Understanding
I was glad to get out of the arena. Every show seemed to get longer than the last. Not as if I hated playing my guitar, God no, these days it was the only thing that kept me going. With it in my hands, I felt on top of the world, even if the teenyboppers were paying more attention to the Boys. It's been the same ever since I started playing, I was the one with the fiery guitar riffs that created the atmosphere of the song, the thing that made the song what it was, but whatever band I played in people always took more notice of the vocalists, the ones up front with the attitudes. They had everything. Me, I've been quiet all my life.
I always ended up in the classes full of the 'in' crowd. The basketballers, the rich kids that acted as if they owned the whole world, in short, I was perpetually out of place. I didn't even know how I got into my first band. I think they couldn't get a guitarist and they called me as a last resort. During practices when they fooled around, I just sat back and watched. You learn a lot by just keeping quiet and observing. Weird though. I always wanted to be alone, and yet, needed someone to keep me company while at it.
I slipped away quietly, bag in hand and earphones stuffed in. With music around, nothing seemed to bother me. After each concert, I needed time to recharge, time alone on my own to dwell with my thoughts. The past few weeks touring gave me a sinking feeling that I got every so often. During those times, I truly felt that life wasn't worth it. No, I've never talked to anyone about it. Nobody ever bothered. They sure as hell weren't gonna start now.
I'd been looking at the ground as I walked, and stopped when the concrete pavement turned into gritty sand. The beach was deserted, a small hut in the distance that served as a lifeguard post in the day. I walked towards it, unsure of what to do with myself. I sat down and leaned against the walls of the hut, and hugged my knees against my chest. I stared out at the black expanse of sky, stars twinkling in greeting.
I'm so sick of the
tension
Sick of the hunger
Sick of you acting like I owe you this
Find another place to feed your greed
While I find a place to rest
Linkin Park while staring into oblivion. How poetic. I couldn't help but snigger at my own thoughts. One earphone fell out and I swore. I turned my head and almost jumped out of my skin as I saw someone next to me.
"Yeesh AJ, you scared the daylights outta me."
He cocked an eyebrow and sat down. The tips of his unruly head of dark brown hair were dyed a deep red, the remnants of his last trip to the hairdresser. He'd changed into the clothes he wore earlier on, clad in a black wifebeater and a pair of ripped jeans. He stretched his legs out before him and crossed his arms.
Strange, he never was this quiet. You could always find him fooling around or talking to someone else, but it was a rare occurrence to see him like this. Even when he was alone (or thought he was), he hummed random songs under his breath and grooved to an imaginary beat. Now, he was just staring in front of him.
"I thought you went to the club with the rest of the guys."
"Lousy place." His raspy voice muttered a non-answer under his breath. I took out the other earphone and stopped my discman. The silence of the beach was broken by the waves breaking, and then rushing back to the sea.
The expression on his face behind his sunglasses was a troubled one, and I felt for him. The Backstreet Boys were one of those acts that actually cared about the little people, the ones without the humungous bank accounts or the fake boob job or the plastic surgery, and I'd become friends with them over the weeks. Hell, it was hard not to be friends with five sincere, fine-looking men that actually gave more than a shit to the normal people. People like me.
I scooted a little closer, and sat cross-legged facing him. I noticed his fingers absentmindedly rubbing the fabric of his clothes together. I was surprised. I'd heard about this habit of his, but he only did it when he was feeling exceptionally low. I kept quiet, letting him take his time to speak. He took out a cigarette and lighted up, breathing smoke out through his nostrils. He did that for some time, just taking drags of his cigarette and looking down.
"Ever felt like you were just a shell of a person, living day to day?" his voice now wavered, as if he were about to cry.
"All the time, Age." I tried to answer as off-handedly as I could. His last sentence hit too close to home.
"You?" he sneered and laughed. "People don't have such high expectations of you. They don't expect you to be perfect, don't expect you to sweep the awards at the next Billboards, don't expect you to be something that you aren't.
He savagely ripped off a stray piece of thread from his jeans, balling up his fist in a multitude of untold frustrations. "Everyone thinks that I've got all that I want, all that I need. Money, girls, fame." He gave a cold laugh that unnerved me. "It's those exact same things that eat away at your soul, that rip you apart piece by piece."
He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his tattooed arms round them loosely. "It's the fame that does away with every last piece of privacy you have, that twists your words and portrays the facade you have to put on."
"Every mistake I've ever made has been rehashed and then replayed, cause I got lost along the way." He looked up at me, his face now a confused one.
"What?"
"Robbie Williams. Road to Mandalay."
He leaned back. "Strange really. That's exactly how I feel."
Silence filled the air.
"Think it's hard for you? What about the people that get ignored their whole lives, the ones that get by-passed? The ones that always tried to help as much as they could but never get thanks. I doubt anyone give a shit to people like me." I couldn't help but air out what had been nagging at me for years. "The ones that people take advantage of, the ones that nobody even bother to look at. The ones that get pushed around and bullied, the ones that never get chances like yours."I could feel my blood boiling, even though the night air was nippy.
"They can have my life." He put out his cigarette butt in the sand.
Great, just what we needed. Two neurotic people complaining to each other.
"You try being the one that people always forget."
"You try being the one that has to battle rabid fans everyday!"His voice was raised, challenging my comment.
"You're always in the spotlight, what about those that never ever get the recognition they deserve!"
"You think it's so great? Try being the one with no privacy, the one whose personal life is fodder for the tabloids!" We were now screaming at each other, I could see a vein sticking out of his neck. It was a miracle no one come to se e what the hell was happening.
"At least you get accepted into society!"
"ACCEPTED! People don't even think that the Backstreet Boys can fucking SING!"
"You're the superstar with adoring fans that would die for you! Me? I doubt if I'm actually worth a shit!"
"You think it's so easy? You try it then!"
"Look who's talking Mr. Backstreet Boy!"
"Why you little..."
"Shut the fuck up!"
"YOU DON'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND!" both of us screamed it out simultaneously.
I stared defiantly back at him, tears running down my face. "Oh fuck." I buried my head in my hands and avoided his gaze.
"Shit I didn't mean to..."
"Shut UP AJ."
An eternity passed, but in reality it probably was only five minutes. I cried silently, trying not to lose control. If it's one thing I hate more than crying, it's crying in front of someone else. Presently, I felt him come closer. He lifted up my chin and looked me in the eye. Time literally seemed to halt before my eyes as I looked straight into the most beautiful pair of brown eyes I had ever seen. Before I knew it, his lips descended on mine. The kiss was...strangely comforting. It was as if both of us were trying to tell each other that everything was going to be OK. His tongue flicked in and out, gently stroking the roof of my mouth and getting tangled up with my own. My hands found their way to his neck and I pulled him closer as his own circled around my waist. He nibbled on my bottom lip, and a delicious shiver ran down my spine. I pulled away and he held me close,both of us shivering with the intensity of the kiss. He wiped the last of my tears off my face.
"AJ I..."
"Shhh. It's ok. I'm sorry, I've been a prick." He rubbed my lower back slowly as he nuzzled my neck, planting little kisses on the bare skin. I leaned back into his arms and hugged him tightly, afraid what would happen if I let go. He lowered his head onto my shoulder and my hand stroked his hair. We kissed again, this time relishing the union with gusto.
Above us, the stars still twinkled.