never hurt anyone’s feelings. Well, not intentionally, which is ironic really because that’s what this is all about; he has hurt your feelings. Big time.

He’s still holding onto the bottle by the time you’ve downed half of yours. You tilt your head to the side and watch him for a second. He’s staring back and he’s looking rather perplexed. You can’t help but smile and lean forward, cupping his clammy face with your hand.

“You have something to tell me,” You whisper, your voice deep in the still air.

He nods and swiftly places the bottle to his lips, swallowing down a large mouthful of the cold beer. You wait for him to finish his drink before you speak again. He looks nervous, on edge as you lean forward and take the empty bottle from his hands. It’s placed down on the table behind you and you swing your legs around, body now facing him as you place your feet either side of his thighs.

“So then?” You ask, loving the way his body seems to have tensed up, even more so when you lean forward, closing the gap between you even more.

He stares back at you. He knows that you know about his dreams the other week. He knows full well that you heard him during the night, that you watched him writhe around in his bed and were kept awake by the throaty growls that escaped his lips and flooded the hotel room. He knows you know, that’s why he’s barely spoken to you ever since. He’s been edgy all the time. He’s tried to subtly move away whenever you touch him on purpose, or lean real close to whisper some smutty joke in his ear. You like that. You like the fact that for once in your life you’ve got power. You don’t want to let it go. You’re not going to let it go. This is your chance and you are not letting it slip from your pretty little fingers. You’ve never tasted control before in your life and you like it. It’s gone to your head and you know that it’s going to end dramatically because deep down you’re a wild card, and this card, it just got dealt with added danger.

“How did it feel?” You whisper, taking another beer from the pack and replacing the empty bottle in Brad’s clutch with it.

“What?” he asks, gulping slightly as he untwists the cap.

You hear the crunch of the seal as it breaks. You can feel the fear in him as he takes a swig from the
bottle. You can hear him gulp down the mouthful of the bittersweet liquid, and noticing a droplet has begun to slide down his chin, you extend your arm, wipe your finger over the trail of beer and stare him dead in the eyes as he completely loses his composure. You’ve got him now.

“In the story you wrote,” You whisper, taking the chance to lean forward as you slide your finger inside your warm mouth and suck off the sticky liquid, “How did it feel when you were fucking me in those sick, fucked up fantasies you’ve been writing about?”

His cheeks are burning crimson red, he gulps down more of his beer and stares back at you, not sure what to say you suppose. Well of course he’s not sure. He never is good in confrontational situations, least of all when you, his best friend, have just asked him how his wet dream about you felt; how the fantasies make him feel. You can’t help but snigger though. Inwardly of course. You can’t turn this into a joke. You want to make him sweat. And how would you do that, how could you make your revenge on him work if the crack you just snorted fuses your mind and you’re giggling to high heaven? No, you’ll wait until the sorry job is done. Then you’ll laugh. You’ll laugh until you cry. You’ll cry and choke on your laughter and there’ll be tears streaming down your cheeks. You won’t be able to breathe. And then what?

You don’t know. Yet.

Brad doesn’t seemed to have moved since the words you last whispered were poured from your lips. He’s sitting dead still, frozen, like he daren’t move an inch. You like that, so you edge closer, brush your hand across his face, sweep your fingertips under his chin and tilt his head so that he has to look at you.

“It… I don’t…”

You smile and grip his chin that bit tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, “It was a one off. It didn’t make…”

“A one off?” You smirk, “That’s not what Mike told me. Apparently there’s a whole collection in the notebooks under your mattress.”

You’ve got him now. He leans back against the couch and rakes his hands through his hair. Of course, Mike didn’t tell you a thing. Why would he? Mike hasn’t spoken to you for about three weeks, ever since touring started again and you found him in his bunk snorting a line of cocaine of some rent boys stomach. Taut stomach, you hasten to add. No, you found the tattered notebook yourself, after getting the cleaning bug late one afternoon and being the sweetheart you are you decided to freshen up the bunks for everyone. You thought something had been going on behind your back. Your suspicions were right when you found several tattered notebooks and some floppy discs belonging to your so called best friend. And your eyes they read innocently from the pages, cheeks burning up, heart pounding as the block letters formed by Brad’s own fair hand danced back at you, unnerving you with stories of the pair of you downing tequilas and making love under moonlit skies. Darker pieces of Brad getting you drunk, helping you home and fumbling with you in the dark depths of your bedroom, his hands running all over your body and taking more than just advantage as he fucked your drunken self into oblivion. It made you sick. It made your skin crawl. It made you nervous.

Brad seems nervous now. He’s fidgeting and you swear you can hear his heart beating. That dull thud, thud, thud, planting it’s rhythmic beat into your head. You can’t let that distract you though, can you?
No, you have a job to do.

“So then?” You ask, leaning forward, smirking and tracing your hands over the outline of his chin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “Please don’t be angry with me.”

You almost laugh.

“Why would I be angry?”

He frowns. He bites his bottom lip. His eyes follow your fingers as they slide down his neck, tracing the soft skin and gliding over his adam’s apple. You shiver inside, but on the outside you stay still, composed as you lean closer still, until your lips are practically grazing against his. It’s funny really. You’ve always had a penchant for guys like Brad, your surrogate brother. Another of the unintentionally nice people on Earth, the ones with caring hands and caring souls; the ones you’d trust with your deepest, darkest secrets and what does Brad do with that trust? He masturbates over worn pictures of you, he makes you feel like he wants to be with his best friend, when really he wants you near his side so he can get off on your scent, touch you by accident and all those times he spent mopping up your tears; well it’s clear that he was damn well enjoying it when you clung to his body for dear life. You feel violated. You feel betrayed, angry that you ever dared to trust him and so your other hand slides around his neck and you hear him emit a sharp squeak as your grip tightens and your tongue darts out.

“Tell me you liked it,” You whisper, “Tell me you fucking well liked it.”

You feel him gulp underneath your hands, the rise and fall of his neck sending a tingling sensation down your spine.

“I liked it,” he replies.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” You purr, “I just wanted to know you thought it was worth it.”

You’re watching his eyes, watching the way his pupils are fixed on yours. You can sense the hunger inside them, the need that’s waiting behind those eyes. You like it. It turns you on and you grab that moment to kiss him. You push your lips against his and you kiss him. Not softly. Not gently. You kiss him so hard that his lips start to bleed. You don’t care and neither does he by the sound of things because his arms are around your neck, fingers digging into your shoulders as you push him hard into the back of the couch.

And then you shoot him. Pistol taken from your back pocket. Muted, no bang, no noise, just that final gasp from Brad Delson as the bullet dives into his heart. No more dirty stories from him.

Fucker.

**

FIN

Feedback pwns people!

you and i will die alone tonight......

2005-07-27T18:36:49Z

Title - Spilling Blood in 8mm
Author - shinobi
Fandom - Linkin Park
Pairing - mike shinoda/matt davies
Genre - Angst
Rating - NC-17
Summery - When Mike meets Matt, nothing else matters anymore and as time passes them by and they become consumed in their love, twisted tendencies take over and bruises mar their every outline.

a/n - this was originally intended for the fastfic challenge at graffiti dec fic (write the most outrageous crossover pairing you can think of) well, I missed the deadline and also stumbled way, way over the 1000 word limit. So this is the fucked up creation of my mind, my lust for mike shinoda and matt davies, singer of the brilliant band funeral for a friend. Thanks and love to sandy for reading <3

spilling blood in 8mm

Killing me might be the only chance you have of recovery…

Blood runs down your thighs. Thick, sticky, crimson blood that smears and clings to your skin as your shaking fingers curl around the ice cold gun that has been thrust into your hands.

Point and shoot.

You slowly look up, gaze meeting that of the one person in your life who you’d die for; very much the way you are right now. As your eyes meet his and his desperate look, you find yourself hesitating for a moment in which you are lucid and you ask yourself what the fuck you are doing here in this blood drenched situation. And suddenly, you’re not so sure if this is the right way, so you close your eyes, take a deep breath and remind yourself of the reasons why…

+

It was unbearably hot on the tour bus which was chugging along yet another highway heading for Albuquerque, or at least you hoped it was otherwise you’d be well and truly fucked and you thought about that absently, pondered how much shit the fans of the band you were in would give you if your driver who had downed a glass of Whiskey a couple of hours before setting off happened to take a wrong turning. Tiredness made your mind think up these random thoughts and you closed your eyes, took a deep breath and tried not to think about the fact that you were getting one of those moods sweeping over you that made you bitch at everyone in sight and want to sleep or cry or just be left alone rather than do endless press and photo shoots. Yes, part of you actually wanted the bus to keep on driving, skip the cramped dressing room, the rushed through sound check and playing another fucking show. This monotonous routine that you’d strived so hard for and wanted so badly was beginning to drive you down into a deep, dark and extremely depressing hole.

It was that day, August 31st that you finally spoke to him. Well, you’d chatted before, but on that hot Tuesday afternoon when the tour bus pulled into a shady parking lot and Chester, ever faithful ex best friend of yours pulled you to your feet, dragged you off the bus; that was the moment. The moment.

He was scrawny and slight and ever so slightly tanned, face hiding behind thick rimmed glasses and a wave of black hair that covered his eyes but you could tell the minute that you hopped onto the tarmac that he was watching you. Running a hand through your hair, you smiled and nodded in his direction, faintly gazing over at him to where he sat at a table with the rest of his band not a few meters away and lazily scrawled his signature across various things; a poster, a cd, several more cds, a ticket stub and even a sneaker, until the queue of fans trickled away.

Chester was calling you, getting agitated because MTV were hovering around for some TV show they wanted to film but somehow your legs wouldn’t move and you found yourself rooted to the spot, body leaning back against the cool silver exterior of the tour bus and eyes practically glued on him. For one reason or another you just couldn’t stop staring. Hell, you’d been on tour for over a month, you’d said Hi and noted his boyish smile and the cheeky twinkle in his eyes that had accompanied it but it wasn’t up until now that you were realising just how good looking he actually was. Flawless even, and in the end Chester grumbled some obscenities and went off with the rest of the band, heavily followed by cameramen and lighting guys as you, well, stared.

He was getting up from his seat, talking to the bassist who you had spent a few nights drinking with alongside their drummer and some tecchies from the other bands. Gareth, you recalled was his name. He was talking to Gareth, stretching his arms languidly above his head, smiling and nodding before Gareth left, along with the others who were heading in the same direction of your band mates and then, it was just you and him.

Matthew, is what he told you was his name as he walked over to you with a bottle of water in one hand and a baseball cap in the other. You smiled, told him you already knew that, but left out the fact that you’d found yourself on his band’s website the other night and gazing approvingly at his profile. Ahh, the reason for the time spent typing funeral for a friend into google was now apparent, even more so as he smiled at you, cocked his head to one side and asked you if you had time to grab something to eat.

Of course you did.

And more.

+

Matt was everything you’d ever wanted from a lover. He was sensitive and caring; he could be funny and serious; he was patient and honest and he gave the best head you’d ever gotten in your life. The last five days of Projekt Revolution were spent in a daze, you saw sunshine even on the rainy, grey days and didn’t grumble about the endless interviews and hectic schedule. You just let it take you along, spurred no longer by the high of playing a show at the end of the day, but by seeing him afterwards and day by day getting to know him better than anyone you’d ever met.

So when the tour ended and you’d got over the fact that you’d cried your eyes out on stage with Chester promptly wrapping his arms around you when he’d realised his little brother was about to crack, it suddenly dawned on you; where was this going? Wales was a long way away, but Matt smiled on that morning in early September and as you watched the sunrise he told you that Wales was nice around this time of the year. Peaceful was the word he’d used. Plenty of you and me time was the phrase he whispered as the sun smeared itself across the skyline and you made love for the very first time beneath it’s hazy gleam somewhere in the back of an RV in California.

You went back home with him, told the others it was a little vacation you were taking before the next bout of recording. You left out the fact that you had no idea when you’d be back. Gone had your organized and sometimes anal ways and in was the lust you suddenly had of living life for the moment. With Matt, of course. So he showed you his hometown, held your hand as you walked comfortably beside him; unknown and uncared for by the public eye and you suddenly felt resentful for the fact that you could have never walked like this with anyone back in LA. He took you to the beach and you lazed and lolled around the sands telling one another childhood stories, listening to memories with a sense of ease. He warmed your heart and touched you inside. He trusted you impeccably, a feeling which you fondly returned. You laughed and joked, you talked until the sun was rising and your eyes would no longer stay open of their own accord, you slept until noon and always woke to the soft breezes sweeping through his bedroom window and more importantly; him.

Four weeks passed you by and without realising it, you were supposed to be back home starting the writing process on album number three with your band. You didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to leave and he was reluctant to let you do so until a phone call from Gareth told him that they were going to Seattle to start recording their next project. Seattle wasn’t the closest of places, but, you told him with a smile that at least it was the same country. And so you flew back home, his head in your lap on the long flight over and your fingers itching to write endless pages of lyrics that had started to pile up inside your mind from the moment you’d met.

All of that in just over a month?

You felt like your feet had hardly touched the ground.

+

Chester was hankering after some quality time together the moment you got back. Once you’d said your goodbyes to Matt and got over the fact that you’d not see him for two weeks, Chester was dragging your slightly miserable ass home to the apartment you shared, cooking you dinner and insisting you told him every goddamn detail. You blushed as he asked if you were in love, nodded coyly, trying to dodge the ribbing that you were half expecting from your best friend. It didn’t come though, he just smiled, hugged you and told you how happy you were. And that afternoon as you lay on the couch, notebook in your lap and bitten down bic in your right hand, you wrote about that love; you poured your heart out onto those sheets of paper. Chester smiled at you when he read them through. He smiled and asked where the angry little boy he knew had gone. You shrugged and blushed furthermore when he hugged you again and ruffled up your hair and from then on that angry little boy as he’d put it so eloquently just faded away almost like a thing of the past and you and Chester you wrote the most beautiful lyrics; his angst filled words blending with your heartfelt melodies and for the first time in your life you felt complete.

Of course, absent makes the heart grow fonder and grow it did for every weekend or odd day off you’d fly over to Matt or he’d fly over to LA and you’d hang around your studio apartment painting, talking, making love and unintentionally distancing yourselves from anyone else. I became Us. Me became We. Time didn’t comprehend your minds when you were together, for days and nights they merged into one and the world around you, well, it just didn’t concern the two of you any longer.

Chester was the one who pointed this out one day. It was a cold January evening and you’d just finished talking to Matt on the phone. The receiver was barely seated in it’s cradle when Chester let out a loud sigh, tutted and slammed his book down on the table. You and Chester had been friends for years. He knew not to sugar-coat you and as you asked him what his fucking problem was, as it dawned on you he’d been in a pissy mood all week, he rolled his eyes and congratulated you on actually noticing. And then the onslaught began. A hellish exchange of verbal abuse. He told you how selfish you were being, how he felt like he no longer existed and how the band was suffering because of this. He said you’d changed and that he didn’t like who you’d become; a self obsessed asshat, as he so nicely put it. You were shocked, gob smacked to the point of throwing an expensive looking vase his way and asking him how he dare talk to you like that. That didn’t stop him from telling you how he felt second best and never in your mind anymore, and how the rest of the band were sick and tired with having to revolve around you. Sick to death of you. Their patience was running low. Those words stung and right that very moment you could feel yourself breaking down into a thousand tiny pieces. Your best friend was meant to be understanding was he not? He was meant to be happy that you were in love. He was meant to support you, wasn’t he? But as he stood before you with tears streaming down his face, you weren’t sure that you even knew him anymore. It wasn’t so much what he’d said, but more a realisation that you weren’t the person that Chester had become such close friends with anymore. You’d changed. Matt had changed you for the good and anyone that tried to state otherwise was simply not worth knowing.

You left later that night. Packed into a bag were your most sacred belongings and without a word you boarded the midnight plane to Seattle.

+

Matt was more than pleased to see you, hugging you and kissing you all the way back his apartment as you sat in the back of a taxi which drove you through the hustle and bustle of Seattle. You cried when you got inside, shivering in your thin hoodie and wiping away tears as you told him what Chester had said. He held you and told you that friends like him were best forgetting about. It didn’t take long as he slipped his tongue inside your mouth, pushed you against his bedroom door and fumbled with the zipper on your pants. When you woke up later, drenched in sweat and the scent of sex, your mind was still buzzing with a myriad of emotions. You could still hear Chester’s angry words and though you’d not heard them actually saying anything, you could picture the rest of your band nodding in agreement; tutting in distain and you drifted to sleep, lulled into a heart racing nightmare that posed one question; Matt or the band?

You’d left LA in such a hurry that your phone was still on the kitchen table of the apartment that you and Chester had once shared. Once shared as in the past as far as you were concerned. He had Matt’s number. He’d call when he was ready to apologise, or so you thought because why in hell should you be the one apologising? You’d done nothing but fall in love.

You filled your days filling sketchbooks and notepads whilst Matt was at the studios and when he returned you’d fall into bed and not normally appear from under the sheets until the early morning when Matt would kiss you goodbye and the day would be empty once again. Love made your heart ache and one day when you were sitting on the balcony and smoking your way through a packet of Superkings, you wondered what would happen if Matt were to suddenly disappear? You stopped and stared out at the city skyline, traffic and hustle erasing itself from your ears as you pondered this and gradually over the weeks the answer to this question changed. First you felt like it’d be hard to cope, then you felt like you wouldn’t want to cope. Slowly as the weeks turned to months you realised you wouldn’t cope and finally as you sat on the very same balcony watching the sunrise one morning in April with him sleeping in your arms, you realised that you’d die without him.

Yes, you’d rather die than not have him by your side.

Without him, you would be nothing.

+

It was almost June when Chester called. Brad had fallen ill at the end of March and it saddened you to know that no one had bothered to get in touch and let you know. It was nothing too serious, a bad case of Pneumonia and he was on the mend but they’d decided to put anything band related on hold for the time being. Chester’s voice was vague, no longer tinged with his Arizona drawl, but now with a bitter tiredness that floated down the phone line. Then out of nowhere he asked you if he’d heard of Gerard Way and you smirked to yourself because of course you’d heard of him; who in rock and roll these days hadn’t? You asked why and he said you should talk to Matt before hanging up without an explanation.

It wasn’t until two days later that you actually saw your boyfriend. He’d gotten caught up in mixing the album and it was late one Friday evening when he strolled into the apartment looking tired and worn and in need of some tender, loving care. Pouncing on you very much like a cat, he had you pinned to the floor kisses breaking up the words he told you of how much he’d missed you. You giggled as his hands roamed over your skin, tickling and stroking every curve and crevice until you rolled him over, straddling him against the carpet and kissed him on the tip of the nose. He smiled and you stayed like that for a while, content in each others company when you remembered about the phone call and told him with a smile that Chester had been in touch and maybe the two of you might be able to make amends. He smiled and said that he hoped things worked out, his smile only faltering when you suddenly remembered about Gerard.

And you’re asking me about him because?

That was Matt’s answer and he nudged you off him and headed into the kitchen. You tried to remain positive but it was about that point that you realised how very naïve you’d been for the past two days. And then you were following him and asking him if there was anything he wanted to tell you.

Of course, Matt could have lied, could he not? The fact that he turned around and told you the truth was to be commended. Right? Or at least you thought so. You slapped Matt hard across the face right after he had told you that he’d been sleeping around with Gerard and that Chester just happened to have caught the pair of them at it, because Chester had flown over to come and see you, try and patch things up. Only Matt had told him to get lost, to go home and think twice about speaking to you. Matt just stood there, hand holding his red cheek as you leant against the door frame and asked him how long it had been going on for.

Just a few weeks.

Just?

You hit him again, this time harder and then you shouted at him and asked him why he thought he had the right to send Chester home. He sank to the floor, tears flowed down his cheeks and he said that he was sorry. He begged you not to leave him, he said he’d made a mistake and that mistake was well and truly over. And when you noticed the blood pouring from his nose, you knelt down and held him in your arms. You didn’t care that he’d betrayed you, just as long as he promised it were over and that it wouldn’t happen again; that’s all you needed to hear, because you didn’t want to lose him.

Hit me.

You barely noticed the words escaping from your lips but they did, whispered faintly into the air around you, then for a second time they were spoken but with more affirmation. Matt looked up at you, confused and bewildered, blood spilling from his nose and you felt so, so bad. He frowned when you asked him again, struggled against you as you grabbed his arm and begged him, pleaded with him to hit you. He called you insane, pushed you away but still you grabbed onto him, screaming into his face until finally his free hand balled into a fist and came slamming down into your cheek followed by his pleas for you to just shut up.

And then it didn’t seem to stop. He stared at you, mouth open and gasping for air. You stared back and that kitchen, it seemed to spin around you as blood dripped from your mouth, trickled down and landed on the black and white tiles as the world around you was enveloped in silence. Matt leaned forward, shaking hand placing itself against your cheek, thumb wiping away the blood and you slowly came to meet; foreheads touching as eyes closed and lips found themselves merging together. You could taste his blood as his hands slipped around your waist, pulled you closer as they rested in the small of your back and as you guided one another to your bedroom all the anger seemed to slip away.

+

The world was slowing around you once again because after that night love making would never be the same again. Matt had shown you that the best part of arguing was the making up. You thought about this as you watched your lover sleeping beside you and your fingertips wondered over the bruises that ran up and down his spine. Six weeks had passed since that night and though you’d talked things over and Gerard was well and truly a thing of the past, you and Matt had found a new spark, a new twist in your relationship which filled the void of empty days for you and eased the frustrating times at work for Matt. So new arguments had been invented. Play fights; role plays; call them what you will, their name seemed insignificant in comparison the sexual tension they stirred within you and your boyfriend. Hazy images shone in front of your half closed eyes as your hands moved to your stomach, tracing scratch marks and dry blood; black and blue smudges and welts that marred your prominent hipbones. A chill ran down your spine as you rolled over, memories of the past couple of months moulding into one fucked up fantasy as the images flowed through your mind. He’d hit you and you’d hit back. He’d slam your fragile body against the wooden floorboards and you’d writhe beneath let him take control before flipping him over, running blades down his sides and lapping away his blood with your tongue. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore; nothing but this sordid portrayal of your emotions and feelings to him. No, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to show him how much you cared, and Matt, he all too willingly returned the same crazed lust in his affections.

You found your bony hands gently nudging Matt and were smiling as his eyes fluttered open. His lips were like velvet as you kissed in the lazy morning light. Fingers like claws as they drew languid lines down your sides and his teeth nipped at your tongue. You arched your back, pulled his lithe body on top of yours and lay there with ragged breaths as his lips left yours and slinked down to your neck.

The phone beside you rang but neither of you could have cared less. Matt’s hands were at your wrists, nails digging into your skin as you arched your back and felt his body grinding into yours. His teeth bit your collarbone, hands finally releasing your wrists only to grip around your neck in a vice like manner, choking the air out of you as the phone stopped ringing and the sound of your answer machine message kicked in. The sing song voices of you and Matt were just a distant buzz as you coughed and spluttered, writhed beneath Matt as one hand slid down between your legs, finger scissoring inside you just as a faint and worried voice echoed down the phone.

It was Chester and as soon as you heard his voice your eyes opened and Matt stopped his ministrations. Chester was frantic, begging you to pick up. He wanted you to know why you’d not been returning his calls, why his messages had been left in vain. He begged you to call back for Brad was getting worse and at the rate he was deteriorating things weren’t looking at all good. You pushed Matt away, scrambled over to the phone and answered it with a pounding heart and ragged breaths. When you said your goodbyes, placed the phone in it’s cradle and felt Matt’s arms snake around your waist you didn’t want to believe that your best friend was dying or that you’d not bothered to check the answer machine messages because you’d been too busy playing fucked up games with your lover. You shrugged Matt away and sat down beside the phone, fingers pushing buttons on the answer machine to find that you had twenty three unchecked messages and as you listened to them one by one, your tears slipped down your cheeks and Chester’s frantic voice scorned you deep inside.

You were so angry once the final message had played out into the eerie room. So damn angry. Chester had been right all along; you had been selfish and self absorbed hadn’t you? You’d put all your time, all your energy and thoughts into Matt and everyone else, well, they’d been pushed aside like unwanted toys and now, as you sat and sobbed into your hands it became clear that you had fucked up. Big time. Hands balled up into fists as Matt tried to console you. What use was it now? What use were his empty words and caressing hands? What use was anything when your best friend was dying.

You pushed him away, fists pummelled into him as he stood strong and tried to hold you in his arms. Nothing could comfort you though. Nothing at all. Maybe that’s why you pushed him to the floor and ignored his cries as he stumbled to his feet, raced after you as you fled the room in search of a bag of sorts because you were flying back to LA right then. You had to see Brad. He grabbed you just as you were back in the bedroom and flinging clothes left right and centre into a scuffed duffle bag. He told you he wouldn’t let you go, not in the state you were in and he pushed you down on the bed, straddled you and stared you deep in the eyes. Tomorrow, he whispered, fingers wrapped around your wrists until you gave in and stopped struggling. And he kissed you, pushed you down against the soft sheets.

Who’d know that tomorrow would have been too late?

+

Brad died during the night. Probably about the time you were being pinned down to the bed by Matt whilst he ran razors down your arms because you’d begged him to get rid of the pain that was swimming about inside your veins. And as your blood poured onto the sheets below and you drank his essence and rolled about in hazy movements on the bed, that was probably about the time that Brad took his last breath of air before slipping out of the world without ever getting to say goodbye to you.

You hated Matt for that. You hated him because he was the one that had stopped you from going. And maybe, just maybe if you’d gone you would have gotten there in time. Maybe.

You fell apart. Everything crumbled around you. Angry phone calls came from Chester and the others, accusations that you didn’t care and probably had never cared at all. Matt tried to fix it, tried to call back and explain but they weren’t listening to him and you, well you didn’t have the strength to call because every time you picked up the phone you were shaking and salty tears were gushing down your cheeks before you’d even dialled the number.

And that’s what you became. A shaking, sobbing mess that forced Matt to stay at home and console. Getting out of bed became a chore. Eating just didn’t happen and falling into restless slumber was how your days passed by, always with Matt at your side to wipe away the tears and kiss away the pain. That’s when he quit the band. Came home one cold evening in November, tears streaming down his face because his band mates had questioned his commitment. Then they’d asked him about the bruises, because despite everything those little bedtime games they still continued, didn’t they? Sometimes they helped you escape. Sometimes they were like a sordid addiction that the pair of you needed to help you forget about everything else.

His band mates helped him make the decision. Something about them not wanting to put things on hold for any longer, hints that Gareth had a good singing voice were made into Matt’s ears and that, that was it. He left and came home to you, let you wipe his tears away and that night you sat beside him on the balcony, watched snow falling down into the silent world below. Matt was half asleep and as your hand squeezed his you took a long look at him and for the first time in ages, you realised just how much he’d changed.

Hair long and brown, eyes tired behind those frames, dragged down by heavy black bags and surrounded by ashen skin. You gazed over his naked body, marred by white scars and yellow bruising. Ribs and hipbones jutting out and catching the moonlight.

He was still beautiful.

Just tragically so.

+

January saw the release of your former bands third album. A new guitarist graced the artwork and inside the package that had been slid through the letterbox that morning was the second funeral for a friend album; how ironic that they’d both been released on the same day. You thought not as Matt’s bruised hands took the cd and glanced over the back cover. Neither of you spoke for a few days, just slept and made love and toyed with the idea of maybe making something to eat. One day. You didn’t have much of an appetite and neither did Matt.

You watched the winter melt away by the sun of spring, saw the people down below gradually shed their heavy coats and scarves, swapping them for jackets and shawls and brighter colours began to grace the outside world. Inside was more of a monotone effect though; everything through black and white swirls and lethargic patterns. The small TV set provided the only colour as your sleepy eyes watched MTV2 and the talk surrounding Linkin Park and Funeral for a Friend’s new found successes.

You threw the TV through the window.

Their laughing, smiling faces were all too much. The sight of Chester and the new guitarist discussing their writing process it was just too much. The fuzzy pictures of Gareth as he explained that the songs their ‘old singer’ had written had been trashed had just about pushed Matt over the edge. And from then on every surface was mocking them.

And in retrospect that’s probably what drove you to this point.

+

Killing you might be the only chance I have of recovery…

Blood runs down Matt’s thighs. Thick, sticky, crimson blood that smears and clings to his skin as your shaking fingers curl around the ice cold gun that has been thrust into your hands.

Pointed and shot.

You slowly look up, gaze meeting that of the one person in your life who you’d die for; very much the way you are right now. As your eyes meet his and his desperate gaze, you find yourself reaching out for his hands, gun that you just fired into his stomach dropping to the floor. One hand clamps against the bullet that has plummeted into your abdomen, the other against his cheek and you fall to the floor, blood trickling down your faces as you merge together, kissing, touching and wrapping cold, lifeless arms around one another.

You and I, will die, alone tonight…

END.

Don’t you just love happy endings? Lyrics from ‘the end of nothing’ by surprisingly Funeral for a Friend. Feedback owns me, I’d love to know what you thought.

summer solstice

2005-06-25T21:41:59Z

Title : Summer Solstice
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : c/m
Rating : R
Summery : Inspired by June 21st. Mike stole the sun from Chester’s heart and now, now he’s nothing.

*

As your eyes gaze up to the sky and watch the sun dipping down behind clouds and the way it leaves behind a smudge of orange and a shimmer of pink, you take a moment to inhale the dusky air around you and for a split second he is beside you, cradling you in his strong arms.

As your lungs breathe in his musky scent that lingers in the warm air around you and mixes with the smell of expensive tobacco and rich rum, you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter and smile to yourself as you hear his tender voice whispering in your ear.

As your mind is filled with his heartfelt words and a thousand apologies dance from his lips and into the salty night air, you tilt back your neck, rest your head against his shoulder and let him squeeze you tight, his warm breath tickling your face.

As your body shivers and his whispers fade, you are content to sit with him in an almost silent state; the only sounds that of his beating heart against your hand that has clasped itself against his chest and in the distant that of the waves crashing against the cliff face below you.

As your thoughts are focusing on the memories you shared, of the sunshine and smiles; the times you sat together on sandy dunes and watched the sunset, made love, then watched the sun rise once again; naked bodies slick with sweat and sand as the orange ball crept into the sky, you are suddenly aware that all you can hear are the crashing waves.

His heart. It has stopped.

As your eyes slowly will themselves to open and are greeted by the deep blue sky with it’s array of stars and icy beam from the moon, you wrap your arms around your body and tilt your head to look over the cliff, try your hardest to turn the myriads of shingle and sea into his face once again only tonight you can’t see him.

As your tired body picks itself up from the sand and your clammy hands dig themselves deep into your pockets, you stare out onto the horizon before turning away. You’ll be back for the sunrise, back before it makes it’s slow climb into the sky and it’s rays awake your love and allow him to cradle you in his arms.

Sometimes it’s hard to forget the ones who have stolen the sun from your heart.

*

END.

shinobi, june 2005

touch?

2005-06-25T21:40:48Z

Title : Touch?
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : c/m
Rating : NC17
Summery : Chester learns that love hurts. A lot.

*

His hands are like saviours when he wipes your tears away.

You tremble in his arms. You tell him that you’re not quite ready for this level of intimacy but as he pulls you close and kisses your neck, your mind sways once again and maybe, maybe you are ready this time? You’re not sure but when he slides his hands underneath your shirt and promises you that he’ll try be oh so gentle, you start to ease up your head drops to rest against his shoulder.

Gentle. He promises to be gentle.

His hands are like velvet when they ease your clothes off your body.

You stand rooted to the spot, your breathing ragged and out of time as he kisses you and slides your shirt over your head. You try to reason with yourself as you feel his warm fingertips at the buckle of your belt and that exciting rush of air hitting you as your pants pool at your ankles. You’re vaguely aware of stepping out of them and then over to the bed as you tell yourself this is only fair; you’ve been together for months now, you can’t keep him waiting forever. He pushes you down against the mattress and tells you that you are beautiful.

Beautiful. He thinks you are beautiful.

His hands are like feathers when they run down your thighs.

In the basking sunlight he traces fingers across your skin, touch soft and delicate as you lie naked on silk sheets and watch, eyes captivated by the shadows that dance across the walls around you. Your worries fade away. Your heart races, eyes catch his and don’t want to break the heated gaze because this is how you’ve dreamt it would be for so long. Perfect. You ignore the fact that his nails are digging into your hips and leaving bitter indentations. You push away the fact that it hurts when he smothers your naked body with his.

Perfect?

His hands are like snakes when they slither across your sun kissed skin.

He tells you that he loves you more than anything in the world. He smiles almost wickedly before harshly pushing your legs apart. A whimper escapes your lips but he leans down and kisses you, his slick tongue brushing your lips, along with the words that send shivers down your spine the moment they enter your ears. He tells you how much he wants you. He tells you how much he’s aching to be inside of you. He tells you that he can’t wait around any longer. This is it, he tells you. If you love him then you’ll allow him this.

You love him. You love him so much.

His hands are like beasts as they push your legs further apart.

Your eyes squeeze shut as he pushes inside you. You feel sick. You just want to tell him to stop but as you peek through half-closed eyelids, you don’t even recognize the man above you. He‘s somewhere else and all that‘s left are the feral moans and lust-filled eyes. Somewhere in the distance you hear him telling you that this is what he’s dreamed of doing to you for so long. He pushes deeper inside and a cry escapes you, a bolt of pain rushes through your entire being. He lets out a bitter laugh, tells you you’ll get used to it before pushing harder, so hard in fact that tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes.

You cry. You cry and he laughs.

And this is what love feels like?

*

END.

shinobi. June 2005

chapter two!

2005-06-12T21:07:36Z

note to self i miss you terribly......

2005-06-06T14:51:02Z

Title : Clandestine
Author : shinobi
Fandom : Linkin Park
Genre : Angst/Drama
Pairing : C/P
Rating : NC17
Summery : [multichapter] Chester wishes he could go back and change the things that went wrong, erase the mistakes, see the things he never noticed and amend the errors he made. Only he can’t and he’s got to live with the fatal consequences. Forever.

A/N : Okay this is an act of bravery on my part. I started writing this in OCTOBER last year and if it’s a little rusty then that’s the reason why. I’ve tweaked and edited it anally for the past day and now I’m posting it with the ever present warning that updates could be slow. Many thanks to Sandy and Halina to whom I asked for the read-throughs when this was my baby and it was still called ’wish’. I’d love feedback, I really would… Enjoy!

[Chapter One]

[November 1999]

“Chester?”

I groaned and rolled onto my side, cursing loudly when my elbow connected with the side of my bunk and a sharp jolt of pain shot through my inappropriately named funny bone.

“Shit. Fuck. Ouch.”

“Chester are you coming out today? This year perhaps?”

“Alright, alright,” I growled, rubbing my stinging arm as I navigated my sleepy body out of the cramped confines of the makeshift bed in the back of a clapped out van that I had found myself calling home for the past few weeks. After untangling myself from my twisted sheets and pulling on what looked like one of my shirts, I stood in the small aisle that ran between either wall of cupboards, face to face with the owner of the voice that had broken into my deep sleep.

Mike.

He looked frustrated, pissed off, annoyed perhaps that it had been him who’d had to come back to the RV to tell me that sound check was probably less than an hour away and I should get my lazy self out of bed. I didn’t blame him for looking that way. I would have more than likely held the same look of desperation had I been in his current role. Everyone knew I was not a morning person.

Mike scratched his head, cleared his throat and muttered something about me getting dressed in
something warm because subzero temperatures had graced the world outside. In reply I nodded and scanned the floor for my bag as he headed out to the kitchen area, stopping briefly to pick something up from the table.

Somehow, I managed to get dressed in record time, swiftly pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a thick black hoody that I’d found in a ball on the floor. I wasn’t sure who it actually belonged to, just thankful for the fact that it was of a warm and snugly texture and it smelt of washing powder mixed with a faint scent of weed. Which led me to believe it was Mike’s. As did the expression on his face when I grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder and stood before him in the kitchen where he was looking at me with a slight smirk.

“Out of the extensive wardrobe you own, you still find it necessary to wear my clothes,” he grinned a little, his previously darker mood seeming to have lifted.

“Ahh but that’s the highest of compliments,” I told him jokingly, watching as he took a hit from a joint I’d only just noticed was grasped in between his slender fingers. The reason for his lift in mood becoming apparent.

“Bullshit! It was the first thing you found, more like!”

“Yeah, and that,” I nodded with a smile.

He chuckled and shook his head, nudging me with his elbow.

“Come on, we’ll be late. Rocky is in one hell of a bad mood this afternoon,” he sighed, referring to the guy who had appointed himself as our manager. He was a friend of a friend of my Fathers and claimed to know all there was to know in the music business. I’d yet failed to see his knowledge. He was mid forties, a little extravagant and one of those people who’s mood swings came and went more than those of a teenage girl.

“Great,” I sighed, following Mike through the somewhat cluttered van, “What are we supposed to have done wrong today?” I asked him, climbing over what looked like a pile of dirty laundry before following Mike down the steps of the van.

“Fuck knows,” he replied, briefly taking a long deep drag from his joint before he attempted to lock the door.

I watched in amusement for a few seconds before I dropped my bag to the floor. Sure, high Mike meant happy Mike, which was good. It also meant slightly unable to lock doors Mike. Which wasn’t so good because he was right, it was absolutely freezing cold and the longer he fumbled about with the Yale lock, the colder my balls were getting.

In the end I gently nudged him out of the way and locked the door myself, pocketing the keys in my bag before I slung it back over my shoulder and we began to make our way across the frost covered parking lot. Our pace was slow and I kept my eyes glued to the concrete below me which was covered in a fine sprinkling of ice, because I had a tendency of slipping on my ass as soon as winter came around and I was anywhere near a patch of ice. Unfortunately Mike knew this as he’d been with me the time I’d skidded halfway across a road after my battered converse shoes had made contact with a patch of black ice. I’d broken my arm and had to have stitches above my right eye. It had only been about a year ago and the memory was still sore. More so on my ego than anything else.

That’s probably why Mike kept nudging me and I kept growling and swearing at him. We no doubt looked a bit of an odd sight as I gingerly tiptoed along and Mike alternated between taking a hit of his smoke and nudging me in the side with his bony elbow. If anyone hadn’t had seen us emerging from our slightly run down and dusty RV which housed the rest of the band and Rocky and had ‘Hybrid Theory : Master Bay Tour here we fucking come’ etched into the dirt on the side they might have thought we were completely knackers. But the fact that we had emerged from that camper-van-come-home and were in a band who had been touring seedy bars and clubs for god knows how long seemed to somehow justify the way we were staggering along; the way we both looked like we’d just come out of some bad punk rock film. Mike’s hair was bright red with blue streaks weaving through it, his right eye was black from an incident he’d had with his guitar the night before and putting it politely he looked like he could do with a good wash. My unkempt Mohawk was flapping about in the wind, dyed a garish pink colour and matted with gel and remnants of the washing up liquid that Mike had used to wash it with the other day. I stank of cigarettes and cheap liqueur and the black nail polish that adorned my bitten down nails was flaking away; chipping off and fading very much like I felt on that bitterly cold morning.

“Hey.”

Stopping my audacious thoughts, the sound of Mike’s voice made me look up and I realised that I’d conquered the ice rink and we were now safely standing before the back door of the venue we were playing tonight. One of the panes of glass was smashed. Another above it was missing and had been replaced with a flimsy looking piece of plywood. Sellotaped to it was a ripped poster which read in bold, black type : ‘For one night only! Top rock gods ‘Killertricks’ live at the basement! With support act ‘High Bird Theories’ Doors open eight pm.

I sighed and pushed the door open. It was going to be one of those evenings.

*

“Mike! You’re the one that was fucking moaning about Mr. Bennington here not gracing us with his presence on the one time we actually have a decent amount of sound check time allocated to us and then you come back stoned? What the fuck is wrong with you…”

I sat on the edge of the stage, my feet swinging to and fro as Brad Delson, the biggest woman in the world and another sixth of the band I was in continued his screaming. I half watched as he carried on shouting at Mike, waving his hands about in the air, edging towards my best friend like some guitar wielding maniac.

I took a drag of my cigarette and glanced at my watch wishing he’d shut up already. He acted like the fucking manager half the time and as I looked back up at him, I couldn’t help but laugh. His long curly hair was flapping about at all angles, making Mike’s dishevelled mop of red and blue spikes look like something out of a top hairdressing contest. His skinny frame was dressed in a check shirt and a pair of black jeans and as his hands waved about, the collection of chains and beads that graced his arms jingled about, emphasising each word he seemed to be hissing. That guy needed anger management. Pronto.

“… This is not the way to behave Mike. We have people coming to this show tonight, important people…”

My ears perked up and I had to wonder who exactly these ‘important’ people were. The pope? The Queen of fucking Sheba? Stevie Wonder? Jonathan Davies? Scott ‘Fuck Me’ Weiland perchance? No, they were more than likely a figment of Brad’s imagination but I didn’t raise the subject because someone plonked themselves down beside me and snatched the cigarette that was placed between my lips.

It was Phoenix, resident bass player and he looked just as forlorn and bored as I felt. His auburn hair was hidden beneath a black and red striped beanie, freckles scattering over his pale skin as his cheeks puffed out and he smiled at me before taking a drag of my cigarette.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked, flicking the ash onto the floor a few feet below us.

“Too long,” I groaned, looking up just as Brad began another barrage of verbal assault on Mike.

“… What’s this going to achieve hey? We’ve got no chance of a decent sound check now because our emcee is high off his fucking head! Ugh! Just get out my fucking face already!”

I watched as Brad stormed off, practically throwing his guitar to the ground before he disappeared through one of the steel doors to the back of the stage. Mike turned away and walked over to the far wall, his tanned fists clenched beside him before he brought them up and in one swift moved slammed them against the red bricked surface.

“Shit,” Phi uttered from beside me.

I got to my feet and marched over to where Mike was making holes in the wall, quickly grabbing him by the wrists before he caused any more damaged.

“Whoa calm down,” I told him, attentively placing a hand against the small of his back, “You know what Brad’s like. He’s the guy that gets pissy if you butter the wrong side of his toast…”

“Let go,” he mumbled and it wasn’t until he turned around that I saw he was crying.

“Hey…”

He didn’t let me finish, just pulled himself out of my grasp and marched back across the stage, his legs hurriedly carrying him down a set of stairs and out of one of the side exits. I stared down at my hands. They were covered in blood. Wiping them down the front of my hoody, I was about to go after him when Phi’s hands met with my chest.

“Leave him,” he told me, his arms falling to his sides.

I wiped my hands on my hoody once again and turned to where Rob, our drummer was sat, hunched over his drum kit with a rather solemn looked upon his face. He let his drumsticks fall to the floor before he got up, stretching his tall body out and running a bony hand through his dark, cropped hair.

“I guess I’ll see you guys before the gig,” he murmured, jumping down off the stage and walking away.

“Guess so,” I sighed, idly wondering if there were any chance of us even bothering to perform tonight.

“Well I hate to say it, but unless those two make it up we’re royally fucked…”

Looking up, my eyes met Joe’s who up until now had been sat behind his decks, his headphones slung around his neck, eye deep in records.

“Yeah thanks for pointing that out Joe,” I sighed, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand.

He shrugged and removed his headphones, placing them down against his decks before jumping down onto the stage. I watched as the Korean DJ swiftly walked across the wooden floor, his blue shell suit rustling with every step he took, fading away as he disappeared down one of the corridors. Phi let a sigh out and turned away, following him in his direction.

And then there was just me.

I lay down in the middle of the stage, grabbed my microphone and raised it to my lips before taking a deep breath.

“I HATE EVERYONE!”

My voice reverberated across the small room and I let the microphone drop to the floor, wincing as the sound of it crashing against the wooden boards crashed into my ears.

*

I can look back on that moment right now and see that it’s probably where all the shit really began to happen. You just don’t see it at the time though, do you?

*

“Chester?”

I groaned and rolled onto my side, cursing loudly when my elbow connected with the side of my bunk and a sharp jolt of pain shot through my inappropriately named funny bone.

“Shit. Fuck. Ouch.”

My eyes snapped open as a sudden sense of deja-vu sank into my mind. Please God, not another day like yesterday. Please, oh please, oh fucking please. I silently begged whoever the hell was up above but a sudden sensation of a finger being jabbed into my empty stomach put an end to my wishful thinking.

It was Mike and I wordlessly moved over in the bed I’d managed to sleep in for a second night running. Any other time and I would have been inwardly ecstatic over it… only the events of the previous day had made sure I wasn’t going to find much at all to smile about. Mike sat down, crossed his legs and fiddled with his fingers for a few seconds until he finally looked up at me, a sigh escaping his parted lips.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed.

“What for?”

He looked at me and scowled, “You know what for.”

“If you mean for going awol on us last night, for worrying the crap out of me and making me think you’d been raped or murdered or god knows what then fine,” I snapped.

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine,” I sighed.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to let you guys down last night…”

“What? That was the last thing on our minds Mike! I was this close to calling the police. I had all these fucking visions of dogs sniffing in dirty alleyways for your body, divers scouring drains and ditches,” I began to sniff, “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

“Chaz I…”

I got to my feet, stumbled out of the bunk and into the cramped confines that surrounded me.

“Just leave it. I’ve had enough, okay?” I spat, storming off down to the front of the van.

“Chester please, don’t walk off, I need you,” I heard him whimper, his voice softening, “I really need you.”

I stopped and let out a sigh. Mike wasn’t one to guilt trip, so I knew damn well that there was something behind his desperate cries. A pain rushed through my chest. In all the two years that I’d known him, I’d never heard him cry the way he was now. Turning around, I paced back over to him, a pang in my heart as I saw the state he was in.

“I’m sorry. It’s just early and I didn’t get much sleep what with all the arguing and y’know I’m not a morning person. I just need coffee. Buy me coffee and I’m all yours,” I smiled, nudging him.

He looked up at me and wiped his eyes, “I can’t,” he half smiled, “We’re kinda, not stopping for another few hours…”

“What?” My eyes went wide and I looked around, feeling the breeze flowing in from the sunroof and watching the clouds as they zoomed over us.

“We’re moving?” I exclaimed, “Ugh. The one time I actually want to drink piss weak coffee and I can’t,” I groaned as I flopped down beside Mike in a dramatic manner.

“I have chocolate,” he smiled.

“Okay, now you’re talking.”

Suddenly the day didn’t seem that bad. The sun was shining and I had chocolate.

God, who was I kidding?

*

“So what happened?” I whispered, unwrapping the pink coloured foil that covered my bar of chocolate.

The privacy curtain was drawn across and Mike lay beside me in the bunk, methodically pealing off the wrapper of his hazelnut swirl bar. I, myself, had gone for the strawberry dream. It reminded me of my last boyfriend Joshua and the passion we’d shared for strawberries and cream. We’d spent many a night in bed exploring the possibilities of whipping cream and the plump, red fruit. Happy days when I had a place to live and someone to curl up to at night.

I let out a sigh, got pissed off with trying to tear the foil neatly, ripped it off and placed a chunk of the white chocolate into my mouth. It wasn’t unlike my best friend to go awol. It had just been a long time since he’d done it. And even though he was my best friend, he’d never said much about why he had a tendency to take off for a few days without a word and little explanations upon his return as to why he’d buggered off. He’d done it when we were recording a demo tape; the time we’d been across the other side of America and living in a squat whilst we played small gigs in the surrounded area. It wasn’t uncommon. It was just Mike for you. Quiet. Mr. Mysterious. That’s what he was. He kept himself to himself but slowly but surely across the years I’d known him, he’d started to let me in behind the hard brick walls that he’d built around him.

I took another square of my chocolate bar and placed it in my mouth, watching Mike who was still fiddling with the wrapper, his fingers shaking as they clawed and picked at the paper. In the end I took his hand, making his actions cease and his face look up at me.

“Stop fidgeting and tell me what’s wrong,” I told him sternly. Well, as stern as you can be when you’ve got a mouthful of a chocolate bar that reminds you of the best oral sex of your life.

“It was just the argument with Brad,” he sighed.

“What, that made you storm off and go walkabout for the rest of the night?” I asked, breaking another chunk of chocolate off.

He nodded his head.

It was understandable. I’d been on the receiving end of Brad Delson’s killer bad moods many a time. He always won, even against me and my stubborn ways. He had the ability to make anyone feel like they deserved a long walk alone after he’d raised his voice. But after yesterdays debacle between my best friend and the harsh spoken guitarist, Mike had disappeared for the whole night, our slot alongside the Killertricks had been jeopardized and the five of us, plus Rocky had spent the night trying to find Mike. It hadn’t been that much fun.

“Where’d you go then?” I asked.

“Oh just some seedy pub. It was worse than the place we were… meant to do a show at,” he let out a sigh.

“Then what? You got blinding drunk and fucked by some stranger in a bathroom stall?”

He didn’t answer, just kept on fiddling with the wrapper of his bar of chocolate.

“Come on Mike, this is me you’re talking to. Don’t sit there and be all quiet on me. So you got fucked by some stranger and then what?”

He sighed and looked up, “Then I drank some more and then I wondered around until I finally found my way back here and then Brad yelled at me some more…”

“And you feel better for meeting this stranger?”

His eyes narrowed at me, “What do you think?”

“I think you need to listen to what I told you the other week. So I’ll repeat it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, you can’t keep going off and getting drunk, ending up with some guy you don’t even know the
name of, Mike. What good does it do?”

He shrugged.

“Mike,” I sighed in exasperation.

“Okay it makes me feel good for a while. When I’m too drunk to think about everything I feel like I can escape and when there’s some guy who I don’t even fancy one bit touching me up I don’t stop them
because I…” he paused, “It makes me feel wanted…”

I stared at him, a feeling of guilt washing over me. Mike had been doing this for as long as I’d known him. He wasn’t some kind of whore, well, okay he was in a way because he slept around, not bothered about the consequences. I’d known it wasn’t because he had some egotistical plan of seeing how many men he could screw, because he wasn’t like that. I’d never known the real reason though, not until now, and hearing it kinda left me a little dazed.

“But…” I stopped, reaching my hand out to his, “Mike that’s… Why didn’t you tell me all of this before? We all get lonely but I didn’t know you were feeling that. Some fucking friend I am.”

“Well now you know,” he sighed, “Your best friend is a slut because he can’t stand the thought of being alone…”

“But you’re not alone! You’ve got me and the others, we all care for you so much. So you’ve had your ups and downs with Brad lately, but who doesn’t? Mike please stop doing this…”

He let out a sigh, “I only do it because for a few moments it makes me feel good…”

“You’re really that miserable, hey?”

He sighed again.

“Why didn’t you say? You promised me you’d tell me everything.”

“I’m telling you now.”

I stared back at him, seeing that vulnerable, naïve person; the boy with the killer smile which only seemed to hide what he was feeling inside. I watched him as he stared back at me and thought back to the day we first met, one summer five years ago when we’d both been working dead end jobs at the same grocery store. A warm feeling filled me up inside. I could feel the sun, see the golden fields that surrounded the store, taste the cheap cigarettes that we used to share out there during our breaks. We’d been best friends ever since and I’d always felt this connection with Mike, always thought that we had the ability to figure each others problems out but maybe I’d been wrong?

Things felt like they’d changed, yet they were the same and things felt the same, yet they’d changed. Confusing, I know. But here was the same kid that I’d met five years ago, just as messed up and fucked up as I was. I smiled at him and wrapped my arms around his body because sometimes actions speak louder than words.

*

I looked around the booth that the six of us were squeezed into and couldn’t help but let a small giggle roll off my lips. We looked even worse than Mike and I had done on our walk across the parking lot the day before.

To my left sat Phoenix. He was wearing some old woolly pullover that looked like something your Grandfather would find appealing. It had more moth holes in it than I cared to count and smelt somewhat unsavoury. His hair was today covered by an old trucker style cap, but chunks of it were poking out from underneath, sticking out at all angels. Opposite him sat Joe, still in his blue shell suit that made him look like a football coach rather than a DJ of a band. Beside him sat Rob, who was almost asleep; his head resting against his hand as he struggled to stay awake. Brad was next, his eyes keeping an unnerving gaze on Mike. I watched for a few minutes, thinking what a prat he looked with his hair tied back into a ponytail and his scrawny body hidden beneath an over sized and faded Vans shirt and a pair of khaki trousers that rustled just as loudly as Joe’s shell suit. Then there was Mike who was sitting next to me and looking paler and sicker by the second. His hair was flattened down and he now had two rather bruised and sore looking hands to go with his black eye. His black eyeliner was smudged, eyes bloodshot and red. There were love bites all over his neck which he’d tried to hide with his black scarf and pretty much failed to do so. He kept fidgeting and looking down at the stained table in front of him, pulling the sleeves of his black hoody down over his hands.

I dread to think what I looked like but all in all, cramped together in the seedy diner we looked a bloody state. I thanked God for Rocky who was coming back from the counter with a tray full of steaming mugs of coffee. He placed it down on the table and grabbed a chair which he sat on at the end of the booth, nodding and smiling as everyone muttered their appreciation for the much welcome nourishment that he was providing.

We all drank in silence, most likely simultaneously begging that the food come quickly before Rocky have a chance to talk to us about last night’s little fiasco. Well, all of us except Brad, I’m sure. Because he loved a drama, he loved a ‘discussion’ and a chance to sit there and be all smug and ‘I was right’ about things.

I found myself looking up at Brad again. We had a love-hate relationship. Had done ever since we’d first met. He was Mike’s friend from High School, who Mike had pre-warned me that he would come across as being a bit of an arrogant fucker, but deep down, when you got to know him, he was nice as pie. I’d either still not gotten to know him better then, or, as my better judgement told me, he was an arrogant fucker.

Mike, Brad and Rob had started this band about a year before I met them, and not long after I’d started to hang about with Mike, he’d asked me to join them. They’d needed a bass player and a vocalist and it just so happened that I could do both… to a degree. I wangled myself some singing lessons from my Father’s friend. An hours voice coaching cost me one blowjob.

I was being all jovial about it now, but it actually disgusted me to pieces.

I hadn’t been terribly good with the bass and that’s pretty much what made me see that Brad and I would never get on. He could have used a little more tact, some decorum perhaps? But, if I remember rightly his exact words were : ‘My fucking Nan could play better than you and she’s backwards, blind and has a prosthetic arm.’ I smacked him over the head with his guitar, ultimately winning myself further points in his ‘Who to be a bastard to’ book.

“Chester? Chester?”

I jumped and looked up to see Brad himself speaking my name.

“Sorry?” I asked, forcing my politeness with him, as ever.

Rocky cleared his throat, “We need to discuss last night,” he paused, looking at Mike than over at Brad, “In a friendly manner.”

“Sure,” the rest of us seemed to mumble at once.

“Okay then. I want to take this moment to remind you that you are all supposed to be friends,” he stopped, looking around at the six of us, before continuing, “I know that circumstances are a little unusual and that life on the road is tough, it’s therefore understandable that tempers get frayed a little but that is no excuse for what happened yesterday.”

His calm persona was fast wearing off, the creases in his brow making themselves that bit more visible. I begged the kitchen staff hurry up and bring our food out already.

“Mike,” Rocky turned to look at the nervous wreck beside me, “You get stoned in your own time. Not when you have a gig to perform. You also don’t bugger off without telling anyone. Not only did you let everyone down and lose us money, you also worried the hell out of us. I want your word that it won’t happen again. I’m trying to help you guys on the road to success, not the road to hell.”

“It won’t happen again,” Mike said, finally looking up from the table, “I’m sorry you guys…”

No one really said anything and Rocky took a breath and turned to Brad who up until now I swear was smirking at the treatment Mike had been getting.

“As for you Brad, I understood your argument with Mike but shouting and yelling at him was not the way to do it. I want the pair of you to apologise to one another…”

Brad sat there staring at Mike, who in turn was doing the same.

“Come on,” Rob was the one who finally interjected their game of ‘who can glare the best’, “Apologise already! This is stupid…”

“I’m sorry,” Mike whispered.

“Me too,” Brad grumbled.

“Well that went well,” Rocky sniped, taking a sip of his drink, “Maybe next time you fall out you’ll have grown up enough to not need my refereeing skills. Now, can we all put things into perspective here? Show. Tonight. On stage at nine o’clock. We’ll eat then go and run through the set. I want no shit, understand?”

As if on queue one of the young waiters came over with our food. We sat and ate it in silence.

*

Things felt like they were calming down after that day, but now I think about it, that was just the eerily quiet period before everything happened, before everything spiralled out of control and we didn’t even see what was happening right before our eyes.

*

TBC…

reviews = happy shinobi = updates… oh and be honest!

i would be in your arms....

2005-05-09T17:46:47Z

Title - cries in vain
Author - shinobi
Fandom - Linkin Park
Pairing - c/m
Genre - Angst
Rating - NC-17
Summery - [short, standalone] Brad’s eyes could tell a thousand stories but there’s no way he could literally tell them to a soul. Instead he’s just got to watch as the strain of fame slowly drives his band mates to destruction, one by one.

a/n - this is for halina and roz who’s writings inspire me no end. Repetition is deliberate. Please leave a review if you make it to the end.

*

Brad sees things that in retrospect he perhaps ought not to see. But then again, Brad’s always been like that, since the day he was born and somehow no matter how hard a person tries to block out the greying horrors of the world around them, it’s pretty much a failed task. Brad’s seen a lot through those brown eyes of his. A lot of bad things. He’s seen thunderstorms; the thick smog over Los Angeles caressing the fake tans and candy smiles; he’s seen muggings and random people getting beatings just because they look a little different. Those brown orbs have watched as his kid brother snapped the neck of their pet rabbit; his actions copying those of their father the night before. The night before was one cold, bitter memory in his childhood when Brad’s father strangled his mother with bare hands. Right before his eyes.

And still he sees it. A never ending montage of destruction, a filmstrip of ugly scenes and desperation. Loneliness and desolation make no bones about smothering his eyes. Call it what you will. He sees it every day of his life and he can’t do a damn thing about it because in one, simple word Brad Delson is helpless. Well, that’s what the people around him have made him believe.

*

Brad lies in his bunk on the tour bus he calls home. The muffled cries coming from the back of the bus cause his legs to move and even though he knows who they belong to, he still finds himself slipping out into the cold aisle and tiptoeing down to the backroom. The door’s always slightly open which puzzles Brad because surely he’s not the only one who knows what’s going on in there, surely someone else has seen. But as he looks back toward the front of the bus and is greeted with an empty darkness he realises that the rest of his band mates have better ways to spend their spare time than being cooped up in here. Alone.

A pained cry and Brad finds himself at the doorway, watching scenes through the crack in the door that tear his heart apart. Well, they do much more than that. It’s just hard for Brad to find words to describe what he feels when he watches Chester raping Mike for the fifth time that week. It’s only Tuesday. Brad leans against the wall, eyes caught upon the shadows that bounce around the walls inside. There’s two men in there but only one is moving; their heavy silhouette rocking back and forth in the dim light. And when Brad arches his neck and looks a little closer he can see Mike’s naked body on the floor and then he sees his face and the tears that run down his cheeks.

And when Brad realises that Mike’s staring back, he closes the door and walks back to his bunk because Mike wants to keep this quiet.

*

Brad knows it’s late and that perhaps he should be asleep when Joe steps on the bus and flicks the lights on. Joe’s with yet another woman that he’s obviously pulled this week at the after party and as Brad cranes his neck and peers out of the confines of his bunk he’s mildly surprised because lady number eight of the week isn’t peroxide blonde and it actually looks like her voluptuous breasts are real. Brad knows his assumption is correct when minutes later Joe has her sat up on the kitchen counter and his naked body crashes against hers. Brad stares into space, mentally counts down time until one or other of them cry something incoherent out and then the lady is dressed and gone from the bus quicker than you can utter jagged little thrill.

A shallow cry and Brad finds himself regretting that last thought. He looks on as Joe pulls on his shirt and boxers then sits down on the floor with a solid thud. He wipes furiously at his tears and Brad keeps on watching until finally he’s hopping down from his bunk and tiptoeing down toward the front of the bus. Joe stops sniffing just as Brad steps into the kitchenette but Joe just shakes his head and waves Brad away.

And when Brad’s getting back into his bunk, he hears the sound of the cupboards being open followed by the unmistaken crumpling of packets of chips and bars of chocolate. Later on Brad hears the eerie noises of someone retching in the bathroom. He closes his eyes and pulls his pillow over his head. It doesn’t block out the sounds but it reminds him that Joe wants to keep this secret.

*

Brad’s tired the next morning. In fact when he finally gets out his bunk it’s almost midday and as he pulls on some clothes that he’s not quite sure are his or Dave’s, he finds the shaven headed bassist sitting at the front of the bus with a big, dopey smile on his face. There’s three lines of cocaine neatly dancing across the cd case that sits in his lap and Brad’s hand reaches out just in time to stop Dave from leaning down and placing his rolled up dollar bill against the powder. Dave rolls his eyes, is quick to slap Brad’s prying hands away and so he flops down on the couch next to him and watches one of his best friends squander his life away.

A high pitched giggle escapes Dave’s lips and he falls back against the leather sofa with wide eyes and a hazy gleam to his smile. Brad sighs and bites down on his bottom lip. He does this when he’s at that desolate point halfway between exasperation and utter despair. In other words he does it a lot and that’s probably why these days his lips are always sore. Dave leans down and snorts another three lines. All in one go and practically without pausing for breath. Dave tells him that he’s fucking hardcore now and then he bursts into mechanical fits of laughter.

And when the cd case falls to the floor and Rob walks in with a bemused look on his face, Brad is quick to snatch the dollar bill away and makes sure to squat away any white powder that has clung itself to Dave. No matter how dangerous it is, Dave has sworn Brad to secrecy about his addiction and Brad, well, he couldn’t tell anyone if he wanted to. He never breaks his promises.

*

Brad’s eating toast later on when Rob comes into the quiet kitchen and sits down with a dejected sigh. He asks Brad where in fuck are they driving to because he feels lost and Brad points to a battered brochure, his finger prodding the scarlet letters of ‘Toulouse’ that shimmy on the front cover. Rob shrugs and says he’s still lost. Brad sits down and offers him some toast but Rob refuses because he’s not had an appetite at all this tour. Brad’s not entirely sure if it’s the ever changing climates of Europe or the fact that Rob’s being sinking further and further into depression since they flew out here.

An eerie silence drifts awkwardly between them and for a few miles all that Brad can hear is the solid hum of the engine beneath him, well, that and the sound of Mike crying. Again. Rob starts to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves, out of habit more than anything but Brad, he knows what’s under those baggy sleeves and it scares the hell out of him. When Rob lets out yet another sigh and glances at his watch, Brad feels sick when he catches a glimpse of bandage that he guesses was once white. Only now it’s stained red.

And when Brad instinctively reaches out to touch Rob’s wrist the younger drummer begins to cry, soft sobs escaping from much further down than his throat. Brad wishes he would tell him why he can’t end this fateful rendezvous with his razor blade but Rob, Rob doesn’t want to answer him. He wants to pretend this isn’t happening; he wants to make Brad pretend too and remember, Brad’s brilliant at pretending even if it does come at a cost.

*

Brad’s sick and tired of feeling trapped by request of his friends forcing him to hoard away their secrets and self destructive tendencies. The thing is, Brad himself isn’t much better. He tries to keep sane, he really does because he reckons if one of them keeps their sanity in tact then it’s got to keep the others safe, right? Only safe is the last feeling that comes to mind when he sits in his bunk after yet another show and listens to Chester as he shouts at Mike and Mike in turn cries out when he finds himself being torn apart yet again.

Brad tiptoes to the back of the bus again and finds his knuckles turning white as they grip onto the doorframe. Chester’s laughter is malicious as it rings through the small room and when he’s finished his bottle of vodka, he slams it down on the floor and tells Mike in a sing song voice that he does love him really. Brad tries not to cry as Mike whimpers and his voice asks Chester to be a little gentler tonight. Brad has to look away and the next thing he knows he’s in the toilet throwing up because deep down Brad really can’t stand the sight of blood. He’d never tell anyone that because he figures that if everyone else has secrets then so can he.

It’s early morning when Brad’s sleep is disturbed and a forlorn Mike is standing outside his bunk with tears spiralling down his pale cheeks. Brad lets him in as ever, his gentle hands helping his best friend inside; his arms wrapping Mike up and holding him close. Mike sniffles and tells Brad that Chester does love him but he just gets a little angry with himself for doing so. Brad knows as well as Mike that he’s only trying to convince himself that. Brad sighs and after much scurrying around he finds a scrap of paper and his beloved pen. He’ll try once more he guesses, even if it does pain him to tell. Brad scrawls it down on the torn white page; ‘He’s using you and I’m only being so brutal because I care.’

And when Brad passes Mike the note, well, Mike just screws it up in disgust and then he’s gone which is a shame really because he could have done with Mike’s company. How selfish though of him to think that friendship could be a two way thing. Brad slams his head against the wall and closes his eyes. Brad’s sick of all of this.

*

Brad’s barely got back to sleep when he hears a crash and sounds of giggles and high pitched voices. He rubs his tired eyes and opens the curtain to his bunk to see Joe and two bleach blonde girls who can’t be any older than sixteen crashing about in the front of the bus. Brad has to look away because he’s sure that what they’re doing isn’t legal. When the cries and moans have come to an end and the silicone jailbaits have left, Brad waits as if on queue for Joe to hit the fridge. He’s kind of surprised when he doesn’t and a few minutes later, Joe looks up and gives Brad a wry smile. He tells Brad it’s late and he should be asleep. Brad glares back because he hates being treated like a kid. He likes to be treated the same, Joe of all people should know that.

Brad hops down and walks over to Joe, he raises his eyebrows and Joe knows damn well that he’s asking what the fuck those two girls were all about. Joe tells him not to bother asking and Brad laughs at the irony in that statement. Joe’s about to apologise when he slumps back against the counter and shakes his head. Joe tells Brad that for those ten minutes he felt more wanted than he has done for the past month, and if that’s the only way he can get a little happiness then so be it. Brad just pats Joe on the back and wonders when he became so fucking pessimistic.

And when Brad finally climbs back into his bunk, he falls asleep where a mirage of fragmented dreams take over his mind. Sometimes Brad wishes real life was a fucking dream. Things would be so much easier that way.

*

Brad stares out of the window as he sits in the lounge with a steaming cup of black coffee in his hands. A bleak staidness greats him as the bus rolls across France and he quickly realises that all those pictures he had in his head of a country of quaint little fishing towns and jolly old ladies scurrying around in blazing summer sun were very misleading. Then again it is the middle of winter and sometimes the seasons distort your mind and along comes the belief that everything is bleak.

Brad doesn’t have to look up to see that the person suddenly standing beside him is Dave. He’s always up after Brad because his bunk is beneath, and no matter how quiet he is, the bassist is always woken. Brad’s not sure if the drugs he’s been pumping into just about every part of his body have effected his sleep but he swears he’s becoming much more agitated these days. Dave takes a seat next to Brad, half mumbling good morning as he rolls up his sleeve and starts to pat his wrist. Brad asks him to stop but Dave just gives him a bitter smile and tells him that if he stops then so does his whole existence. The words hit Brad really hard and are still spinning around his head when the needle drops from Dave’s grasp to the floor and his body shortly follows.

And as Brad picks him up and conceals the needle, he wonders why they all worked so hard to follow their childhood dreams and have them turn into reality, because it’s plain to see that they’re all being crushed to misery by their fucking dreams. Brad rolls down Dave’s sleeves, throws the needle in a bin because Dave says they’ll be in so much trouble if anyone finds out about this. Brad spent most of his teenage years being in trouble and he can’t forget the punishment he received. That’s why Brad doesn’t tell. He’s scared of the consequences. He’s always so scared.

*

Brad can’t understand a word on the TV screen in front of him. Rob says trying to understand French is the most fun thing he’s done in ages. Rob adds that that’s how fucking crap his life has become. Then he switches off the TV and throws the remote across the other side of the bus. Brad just stays still and bites his lip as Rob continues to sound off before stating that he wants to break something right now. He asks Brad if he’s ever felt like that and yes, he has so Brad nods his head. Rob smiles, leans closer and asks if Brad’s ever felt like breaking his own wrist because he sure as hell feels that way right now. Brad is scared at the menace in Rob’s eyes because he can feel it seething off every part of the drummer. Rob gets to his feet and storms off.

Brad’s not sure what to do. Brad’s not too good and dealing with his manic depressive friend. He ends up following him though, finding him crying in the bathroom and clawing at the scabs on his wrist with bitten down finger nails. Brad’s not convinced he’s strong enough to help Rob by himself.

And when Rob finally stops crying, Brad feels like he’s had the air sucked out of his lungs. He wonders if this is the way he’ll feel when he finds Rob’s body because Rob’s told Brad that suicide seems like a pretty good option. Brad wants to tell someone, but Rob, he says he’ll kill himself if Brad dares to mention it to a soul.

*

Brad feels like shit. England is colder than France and he doesn’t think much to their heating systems, that’s if they actually have any because an igloo is probably warmer than his hotel room and as for the conference room he and his five band mates are sitting in, well, it leaves a lot to be desired. Brad tugs his hoody tighter around him and as they wait for the next interviewer to appear, he takes this time to take a really good look at his band mates and surprise, surprise, it makes him feel queasy.

Rob looks like a vague memory of what Rob used to look like. Skin pallid, eyes sunken, he looks like he’s screaming to be saved and that confuses Brad because Rob says he wants to escape, sometime soon, when he’s seen a little more of the world and isn’t so much of a coward. That confuses Brad further more because he was once told that people who committed suicide were cowards. Then again what would Brad know?

Dave sits next to Rob, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee that jiggles up and down in time to the imaginary song that’s playing in his head. Brad watches as Dave glances around the room, eyes wide and composure edgy, almost like he’s looking for hidden cameras that he’s probably convinced are watching his every move. It’s a shame. Dave used to be such a laid back, approachable guy.

Joe is slumped in the next chair, hand clutching his stomach because in between sucking on various throat lozenges he’s been non stop complaining of rotten stomach ache. Brad sent him a text message on the drive over, told him he should see a doctor because there was clearly something wrong. He never returned the message though.

Chester sits in the next seat along, eyes hidden by expensive looking shades; cell phone in one hand and cigarette in the other. He stares blankly ahead, body protected by expensive clothes and smartly polished boots. Brad notes the strong scent of cologne wafting from his direction. It’s no doubt to hide the smell of the straight Gin he drank for breakfast.

And finally there’s Mike. Brad’s heart cracks a little more not because he loves Mike any more than the others; it’s because he’s the one that’s hanging on by the thinnest strand of thread and if the stubborn idiot would only let him, then Brad could help him so, so much. Mike’s black eyes are hidden well by his thick framed glasses and the peak of his green LA cap. Skin as pale as Rob’s is tightly drawn over prominent cheekbones. Bruises are scattered up and down his arms, but they’re covered, as ever by a black hoody that seems to sing it’s own merciless funeral song. His legs and arms shake and he keeps his distance from everyone else which seems so foreign because Mike used to be so good at putting on a happy front. So good in fact, that his façade fooled Brad and it wasn’t until two months ago when this tour started and he walked in on Chester fucking him into a hotel wall that Brad realised it had been just that; a fucking façade.

Brad sighs and looks down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. He wishes that he could end it all, cast a spell on this endless black cloud that’s reigning over the band but he’s no fairy and this is no fucking fairy tale. It’s real. It’s happening and that thought alone brings a lump to the back of his throat. He’s short of running to the door and finding the nearest toilet so he can throw up but then the interviewer walks in, straightens down her dress as she takes a seat and promptly begins to real of a bunch of questions.

Brad’s barely listening, he’s just aware of Chester’s smooth bullshit voice running the mill, interjected every so often by someone else because he always leave the answers to them. It’s the only way. But then there’s a pause and Brad realises he’s been spoken to.

‘And Brad, do you have any advice for any fans who are living with similar medical conditions as you?’

Brad glances up, notices the pen and pad being thrust his way and takes them, though not sure he actually wants to answer the fucking question. Medical Condition makes him feel uneasy, brings back the fears and memories of when he could never fit in because the only place he’s ever felt accepted is in his band. He hears her say how hard it must be as he pushes pen to paper and in his thick scrawled writing he writes; ‘I don’t have advice anymore. No one ever wants to hear it.’

Passing the notepad back, Brad watches as the interviewer reads the message, and not sure what to make of it, she swiftly moves on to asking Chester how many tattoos he has now. He makes some joke that his latest one says ‘Mike is my bitch‘, and it really pisses Brad off because given half the chance Chester would get that inked on his poisonous skin.

*

When Brad was younger he was told by one of many specialist Doctors that when one sense or part of your body doesn’t work, then you often find that another grows stronger. Like with some people who are blind their sense of hearing increases. He was told in his case that with not having a voice, being a mute, he may find that his sight was that bit stronger than normal and his hearing, well that was probably impeccable.

Brad wasn’t sure if that were a good thing. He didn’t know if it were even true but it sure as hell felt that way. He couldn’t help but question it though. Was he more aware or were his friends just blinkered by their own problems? He often thought about that question.

*

And when Brad slips back to the safety of his bunk he not only hears Dave’s snorts and Rob’s hisses and the creak as the refrigerator door opens, he also hears Mike tossing and turning in his sleep. Brad stops by Mike’s bunk, leans down and watches his best friend fighting against the demons of his dreams. Brad wishes they’d go away, but he knows as well as Mike that the only way they’ll ever stop is when Chester stops his abuse. They both know that’s not going to happen anytime soon and Brad climbs into his bunk with tears pouring down his face because he can either help Mike and ruin the band or he can do as Mike says and keep quiet. He realises it’s the same with everyone. Ruin their lives, ruin everyone’s dreams or keep quiet. Brad’s good at keeping quiet, really good.

That’s probably why everyone tells him their secrets.

END

shinobi, may 2005.