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The following story is based on the songs Trash, Make Me Bad, Wake Up, Hey Daddy, and Dirty. It is set during the second month of the Family Values 98 tour, in Grand Rapids, Michigan. This story is in no way factuall, in fact I doubt very much that any of it ever actually happened. But this story is intended to show how fucked up being a huge rock star can be, and that it isn't all fun and games. Enjoy.
***
Jon stepped out of the bathroom, a bathrobe tied around him and his hair still dripping from his shower. He wrang it out in a towel, trying to dry it as fast as possible. He hated it when his hair was wet, it was just one of his little pet peeves. He sat down on the bed, the huge king-sized bed in his huge, expensive, and highly over-rated hotel room, and let out a huge sigh. He was extremely tired after putting on a two-hour long show, and he still had things to do. He glanced at the clock on the night-table next to the bed, and wasn't surprised to find that it was nearly midnight. He yawned hugely, wishing he could just lie down for a few hours for some much needed, much deserved sleep. But he was expected at the after-party, as usual. He was in such demand that he hardly had any time to himself, and practically every waking moment he was required to be somewhere, or talking to someone, or doing something for someone else. Jon yawned again, his eyes drooping as he stood up and walked to the closet, where his wardrobe hung. He didn't ever bother unpacking. He was always in a different town every night anyway, so he kept his clothes in his luggage. He unzipped the hanging wardrobe, searching for something to wear. He scowled at all the Puma gear he had stored up in there. It seemed as though that was all he was ever allowed to wear anymore. Anytime Jon appeared in public, he was required to wear something that said Puma on it. That was the stipulation of his contract. For $500,000, he had signed away his right to wear the clothes he wanted to wear. His head swam with the controll people had over him, and he felt oddly helpless. He grabbed a blue Puma jump-suit, not particularly caring for it, but that wouldn't show. He never showed how helpless he felt out in public. In public, Jon was what everyone wanted him to be: outgoing, personable, charismatic. But on the inside, Jon was screaming at the world, to let him just be himself. Even for a brief moment. He tried to stop his depressed thoughts, as he got himself dressed. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror as he walked from the bedroom back into the bathroom to find his black-rimmed sunglasses. He stopped and looked at it more closely. And hated what he saw. He saw the effects that his life was having on his face, though no one else would have. He saw his eyes, now drooping with exhaustion, heavy-lidded and troubled. There were lines around them, from having to force himself to smile all the time. But the most markedly different thing about it was, it was only twenty-seven years old, but it looked ancient, like it had seen pretty much all there was to see. Jon closed his eyes to the image of his own face, and felt fear rising up to consume him. He was afraid for himself, but he was also afraid of himself, of what he would do next, just to please someone else. A loud knock at his door startled him into jumping away from the mirror, his heart racing in his chest. Wondering who it could be, he strode over to the door, peeking out throught the spy-hole to see who was there. All he could see was another eye, looking through from the other side. Jon scowled, grabbing the door handle and turning it. He opened the door, and there stood Fieldy, with a peaved look on his face. "Where you been, man?" he asked aggitatedly. "Your half an hour late." He glanced at his watch to see if his approximation had been correct. "No, fourty-five minutes late." he corrected himself. "I know, I had to get a shower first." Jon mumbled, walking back into the room, searching for his sunglasses. "You want me showin' up to the party all sweaty and stinky?" he asked, a little of his humor showing through. "I don't care, as long as your there!" Fieldy said, making himself comfortable, by walking over to the mini-fridge and pulling out a bottle of Bud Light. He twisted the cap off and chugged a good half of the bottle right away. It seemed that chasing off after the frontman of his band was thirsty work. He jumped on the bed, letting out a huge belch, not bothering to excuse himself. Jon returned, sunglasses in hand, and gave Fieldy a "children-must-play" look. He didn't particularly care to be reminded of his recent vow not to touch alcohol on tour, as he watched with envy as Fieldy downed the last of the beer, tossing the empty bottle into the trash-can. He stood up, swaying a little as the alcohol took effect on his empty stomach. "Ready?" he asked, slurring a little. "Yeah." Jon said. "How much have you had to drink tonight, man?" he asked, knowing that only one beer wouldn't have that effect on him. "Not much. Well, ok, I had a couple with Head and Munky." he admitted, trying to remember. "You didn't drive here yourself, did you?" Jon asked, becoming a little worried. "Hell, no!" Fieldy actually looked offended. "How stupid do you think I am? I took a cab." "Oh." Jon sighed with relief. Fieldy preceded him out of the door, and Jon turned back to the empty room, pausing before he shut off the light, seeing how his life was just as empty as the room was now. He sighed, and shut off the light, closing the door behind him.
***
They arrived at The Bob twenty minutes later, and Jon ended up paying the cabbie for the ride, since Fieldy insisted that it was his fault they had to ride in a cab in the first place. The cabbie asked him for his autograph, stating that it was for his 16 year old son, who absolutely worshipped Korn. Jon smiled to himself as he reached in his pocket for a pen. He had pens in all of his pockets, knowing that he could be asked for his autograph anywhere. He signed his trademark HIV smiley face on the back of a department store reciept he found lying on the floorboard, one that hadn't been trampled too badly. He handed it through the window, along with the money for the ride. "Hey, thanks." the cabbie said, looking a little humbled. "Maybe I'll lighten up on him about that music he listens to. Now that I met you guys, you don't seem as evil as everyone says you are." Jon smiled, happy that at least one kid's dad didn't want them wiped off the face of the earth. "Tell him I said hi." he said, standing up. The cabbie waved and pulled out into traffic, his "on duty" sign lighting up again. "Come on man, they're waitin' for us." Fieldy said impatiently, turning towards the club and walking up the steps, grabbing the handrail for support. Jon followed, his hands in the pockets of his Puma windbreaker, his head hung low, disgusted with himself for the show he was about to put on. He did his best to shove all the feelings of confusion, fear, and helplesness down where they wouldn't show. He succeeded just as he walked through the threshhold, as he was bombarded with countless images and sounds. Loud music filled his ears, but the buzz of conversation made it impossible for him to tell what it was that was playing. The tiny club, which was only meant to hold fifty people, was crowded with what looked like hundreds of people. Most of the faces, Jon had never seen before, and he wondered who they were. Even he didn't know the guests at their own after-party. Probably just some "extras" hired by the management. Various relations, friends, aquaintences, lucky people pulled in from the street. He knew none of them, and he felt alone in a crowded room. There's a song in that, he thought, trying to find it. But he wasn't allowed to, not yet. He was pulled to the side by his elbow, and thrust into a circle of people he didn't even recognise. Jon looked to his left, and came face to face with Fred Durst, who was obviously tanked out of his mind. "So, you finally decided to show up, huh?" he slurred, scowling with the effort not to impede his speech beyond total comprehension. "Yeah, I had to go back to the hotel first." Jon yelled, trying to make himself heard above the clamor of the party. Fred said something else, then, but Jon couldn't hear him. He pressed one hand against his ear, trying to make out what Fred had just said, but it was no use. Apparently it didn't matter, because he turned and walked out into the room, his red Yankees cap the only thing visible. Jon looked around, trying to find someone familliar, but everyone seemed to have abandoned him. He made his way over to the wall and sat down in a booth, trying to be inconspicous. He watched the people stream past him, and again he wondered who they were. All of a sudden, a glass was shoved in front of him, a small glass with a dark liquid inside, and a little red straw. Jon knew what it was. He looked up in panic, trying to find who had put it there, but couldn't find anything that would give him an answer. He looked back at the glass, and felt temptation rise up in him. It would be so easy. A few sips and he wouldn't have to worry about how helpless he felt, or how afraid he was. He could drown his fear, and feel like himself again. But he knew better. He couldn't just throw away the past two months. He had tried so hard to quit, and now that he was finally succeeding, he wasn't about to throw it away on one moment of weakness. But as he stared at the little glass, with tiny bubbles racing up the sides, and the straw bobbing up and down from the bass of the music, he felt his resolution waver. Jon curled his hands into tight fists, feeling the nails bite into his palms. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to remember why he had given the deadly poison up in the first place. An image of little Nathan, lying on the floor on his first baby blanket that Renee had made, looking up at him with his huge, innocent dark eyes, did indeed float into his mind. He remembered that day, the last day he had done speed. Coming home high, looking at his new son, he felt digusted with himself. That was the reason. He was doing it for Nathan, and for himself. Jon opened his eyes, looking at the glass once more, but not feeling as tempted as he had been before. He shoved it away, getting to his feet and making his way out into the club, once more trying to find a familliar face. He couldn't seem to find anyone he recognised. He moved through the crowded room, paranioa coming over him as he searched for just one face he recognised, even if it was just a new roadie. He thought he spotted Head, his twisted hair bobbing as he made his way through the crowd, but by the time Jon got there, he was gone. Jon threw his hands up in frustration, feeling like he had been left out of something. He made up his mind to leave, just head back to the hotel and get some sleep. Let the others wonder where he was. It would serve them right, he thought. Jon made his way through towards the doors, the red neon exit light the only thing on his mind. Just as he was about to throw the doors open, he spotted a young girl, sitting next to the door in a small booth, crying. Jon's eyebrows scrunched together, wondering what was wrong. He debated whether he should just leave her there, or if he should go and see what the matter was. As he watched, she began crying harder, hiding her face in her arms. Jon decided to go talk to her. It looked like she felt the same as he did.
***
"What do you mean, 'you lost him'?!" James screamed, his frustration at Fieldy plainly evident as he pinned the man to the spot with his angry brown eyes. The entire group was gathered in the back room, waiting for Jon to show up so they could get the hell out of the club. This party was bringing them all down, and they planned to go back to the hotel for some sleep. "Hey! Back off!" Fieldy threatened, defensively putting his hands up. "I told you, we showed up and he just dissapeared. I don't know where the hell he went." "Didn't you tell him where we were?" Brian asked from his seat on a beer crate, nervously fidgiting with his wedding ring, looking towards the door as if he expected Jon to walk through it at any moment. "I didn't have a chance to. The minute we stepped through the door, he dissapeared." Fieldy said, also looking a little nervous. He wished he hadn't been so drunk, or else he might have remembered what happened. "Maybe he just got caught by someone who wants to talk his ear off or something?" David said hopefully, scratching his head through his spiked hair and looking at his watch. They had been waiting for nearly an hour already, and it seemed as if the party was oblivious to their absence. "Fuck it." James said decisively. "I'm outta here. If he wants to find us, he'll just have to come looking for us." With that, he walked over to the door, reaching for the handle. "Whoa! you mean you'd really just abandon him here?" David asked, disbelief in his eyes as he stared at Munky. "Damn right! I don't see what makes him so special, that everyone has to tiptoe around him." James said, scowling. "Every time we do anything, we always gotta wait for his ass. Well I'm sick of it. I'm gone." And he dissappeared through the door, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. "Dude," Brian said weakly, "I knew they haven't been getting along, but I didn't think he would just leave him here." He shook his head, his twisted hair swinging back and forth. "So what are we gonna do now?" David asked. He looked torn between wanting to follow after James and waiting for Jon to come back. "I'm goin with Munky." Fieldy said quickly, rushing to the door before anyone could say a word to him. He walked with his head down, plainly feeling ashamed for his actions, but also too drunk and tired to resist. "What the hell?" David cried, not believing what he was seeing. He turned to Brian, waiting to see what he would do. Brian didn't even meet his eyes as he stood up and followed after Fieldy and James. Now David was left standing in the middle of the room, all alone. He balled his hands into fists, knowing that he would also follow after them, and hating himself for it. He sighed, and dropped his hands to his sides. He also reached for the door handle, and let himself out of the now empty room. James was watching the exit door, making straight for it, his mind full of bitterness. He was sick of all the things they had to put up with now that they were getting more recognition as a band. It seemed that everything was centered on Jon, and the rest of them were pushed to the side. It wasn't always like this. he thought to himself, as he pushed his way past a group of drunk, scantily clad women. He was so upset that he didn't even look at them, which was highly unusual. He kept on walking, plowing his way through the crowd, and not caring who's feet he stepped on. He shoved the exit door open violently, exploding out into the street, and waited for the rest of the group to come out. David was last, and decided, before he left, to at least ask if anyone had seen Jon. He spotted Wes, who was sitting at a booth, being interviewed. "Hey, Wes? Have you seen Jon around anywhere?" David asked, waiting for the interviewer to pause to write something in his little notebook. "Yeah, I saw him about two hours ago." Wes answered, running a hand through his black hair and raising one eybrow at the last image he had of Jon that night. "He took off with some chick in a cab." "What!?" David exclaimed, not believing what he had just heard. "Yeah. He left like, two hours ago with some chick in a cab." he said. He sounded like he couldn't believe it either. "Ok, thanks." David said, feeling numb. He still couldn't believe what he had heard. He walked to the door, ducking outside before he could be cornered by an interveiwer himself. The others were gathered around a cab, waiting for him. As soon as James saw him, he jumped in, obviously impatient to get back to the hotel. Fieldy climbed in after him. Brian waited for David to climb in before he did. He always had the window seat. They were crushed like sardines in a can the entire time, and David couldn't bring himself to tell the others what Wes had told him. Instead, he held his peace, and let the uncomfortable silence linger in the cramped cab. When they arrived at the hotel, they climbed out, still not speaking. Brian paid the driver, who had looked nervous during the whole trip. He was used to having loud, obnoxious fairs, not four guys in a band that didn't even speak. He drove away, and Brian walked into the lobby, where the rest were getting in the elevator. They piled in, and Brian hit the button for the fourth floor. He looked sidways at David, who looked a little uncomfortable. "Is something wrong, man?" he asked him, elbowing him. David looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "I asked Wes if he had seen Jon, before we left." he said, glancing at James when he snorted disgustedly. "What did he say?" Fieldy asked, looking a little worried. David dropped his eyes before he said anything. He felt their eyes on him, and felt more nervous than he had ever felt, even after six years of playing in front of thousands of people. He cleared his throat. "He said he saw him leave with some girl in a cab, about two and a half hours ago." he said, looking at them one at a time. He saw the same reaction he had had. Complete and utter disbelief. "No way." Brian said, his eyes wide. "What? That can't be right." He shook his head stubbornly, refusing to belive it. "That's what I was told." David said, spreading is hands in a helpless gesture. "What the fuck is his problem!?" James shouted, his voice ringing painfully loud in the tiny elevator. "Is he insane? He has a perfectly good woman waiting at home for him. He doesn't have to pull this shit on her!" "Calm down, man!" Fieldy said, putting his hands to his ears. "Calm down?" James said, turing on him visciously. "How much of this selfish little baby bull-shit do we have to put up with? He has everything he needs, and still it's not enough. I'm sick of it, and he better snap out of it. Quick." Brian stared at his best friend in shock. He couldn't believe he was acting this way. They had known each other for ever, and he couldn't remember him ever acting like this. James was usually a happy drunk, but lately, when he had been drinking, he turned into a dick. He and David stood back as James and Fieldy were almost coming to blows, and this over a subject that none of them knew anything about. The elevator finally came to their floor, and the doors opened. Standing in front of them was a young woman, who looked at them for a moment before entering the elevator. She looked a tad bit afraid, but it was hard to tell if it was because she could hear them fighting through the doors, or the fact that she had just come from their fellow bandmate's hotel room. She got on, as David, Brian, James, and Fieldy got off. None of them knew who she was, but something about her manner tipped them off. David looked back at her, just as the doors were closing, and she met his eyes briefly. He knew who she was now. He had seen her at the party earlier. Her boyfriend had left her there, while he went off somewhere else. He could see why she would have come to the hotel with Jon, but he still couldn't see why Jon would come to the hotel with her. He turned back to the hallway, only wanting to go to the privacy of his room and think. Things were going wrong left and right. This was supposed to be their best tour ever, and yet, while they put on the best shows of their careers, that was pretty much the only good thing about it. Everything else fell apart the instant they left the stage. He wondered when all of this started to happen, and why it was happening to them. He made his way to his room, looking down the hallway towards the others. He saw James scowl visciously at Jon's door, and David wondered why he hated him so much. They had been through so much, and now it was all falling apart. Fear filled him as he opened his door, and he wondered what was going to happen to them now.
***
In James' room, a mess was being made, as a result of his anger, frustration, drunkeness, but most of all, his fear. He was extremely confused at his own behavior. He never used to act like this. He was as much afriad of himself as Jon was afraid of himself, because he knew there was no reason for his behavior other than him. He picked up a shoe lying on the floor and hurled it at the wall, leaving a scuff mark above his bed. The shoe fell harmlessly to the pillow. James began pacing the length of his hotel room, fuming. Puffs of smoke billowed over his shoulder from the cigarette he held clamped in his teeth. He pounded his head in frustration, trying to figure out the reasoning behind Jon's actions. It seemed as if he was getting more and more reserved lately. Where Jon used to stay up at all hours of the night, partying with the rest of the group, now all he did was play a show, then go right back to his room. Some nights, they only saw him for the hour and a half they were on stage. After the show was over, he would dissappear, leaving the rest of the band to face the fans and promoters. James couldn't figure out if it was selfishness, or something else, but he knew it was beginning to take it's toll on the band. It had driven a wedge between them, and he didn't know if they could remove it before there was some permanent damage done. James stopped his pacing and sat down on the bed. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost three o'clock in the morning, but there was no way he would be able to sleep. He decided to just take a cool-down walk, hoping that would help him think straight. He rose from the bed, his resolve to try to get things together making him feel more like himself again. Walking into the bathroom to flick his cigarette into the toilet, James caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He was startled at what he saw. He wasn't used to seeing his own face when he was angry, but he knew he didn't like it. His eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead in confusion once more, as he tried to figure out how he had turned into such a jerk. It wasn't Jon. It wasn't even mostly Jon. It was the pressure that was being put on all of them, now that they were, according to all the press about them, 'The biggest band in America'. Being made to jump through hoops just keep your integrity was becoming the bane of his existence. In that moment, he began to understand what Jon was going through, and he didn't envy him at all. James flicked his cigarette butt into the toilet, hearing the faint hiss as it plopped into the water. He didn't bother to flush it. He just turned his back to his own reflection and walked out.
***
Jon sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. As much as everyone else was in disbelief of his actions tonight, no one believed it less than himself. But the reason for his actions were crystal clear. He needed something. Now that he was sober, he had very little to do to escape his own, private little hell. When he used to be able to get drunk, he would get so drunk he wouldn't be able to hear the little voices in his head. The ones that told him to do things, to hurt himself. And while the alcohol and drugs would drown those voices, it didn't make them go away. They always came back to haunt him. At first, Jon thought it was the drugs and drinking that were doing it to him, and when he quit, they did go away for a bit. But now that his mind was free of those depressants, they came back with a vengence. He gradually came to the conclusion that he was going crazy, and he wasn't all that surprised. His life was enough to drive anyone to the nuthouse.
Jon squeezed his eyes tightly shut, wishing his conscience would stop tormenting him. He was accutely aware that he had just done something horribly unfair to Renee and Nathan. They didn't deserve this, and he knew that the only one to blame was him. Tears slowly built up behind his eye lids, and he opened his eyes to let them trickle down his cheeks. He gripped his head in his hands, trying to force his mind to stop nagging at him with those scary, nearly incoherant babblings. Every now and then, he could make out a phrase or two, and they were what scared him. What his mind was telling him to do was basically to kill himself. Jon knew that was the easy way out, the least painfull way to end all his suffering. He was sorely tempted to give in, and the only thing that kept him from doing it was the image of his young son that kept entering his mind. He couldn't leave him and Renee alone, not after he had gotten this far through his life, after all that he had come through, and all that he had overcome to get where he was today.
But even though he had made up his mind to keep on living, Jon still needed something to take his mind off of it. And really, the only things he had were his music, and the only thing that made him feel alive. So he had given in, he admitted it, he was weak. But what was he supposed to do? He was only human, after all. And while he loved his girlfriend dearly, she wasn't here with him. When he needed her most, she was clear on the other side of the country, probably missing him just as much as he missed her. His conscience again took a painfull stab at him, as he thought about his family, and how much it hurt to be away from them for so long.
Jon looked back at the bed, seeing the dissarray the sheets were in. The tears fell faster now, as he remembered the coldness in which he had used the young girl. She had meant nothing to him, other than another kind of drug to ease the pain. She was nothing more to him now than an empty beer bottle would be, and he hated himself for it.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jon said to himself, his voice choked with tears.
Since there was no one there to answer him, he got to his feet, his Puma bottoms rustling faintly as he paced the floor in a circle, his mind talking to him once again. This time, it told him how much of a loser he had turned out to be. How he had everything he ever wanted or needed, and how he was still just a scared little boy, cowering in the corner, crying. He paced faster, his arms crossed over his shirtless chest, trying to force those thoughts out of his mind. His tears were still falling, but now they were out of fear. He couldn't do anything to stop the voices, and he desperately wished for something to take them away.
Jon's eyes landed on the mini-fridge next to the TV, and he thought about just going over there, opening it, pulling out a cold bottle of Bud Light and just drinking himself into a hazy stupor. It would be so easy. His steps faltered as he thought about it, and he began walking over to the fridge before he realised what he was doing. But once his feet started moving, he couldn't stop them, just as he couldn't stop his hands from reaching down and opening the door, or stop them from reaching inside and pulling out a bottle. Jon's eyes grew wide in fear, as his hands started to twist the cap off, knowing that what he was about to do would eventually kill him from the inside out. Jon closed his eyes as he raised the bottle to his mouth, tears falling from them once again.
A loud knock on his door made him jump, the bottle not an inch away from his mouth. But the interuption caused him to snap out of his trance, or whatever he had been trapped in. He stared at the hand holding the bottle. It didn't seem to be his hand, but the hand of a drowning man, caught up in the ocean of his confusion. He watched that hand, as it raised the bottle up, then brought it smashing to the floor, the thick carpeting not saving it from shattering into countless pieces. Jon stared at those shards of glass, wondering what was so wrong with him that he had been reduced to this. The knock came again, louder this time, and Jon walked gingerly to the door, wincing as a tiny piece of the beer bottle punctured his foot. He looked through the spy-lens, trying to see who was out there, but it was too dark in the hallway, and he couldn't make out exactly who it was.
"Who is it?" he asked through the door, his voice cracking a little.
"It's me, Jon." came the familliar voice from the other side of the door.
"James?" Jon said, surprised to find him, of all people, knocking at his door in the middle of the night.
"Yeah, can I come in for a minute?" he asked. Jon's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "I need to talk to you." He sounded so serious. Jon hadn't heard James talk like that very often.
Jon unlocked his door, slipping the chain off and opening it slowly. There stood James, with a humbled look on his face.
"Hey." Jon said, taking in James' appearance. It looked like he hadn't slept at all yet, and he was still wearing the same clothes he had on when they left the arena that night. It seemed so long ago to Jon, when in fact it had only been six hours ago. James was likewise sizing him up, noticing the fear and confusion that he hadn't bothered to hide. Jon grew uncomfortable as James stared at him, so he turned and made his way over to the bed, limping on his wounded foot.
"What happened in here?" James asked, noticing the dark stain and the broken glass lying on the floor, as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him
"Nothing." Jon said, sitting down and taking his foot in his hands, trying to find out where the piece of glass had lodged itself. "I broke a beer bottle, that's all."
"But I thought you weren't drinking anymore." James said, looking at Jon accusingly.
"I'm not." Jon said, looking up from his foot, and meeting James squarely in the eye. "That's why the bottle is on the floor."
"Oh." James said, looking away from his direct gaze.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Jon asked, turning back to his bleeding foot, looking closely at it. He found the tiny shard of glass, and tried picking it out. But James' next words drove all thought of the tiny piece of glass out of his mind.
"We saw her, Jon." James said quietly, sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed.
Jon raised his head slowly, his eyes wide. He cleared his throat, and debated whether he should play it dumb, and deny everything.
"Saw who?" he asked, looking back at his foot, pretending to search for the piece of glass once again. But he wasn't fooling James.
"Knock it off, man. You know what I mean." James said, frowning at Jon's attempt to evade the subject. "The girl from the club. She was leaving just as we were getting off the elevator. And don't try telling me she wasn't with you, because we both know your a horrible liar."
"Alright!" Jon said, knowing from the beginning that he couldn't lie to James and get away with it. "So I took a girl to my room. What's it to you?" he asked, feeling defensive.
"I just wanna know why you did it." James said, not feeling angry or frustrated, but only tired of the game the two of them had been playing. It was time to lay all the cards out on the table and get some answers.
"Honestly, man, I can't tell you." Jon said quietly, releasing his foot, sitting forward, his elbows resting on his legs. "I don't think you would understand, even if I tried."
"What makes you say that?" James asked. "You don't think things are going wrong for us too? I might understand more than you think."
Jon looked over at him, and he looked so tired. James could tell he wanted to tell him, but didn't know how. Jon rubbed his face, his fingers toying with his mustache, a habit he had aquired recently and that always seemed to get on James' nerves. But now, he only waited for Jon to answer his question, and was prepared to wait all night for it. It had taken a lot of pacing and walking and thinking to convince himself to come up here and talk to Jon, and nothing was going to keep him from getting the answers to his questions.
"Well," Jon said, breaking the silence, ducking his head with every word, "the past few months have been really hard for me, and I just needed something to make it go away. What else do I have?"
"But what about your family?" James asked him harshly. "What about Renee? How do you think she would feel if she found out about this?"
"I think she would rather have me used than dead, don't you?" Jon asked visciously, turning to James with a frown. "Because I think I'm going crazy, man. I really do. If something isn't done soon, I might end up dead. I can't do this anymore!"
He sounded so helpless that James was beginning to regret his actions and his words earlier. He should have known something was seriously wrong, instead of just shrugging it off as simple selfishness. He looked at Jon, saw the man that he had known for so many years, who he loved like a brother, and saw that he was on the verge of tears. And now that he knew what the problem was, he could understand why Jon was so depressed, and why he never wanted to be around other people. It was hard to be something your not, especially for Jon, who had always told everyone to be themselves. James hung his head, his dreads falling over his face. He sighed heavily, not knowing what to say.
"I don't even know what's happening to me." Jon said, sobbing. James looked over at him, and saw the tears running down his face, following the trails of the ones he had cried earlier. "Why is this happening to me?" And now he looked at James, as if to ask him for some kind of answer, but James could only stare right back, not having the answer he was looking for.
Jon nodded slowly, getting up from the bed and limping to the door. He opened it and turned back to James.
"I'd like to be alone now, ok?" he asked wearily. "I really need to get some sleep. We got a show tomorrow." Now he looked detatched, devoid of all emotion. James blinked at this sudden change of mood, and wondered at his friends ability to hide his feelings so completely. He rose from the bed and walked to the door, passing Jon on his way out.
"Yeah," he said slowly, "get some sleep, man. I think you need it."
With that, he walked out of the room, making his way down the hallway to his own room. Jon closed the door softly, resting his head against it for a brief moment before turning to his bed. He limped his way over to it, making sure to avoid the mess he had made. He collapsed to the bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow, knowing tomorrow would be just like today, all over again.
The End
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