I want to cry, but I can't. Damn tear ducts! Will you fucking cry already?!
I need to get something out. You're my only way.
God, why is it me? Why do I have to be put this all of this shit?! I've been
through enough already, will you take it away?
Jon drew his legs up to his chest and hugged them tightly. He dropped his
chin onto his sweatpants-clad knees and curled up tightly against the bus'
seat.
Why? Whywhywhywhywhy? Why do I always have to feel this fucking anger? This
bitterness, this frustration! God, tell me! Why won't you tell me?! Let me
have peace for awhile! I hate this! No one understands! Hell, I don't even
understand!!
He stared icily outside the window. It was dark out. Dark. That's how he
felt. That's how his life is. There's no lightbulb to click on to flood his
life with bright, happiness. He keeps running and running away and it keeps
following him.
His mind was suddenly surged with memories. Thoughts. His past, his present,
and his potential. He remembered it all, and dug his nails into his arms. He
breathed heavily and bit his bottom lip as a crystal tear fell from his eye.
He felt a chill dance down his spine as tears began to steadily flow down
his cheeks. He whimpered softly and his lips curved into a sad frown as he
cried.
He couldn't stop thinking. He held his legs tighter as his body heaved with
painful sobs, his quiet weeps heard unbeknownst to him by a figure standing
in the doorway of the room.
Jon awoke the sounds of his fellow bandmates chatting in the front of the
bus. He groaned softly as he stretched his stiff limbs out and blinked as
the harsh morning sun beat down on his face. He got up and shuffled sleepily
to where the rest of the guys were, who immediately ceased talking as he
walked in.
"Morning, Jon," David said brightly.
"Hey, Jon!" the others chimed in.
A dubious look crossed Jon's face. "Uh. huh."
"You want a muffin?" Head offered.
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry. Is there any coffee left?"
"Yep," replied Fieldy. He handed Jon a cup of freshly brewed caffeine.
"Thanks," he said, grasping the hot mug and walked back to the back room.
Munky waited until the door closed before he lowered his head and voice.
"I'm telling you, he's getting worse."
"I tried talking to him many times before," whispered Fieldy. "He's too damn
stubborn to even consider speaking with a doctor!"
Head sighed worriedly. "I hope he'll listen before something happens."
Jon took a sip of the bitter coffee. Its hot temperature scalded his throat
and he swalloed quickly, cringing. I deserve it, he thought miserably. It's
all my fault. He took another swig of his drink and only shuddered slightly
as the boiling liquid ran down his throat.
I'm such a loser. I don't deserve this. I deserve all of the shit that's
happened to me. I hate this. I hate my life. I hate myself. Fuck!
A solitary tear trickled down his cheek and splashed into his coffee. He
sniffled quickly and took another drink, accepting the pain that burned his
tongue.
He sighed and stared listlessly out the tinted window. He saw past the
beautiful landscape as they passed. Its ugliness, its dark side. Everything
has a bad side. And I'm stuck with the worst. He then remembered. Tonight..
a concert! He smiled softly. He loved to see all the fans, hear their
screaming, their cheering, their chanting, "Korn! Korn! Korn!" Maybe today
won't be too bad. His smile widened even more. He felt happiness and
excitement churn. He suddenly couldn't wait for tonight. He jumped up from
his seat and wandered back to the bus' kitchenette to fill up on more
coffee.
"Hey guys," he greeted the others cheerily.
They all exchanged glances.
"What?!" Jon exclaimed with a hint of a giggle.
"Um, nothing," replied Fieldy. "You ready for rehearsal?"
"Hell, yeah," was his response. "I'm all ready!" To prove it, he did a
little of his freak-out thing before collapsing on a near-by bunk in a fit
of laughter.
Head cocked an eyebrow up. "Yeeah."
"Yeeah," echoed Jon. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."
Munky winced. It was going to be a long day.
"No, no, stop, sorry," said David. "Do it again."
Head gave a small breath of exasperation and began the introduction to
Falling Away From Me for about the fifth time. Munky nodded his head
slightly to the rhythm before joining in. Jon was idly staring out into the
empty forum. He began to sing, "I am watching.." He was cut short by the
buzz of the guitars stopping and complaints arising from his bandmates.
"Dammit Jon!" cried Fieldy. "This is probably the hundredth time we had to
start over on the song and you fucked it up about half of it!"
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He felt an unwanted flush in his cheeks.
"Get focused!" David snapped irritably. He muttered something under his
breath and Jon was certain it contained the word faget.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the microphone again. He felt the tears
stinging in his eyes and his throat tightening. He quickly turned around and
ran off of the stage.
"Oh, man," sighed Head.
Fieldy put his bass on the floor. "I'm going to go find him." He ran down
the backsteps of the stage and into the illuminated hallway where he saw one
of the doors slam shut. He jogged up to it and knocked on it. "Jon?"
"G-go away!"
He grabbed the doorknob just as Jon tried to lock it from his side. He
turned it and pushed it open with such force Jon tripped from trying to keep
his balance and he fell onto the floor.
"Fuck, I'm sorry," Fieldy apologized kneeling down and putting an arm out
toward Jon.
"No!" he cried, backing into the corner. He pressed his face to his knees
and began to sob hysterically. "Get out of here!"
"Dude, Jon, what the fuck is wrong?" Fieldy asked in a soft voice. He sat
down next to Jon and put an arm around his shoulders. He sat there for a
minute or so, watching Jon as he cried. "Will you please tell me?"
"No!" refused Jon, looking up at him with anger in his eyes. He stood up and
left the room in a huff.
Fieldy rolled his eyes. He was sick of this. If Jon needed help, he wouldn't
go groveling at his feet to beg to ask him what's wrong. For once, Jon would
have to approach the guys and not the other way around.
The persistant, constant yells of the fans echoed in the coliseum. "KoRn!
KoRn! KoRn!" Their shouts could even be heard in the group's dressing room
where they were preparing for another big night.
David took a long, noisy slurp from his beer. Just as he was doing so,
Fieldy, who was standing behind him, jumped at him and violently shook his
chair. David's eyes bugged out and he sprayed his beer out, coughing. Fieldy
laughed as David dramatically fell to the ground in a writhing, coughing
heap.
Head turned to Munky and spat out some soggy, chewed-up sunflower husks at
him. Munky in turn, shot a few M&M's at Head's face. Before long, the four
were engaged in a playful beer-throwing, sunflower seed-spitting,
M&M-shooting fight. Jon sat away, watching his friends going crazy, with a
half-smile on his face.
The door opened up a few inches and their road manager peeked his face in.
"You guys ready?"
Instantly, they froze, with expressions of little boys playing around and
their mother catching them in the act. "Yeah! Give us a minute," grinned
Fieldy, his beer can poised over Munky's head.
The manager nodded and closed the door. Immediately Fieldy dumped the rest
of his beer and Munky gave a shriek. He grabbed a fistful of tissues and
pressed it on his hair, trying to soak up most of it. Head grabbed the wet
tissues from Munky's hand and put it to his lips where he tried to suck out
the beer.
"That's disgusting!" cackled David.
Jon gazed at his bandmates, jealous. Why can't I be like that?
"Let's go!" Munky exclaimed, jumping up, heading for the door. Obviously,
the candy and beer load gave him a surge of energy and he bashed right into
the door. Fieldy burst out laughing and David bent over, wrapping his arms
around his stomach as he cracked up.
Head glanced at Jon who was sitting in a chair, quiet as ever. His eyes were
focused on something, just staring into space. "Jon?"
"Hmm?"
"You ready?"
"Oh. Yeah." He got up from the chair and followed the rest of the group out
of the room and down the corridor that led to the stage. As they approached
it, the cries of the fans became louder and louder. Jon felt his throat
clench and his eyes began to sting. Emotions trickled down his spine, down
his arms. He could sense the excitement in the air and became overwhelmed
with anxiety.
The thousands of fans roared with delight when they heard the beginning of
Dead. When Kill You began later on in the show, Jon shuddered inwardly. He
didn't want to sing it. He couldn't stop it though. All the fans were
waiting, expecting him to sing.
He clutched the microphone in his sweaty palms with a death grip. He noticed
his hands were shaking and the mic stand tilted a little from his uneasy
hold. He put his mouth closer and sang, "Livin' life.. Don't you cry." He
was answered with frantic screams and cheers. "My life.. pain is God." As he
sang, the fans cheered more and more, and the emotions became more and more.
As he cried out, "..Were you with a knife up your ass, so I popped some more
caps in your ass, now your son is not so fun.." it soon overwhelmed him and
by the time he was bellowing, "Wish! You were dead!" He began to sink to his
knees, incapacitated with the sensations flowing through him. He was on his
back on the floor, crying and choking out the words. It was extremely
emotional, more than he had performed in a long time. Some of the devoted
fans in the pit were staring in awe and shock.
Munky looked up at Fieldy. Something was very wrong.
After the concert, Jon immediately retreated to the tour bus, while the rest
of the guys were backstage in the after-show party where some lucky fans
were able to attend.
A redheaded teenager ran up to Head. All over her body was written KORN. Her
friend was clinging to her arm, giggling nervously. "You're so awesome!" the
first girl cried, tears running down her cheeks. "We're such huge fans, will
you please take a picture with us?!"
Head gave a tired but friendly smile to the girls. "Of course!" The girls
cried out, ecstatic. The redhead motioned anxiously for someone who appeared
to be her father to come over. Head put his arms around the jumpy girls and
grinned politely for the camera.
"Thank you so much!" exclaimed the girl.
"No problem," he said. He noticed that she was holding a small poster of the
band and offered to sign it for her, which she happily accepted.
"I drew this for you," the other one said shyly. She pulled a paper out of a
small folder she clutched in her hand and handed it to Head. It was an
incredible sketch of him playing the guitar.
He stared at it, amazed. "That is really good! I'm flattered, thank you!"
She blushed. "Thanks."
Her flamboyant friend spoke up, "Do you know where Jon is by chance?"
Munky frowned slightly. "No, I'm sorry.."
"Oh," she said, obviously crushed.
"Will you give this to him, please?" the quiet girl asked, showing him
another drawing.
Head took the picture. "Sure!"
She flashed another happy smile at him before her friend grabbed her hand
and dragged her over to where Fieldy stood chatting with a few people.
Head looked at the other paper in his hand. It was a beautiful sketch of Jon
screaming into a microphone, a painful expression over his face. He slipped
out of the area and went out to the back parking lot where the bus was
parked.
Some fans were clutching the fence that blocked them from getting near the
bus. They screamed and cheered when they saw Head walked by who waved. A few
security guards walked over to the kids who quickly split. Head cautiously
opened up the door of the bus and silently went inside. He nearly tiptoed
down the narrow hall where he heard heavy sobs from the back room. He pushed
the door open a crack. "Jon?"
The sobbing was interrupted by a panicked shout. "Get out of here!!"
Head flung the door open and his jaw dropped as he saw Jon kneeling on the
floor, hunched over with a knife hovering over his wrist. "Jonathan!" he
screamed.
Jon's head bolted up and he stared momentarily at Head with tear-filled
eyes. "This is for the best!" he sobbed. He lowered the knife and was about
to rub it against his skin when Head dove at him, snatching the knife and
hurling it away blindly.
Jon was paralyzed for a moment staring at his wrist which was not cut. He
panted heavily then began to cry uncontrollably. Head immediately grabbed
him in a tight hug, pressing Jon's head into his shoulder where he wept. His
hand soothingly stroked Jon's hair and he whispered, "It's okay, it's okay.
I'm here for you." He repeated those words over and over until Jon cried
himself to sleep.
"Isn't that cuuuuute?" a snickering voice whispered.
"Where's the camera, I have to get a picture of this!" another one
responded.
"They've been like that all night, shouldn't you have gotten one then?!"
Head grunted and slowly opened his eyes. Standing in front of him were
Munky, David and Fieldy, all with grins on their faces.
"Smile!" said Munky, whipping out a camera and taking a picture.
"Huh?" Head mumbled, squinting his eyes to rid of the flash silhouettes. He
felt someone's body pressing into his and he looked down. Jon was fast
asleep in Head's side, his neck tilted down so that his dark hair made a
curtain in front of his face. Head's arm was over Jon's shoulders.
Munky put a hand to his mouth and try to muffle a laugh which ended up to be
a loud snort. "Had fun last night?"
Head scowled at Munky. "Dude, I found him last night trying to fucking kill
himself. He was crying and crying and just cried himself to sleep."
Instantly, the giddy looks from their faces were replaced with solemn ones.
"He tried.. to kill himself?" whispered Fieldy.
"This is serious," David said. "Out of control. We have to do something."
"But what?" Head said, nodded at the sleeping man. "He refuses any help."
"He's going to go along whether he likes it or not," Fieldy said. "Let's get
him in his bunk, then when he wakes up we can try to talk to him."
"Absolutely not."
Head, Munky, Fieldy and David all sighed, exasperated.
"Why not?" demanded Munky, glaring at Jon.
Jon looked away. "Because. I can--"
"You can what? Try to kill yourself?" snapped Head. "You were this close to
slicing your wrist, Jonathan. This is not to be taken lightly!"
Jon glanced at Head. "If you let me finish, I was going to say that I can
handle this myself."
"Bullshit!" exploded Fieldy. "Jon, we've seen you suffer way too long. Just
last night I thought you weren't going to be able to finish the set!"
"I always get emotional during some songs, is that a crime?" he retorted.
"Emotional?! That was emotional to the extreme, we haven't seen you like
that in years!" David cried.
"Look. This is my life," Jon said coolly. He stood up and folded his arms.
"Let me take care of it, alright? This does not concern you."
"Yes, it does," Fieldy said quietly.
"Oh, really? And why do you think that?"
"Because we care Jon," Head exclaimed. "We care about you, and what
decisions you're making. And by the looks of it, they're not good ones right
now."
Jon shook his head and raised his palms in a "I-can't-believe-this" fashion
as he searched for words. "This-this conversation is over. I don't want to
talk about it again." He stormed away, going back to the rec room and
slamming the door.
"Get the map and find a phone book," ordered Munky.
"Why?" asked David, getting up.
"Because we're going to get him the help he needs."
Jon's ears began to feel pained as he stalked over to the couch. His vision
was dotted with black and his breathing became labored. He grabbed the
remote control for the television and clicked it on, squeezing the remote to
contain his anger.
"You.. can't tell me what to fucking do," he muttered angrily under his
breath as frustrated tears slipped out of his eyes. He stared at the TV
which was playing a marathon of Saturday Night Live. He cracked a smile when
the guest star tried to seduce Mango and for awhile, he forgot about what
happened until the door opened and the guys came in. He glanced up at them
and gave an irritated sigh to let them know he was angry.
"Hey, SNL," said David, plopping down on the other couch.
"I love this episode," exclaimed Munky.
"Mango!" cried Fieldy, taking a seat on the floor.
"Anyone want a beer?" asked Head. Everyone but Jon answered with an
enthusiastic "yeah!"
Head peeked into the small bar refrigerator. "Jon? You want one?"
Jon made a short noise that somewhat sounded like a "yeah."
SNL was watched without anyone making a sound, except for the occasional
laugh. Beer was in abudance and Jon thoroughly enjoyed it, and soon became
nearly intoxicated.
"That Mary," Jon chuckled, slightly slurring his words. "Always sniffin' her
pits.. messin' up."
"You gotta love the Spartans though," mused David.
"U-G-L-Y!" chanted Fieldy, imitating one of the Spartans' cheers.
"You ain't go no alibi," joined in Munky. Together, they laughed and
continued on, "You ugly! Yeah, yeah, you ugly!"
Their words caused Jon to shudder. Those damn cheerleaders are talkin' about
me.. they're right. I am ugly. I'm worthless. "Stop," he cried, drunkenly.
"Don't-don't rub it in." He tried to jump to his feet and managed to stand,
swaying slightly.
"Are you okay?" Head asked.
"No! I'm not!" he exclaimed, crunching his beer can in his fist and throwing
it at the door. "I'm sick of it! Just stop! I want it to, I want it to end!"
He stumbled over toward the bathroom and his worried bandmates quickly got
up and followed him.
"What are you doing?" exclaimed Head.
"Sumthin' I shoulda done loooong ago!" declared Jon, opening the small
medicine cabinet. He snatched a bottle of aspirin and popped the cap open.
"What?! Stop it!" yelled Fieldy, reaching for the bottle. He and Munky tried
to pry it away from Jon who cried out in protest, struggling to move it to
his lips. He quickly broke away from their grip and dumped the remaining
pills that hadn't fallen out into his mouth.
"Spit it out!" screamed David.
Jon shook his head feverently. Fieldy clamped one hand on Jon's head and the
other on his jaw. He used all his strength to pull Jon's mouth open, but it
became futile when Jon jerked forward and swallowed the few pills left.
"Get out of the way!" yelped David. He quickly squeezed into the small
bathroom and got on Jon's other side. "At 3, hold his head back, Fieldy! 1,
2, 3!" Fieldy grabbed Jon's head and held it to the wall. "Munky! Help me
get his mouth open!" David exclaimed, panicking. He and Munky managed to pry
Jon's mouth open. Munky and Fieldy held it open as David's eyes searched for
something. He snatched someone's toothbrush off of the counter and fuzzy-end
first, jammed it down Jon's throat and pressed his knuckles into his stomach
to induce vomiting.
Jon gagged painfully as he tried to struggle out of everyone's grasp. He
coughed violently and David shoved his head at the toilet where Jon puked in
it. Pale liquid spewed from his lips as well as saliva-coated pills.
David sat back as Jon continued to throw up. "That was pure luck. Thank God
we got it."
"You owe me a new toothbrush!" said Head with a relieved smile.
Before he opened his eyes, he knew he had a headache. His temples throbbed
mercilessly. Jon forced his eyes open and saw that he was lying in his bunk.
He moaned as he rolled on his side. His knees smashed into the bunk above
him and he muttered obscenities under his breath.
Stretching his arms out through the curtain, his hands landed on the soft
carpet and he dragged himself out of the bed. His head was pounding and his
throat was raw-feeling. He groaned as he slumped out of the bunk and laid on
his back. He looked up and saw Head standing over him.
Head's expression was not that of a good one. Instead of his somewhat
irritated look of when he found Jon lying on the floor with a hangover, he
looked extremely worried.
"Whuu?" Jon grunted. Head just sighed and stepped over Jon. Everyone was
getting ready to get off the bus.
"Where are we?" Jon asked, still lying on the floor.
"We're at the hotel, dude," Munky said, grabbing a large duffel bag from a
top bunk. "Get your stuff, let's go."
Jon painfully sat up, his headache still pounding. He grabbed his own bag
and followed Munky off the bus outside where the others were heading for the
hotel. It was chilly for the sun was setting. The surroundings were familiar
and Jon realized they were in Bakersfield for the night.
The hotel rooms were a complete luxury in comparison to their cramped, bumpy
bus which gave them intense cases of claustrophobia more than one human
could take. As soon as Jon got into his room, he quietly closed the door,
dumped his bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment. Those happy, spirally designs were
too distracting. He averted his eyes to a painting on the wall. It was of
two women sitting at a table, sipping coffee with a silhouette of the Eiffel
Tower in the background. Their pointed, cream-colored faces were turned to
look at viewers. Jon felt an icy chill shudder through his arms. They're
looking at me. Even the fucking painting can't stand the site of me. With
each second, it seemed to Jon as if their bland, mild expressions were
turning horrified and disgusted before they looked away.
He glared, peeved, at the photo. He reached into his pocket and pulled out
his wallet and flipped through the pictures in it. He stopped at one of
Nathan, who was smiling happily in the arms of Renee. Instantly, the tears
welled up in Jon's eyes and his heart leaped into his throat. He traced
Nathan's hair in the photograph with his pinky's tip, wishing he could at
this moment be brushing his hand through his son's shaggy mane of soft brown
locks and feeling his affectionate kisses being planted on his cheek.
Look at me.. Pathetic! I can't even be a good father to my own boy. The
plastic of the picture's cover was blurred from the teardrops slipping from
Jon's eyes.
He soughed and reached an unsteady hand for the telephone. He picked up the
receiver and slowly punched in numbers. The loud ringing buzzed irritably in
his ear which was interrupted by a child's giggling and a mother's distinct
shouting of, "Don't touch the phone!"
Jon smiled faintly at Renee's protest in the background, and his smile grew
even larger as he heard Nathan squeal into the phone, "Hello!?"
"Hey, buddy," Jon said gently.
There was a brief pause. "Who this?"
Jon couldn't help but exhale, astonished. His heart dropped. "It-it's me,
Nate. Don't you recognize my voice?"
"Huh.. Oh! Hi, daddy." His tone seemed a tad less than enthusiastic. "Um,
when you coming home?"
His stomach clenched. "I'll be by to visit when we get closer to town."
"Oh. Mommy talk to you." There was a rustling sound as the phone was handed
to Renee.
"Hey, honey," she said. "How you been?"
"Fine," he lied. "Good, good."
"Where are you right now?"
"We're in uh, Bako."
"Will you be by to visit?"
"Of course, baby."
She was quiet for a moment. "Nate misses you. I do too."
Jon swallowed hard to try to dissolve the lump in his throat. "I.. miss you
guys too." I don't deserve them, he thought. They don't deserve to be put
through this.
"I've gotta run now," Renee said. "Nate has a dentist appointment. Love
you."
"I love you," he said softly.
"Say bye-bye to Daddy," Renee said, handing the phone to Nathan, who
exclaimed his good-bye and I love you, which Jon repeated lovingly in
return.
Resting the receiver back in the cradle, Jon stared at the floor. Again, his
eyes blurred with tears and he put his hands to his face. He whimpered
hopelessly as his memories and thoughts began to haunt him again. Words
swirled madly in his mind, words he couldn't even begin to explain and say.
They stabbed at his heart and mind and before long he was on the floor in a
ball, hugging his knees, sobbing and shaking. His lips trembled faster than
his knees shook and panicked, child-like cries escaped from his mouth.
He lifted his head to wipe his nose on the back of his hand. He squinted at
the setting sun. He felt an eerie chill run through his body as he saw the
grassy hotel yard below him. He stood up and gazed outside the window. He
imagined throwing himself through the window. In his mind, he saw the glass
shattering and as if in slow-motion, him, falling and falling until he
impacts the ground below. Ending it. Ending all of his misery.
His tears fogged up the section of the window his face was near. Suddenly,
that mental image seemed all too real and he wanted it to become that
reality. He stepped back toward the bed and stared at the window. Taking a
deep breath, he then threw his entire body into the glass.
Thud!
He practically bounced right off the glass, landing on the floor heavily. He
moaned, rubbing his shoulder, but was too worked up to worry about it.
"Jon? What happened?" Munky asked, peeking his head in through the
conjoining door.
"Nothing!" wailed Jon tearfully. "Get out of here!"
"Jon," Munky said gently. "Stop turning away from us." He walked up to Jon,
who was still curled up on the floor, bawling away. He knelt down next to
his friend and offered him his hand. Jon sniffled, not sure what to do, then
extended his own hand which Munky grasped and helped pull him up into a
sitting position. He put his arms around the still-crying Jon whose muscles
relaxed in the comforting hug.
"We made you an appointment to see your old therapist," Munky finally said.
"What?" Jon said dully, pulling away. "Why did you do that?"
Munky sighed, putting his fingers to his temples and massaging them. "For
the millionth time Jon, you need help."
"No one can help me," Jon replied in the same monotonous voice.
"Look," Munky said, standing up. He reached into his pocket and tossed a
small card at him. "Just do us a favor, okay? Go to see him one time. And if
you don't want to go anymore, we'll shut up and let you fuck up even more,
alright?" He quickly left, slamming the door shut.
Jon stared at the small business card and picked it up. He fiddled with it
before reading the back which in Munky's sloppy handwriting read: DR.
STEWART - 9:00 A.M.
He flicked it out of his fingers and it fluttered to the floor. Feeling
defeated, he crawled into bed and curled up underneath the blanket, hoping
to forget that day's events.
The bright sun played happily on Jon's face in the morning. He sighed,
rolled over on the other side, wishing that he could sleep in. He glanced at
the clock and moaned loudly. He dragged himself out of bed and into the
bathroom.
He twisted and turned the knob of the shower, trying to figure out how to
work the damn thing. He gave it a hearty yank and received a blast of
freezing cold water in the face. He yelped out and stumbled into the
bathroom counter.
Mumbling to himself, he turned the knob until he felt the water that was
spraying out with such immense force, was lukewarm. He stripped his clothes
off and stepped inside, and right away felt soothed by the warm water. What
a change from the tiny, built-in one on the bus.
There he went again. His entire body quavered and he sunk down into the tub,
crying softly as the water trickled down his nude body, mixing in with his
tears.
When the crying and shaking episode passed, he wasted no time to dry off and
get dressed. Quietly as possible, he opened the adjoining door and peered
into Munky's room. Munky was fast asleep, sprawled out on his bed like a cat
with his leg hanging off the side. Thankfully noting this, Jon slipped out
of his room and silently crept down the hall to the elevator.
Ding. No one else was on the small elevator, and as soon as he was inside he
pushed the close buttons. He didn't want to encounter anyone this morning.
He wanted to stay away from any other people as much as possible.
He looked up at the mirrored walls of the small compartment. He saw a
pale-faced, frazzled and confused-looking man. Him. He sighed and looked
away, thrusting his hands into the pouch of his hooded sweatshirt. He
quickly strode out of the elevator as it more-or-less gracefully landed at
the bottom floor.
The morning air was chilly and he licked his chapped lips. Standing on the
curb, he looked around for any cars and jaywalked across the street.
He walked at a moderate pace, taking in the scenery. Anyone who happened to
see him, would be able to sense an air of important and urgency surrounding
him. Little did they know the secrets and thoughts held inside his mind and
his place of destination.
He arrived at the offices in just about fifteen minutes. His eyes avoided
anyone else in the waiting room and he went up to the receptionist's desk.
"Um, I have an appointment with Dr. Stewart," he told the secretary in a low
voice. "The name is Davis. Jonathan Davis."
The blond woman typed some keys onto her computer and studied the monitor
for a moment. "Oh, alright. Go on down the hall and he's the--"
"Yeah, I know," Jon interjected. "Third door on the left."
The woman shrugged and pressed a button that unlocked the door to let him
in. He wandered down the hall until he came to the therapist's door.
"Well, Jonathan, it's been awhile," Dr. Steward said warmly as soon as he
saw the younger man walk in.
Jon cracked a half-smile. "Hey," he said.
"Why don't you take a seat? We have a lot to discuss."
After quite some time passed, Dr. Stewart placed his clipboard of notes onto
his desk and sat back. "I'm certain you're not going to appreciate what I'm
going to say.. but.. there are medications available for someone in your
condition."
"I don't want drugs," Jon said bitterly. "False happiness? I'm sure."
Dr. Stewart sighed and shook his head. "You're still the stubborn teenager I
first met years ago. I'm going to write you up a prescription." He held up a
finger at Jon. "Don't say anything yet. I'm going to write you out a
prescription, I'm expecting you to take it to the pharmacy and I'm expecting
you to take it with you. I'm not telling you to actually use it, because
knowing you, you won't. But if you trust me, and if you want the best for
yourself, you'll go along."
Jon was silent. He unwillingly accepted the form from Dr. Stewart who shook
his hand in a goodbye.
Jon didn't even bother to look at the paper as he walked to the small
pharmacy inside the building. It wasn't until he was standing in line when
he looked at it.
Prozac.
Prozac? That's for the nuts. The people who can't handle life, the people
who just can't...
"Next?"
Jon glanced up. A pepper-haired nurse was calling for the next person in
line which was him. He stepped up and slid the form to her. She picked it
up, skimmed it and told him it would be about a half-hour wait until it
would be filled.
The next thirty minutes felt like a daze to him. He read and re-read the
cover article of an old issue of TIME magazine. He felt like he was on
automatic pilot as his name was called, he paid for the medication and left
for the hotel.
It was almost 12:30 when he returned and to his dismay, Munky wasn't in his
room, which made it obvious to the others that Jon had left some time
earlier that morning. He locked both doors in the room and sat down on his
bed, placing the brown paper bag in front of him. He stared at it,
half-expecting it to do something in return.
I don't want to give in. I'm not ready. I'm scared. I'm scared! It'll fuck
me up.. it's for the nuts. The people who can't handle life. The people who
just can't.. put up with it anymore.
He didn't even realize until he grasped the neck of the bottle that he
pulled the medicine from the bag. He stared at the plastic before him that
most likely contained a temporary mask of happiness.
His pulse was racing and his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He wasn't
sure if he could do it. He was frightened of its effects. It would be too
weird after all these years living in this shadow of hate, bitterness, anger
and hurt and suddenly be jolted out of it by a mind-altering substance.
He shoved the bottle back into the bag. "Not yet," he whispered. "I'm just
not ready."
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