Brian hadn’t let it go. He just couldn’t let it go. Sheena dreamed about how he’d waited for her return, awake in the hotel room and watching "Party of Five" with dying interest. He was curious, had asked what they’d done in a tone that was nothing but sarcastic and obtrusive. To put it frankly, he’d ruined the night for her. She had been high off of her feelings. Maybe it was the champagne, or Munky’s cute dimples…or her toe fetish…or the way he had cradled her only moments before… but she was giddy. Holding him had been heavenly. She dreamt about that, too: about holding him. Above all things she noticed that he had this scent, and it was a mix of so many different things...

Chink! went the lock of the hotel room door as Head unlocked it. The clock said that it was 5:30 in the morning, but he refused to believe it. It couldn’t be that early…and why was Munky here, already dressed? He couldn’t count how many times Munky had been late for a briefing or a practice because he was too drunk or had too much company to get up in time…

Today he was wide-awake, though. And holding all the things he knew Head loved to eat: jelly donuts, orange juice. And a bran muffin? Head hated muffins with a passion.

"Can I come in?" he asked kindly. "I am, like, here to bring you breakfast and all."

Head let him in. Almost immediately, he glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Sheena, sleeping, through Head’s braids. Head saw it but ignored it all the same. Sheena had said some pretty mean things to him last night. Head had argued that he’d seen Munky hurt a lot of women…but hadn’t Brian too? In high school? Did he remember how he had been in high school before he met Rebekkah? Did he?

He had been even worse than Munky. That reality alone was enough to make him realize he was wrong. It took many hours of sitting up in bed to accept it, but he finally did. He had been just like Munky. And yet he kept his high school sweetheart—his wife—feeling loved all these years. He was faithful, too. Even though it was hard.

Munky started a cigarette. Head worked on his donut. They sat in silence for several minutes as they both enjoyed their little confinements. Munky thought back many years, to when he was a high school Freshman. He remembered playing "Mary Had A Little Lamb" on his acoustic guitar, and wondering why he couldn’t get his guitar to sound like Guns ‘N Roses or Motley Crue. He didn’t know what a barre chord was, never mind distortion.

And then Head came along.

He had lived close to the school, and went home every day to get his lunch. Munky had gone with him once, as they became friends. He’d never forget the day the two sat down together, Head’s then absurdly large forehead swinging as he brought his electrical guitar and showed Munky what distortion was. Since then they were inseparable. Throughout the years they had become one of the same. Together they had done the impossible, widening the scope of the guitar and opening new possibilities for the next generation of rock.

As Head brushed the powder of the donut off of him, Munky said, "I—I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. Me and Sheena, we just—"

Head’s look was somewhat quizzical, and then he sighed. They might be different, but they shared an unbreakable bond. Onstage, they were two of the same person. Nothing could change that. Except death. And even then he knew they’d have the memories. Head had once entertained the notion that if Munky ever died he’d never play again—except over his grave. He thought about that now, as he looked at his best friend…his better half. The thought had a certain romance to it he never wanted to know the depth of.

"No, man. Forget about it. It’s over. You and Sheena—do whatever you want."

"I’m just saying." He was stubborn as hell, though. "I can’t expect you to know just how I feel about her…sometimes it scares the hell out of me. I don’t know what’s going on inside me, but I also know I can’t help it." He thought about telling him about refusing to kiss her, but decided against it. Head would think he was lying. He didn’t want another argument.

Sheena groaned in her bed. Munky slowly crept to where she slept. He sat down beside her. Her face was distorted in a frown, her hair flying wildly over each shoulder against her pillow. She had gripped her blankets into notches. Her breath—which should have been slow and even—was sporadic. After a moment of indecision he placed a large hand on her shoulder and shook her awake. She awoke with a start but settled into her pillow as soon as she saw him. He had a concerned look on his face, but he was beautiful, all the same. It was so nice to see him when she first woke up. The nightmare she’d been trapped in

(Brian hadn’t let go he hadn’t let go he was sooooo strong and he just wouldn’t let her go and it was all her FAULT she’d pissed him off and he just wouldn’t let her GO)

dissolved slowly. She glanced at Brian over his shoulder. And shivered. Brian didn’t return the gaze; he was lighting a cigarette.

"Jimmy," she said. He moved away slightly as she pulled the stiff, starchy sheets (as were custom to hotel rooms, no matter how expensive the room) to her chin.

"Good morning, baby. You having a bad dream?" he cooed softly. She let him lean over her and kiss her forehead.

Head walked past them, fingering his chin. He needed to shave. And he couldn’t stand to be around them when they were like this. It was partially because he had been wrong about them—he hated being wrong. It was hard to see Sheena as in love as she had been in high school—

Because Head remembered the last time she’d fallen in love. She’d gotten hurt, badly, and the last thing he wanted…well, it didn’t matter anymore what Head wanted, did it? It was in their hands now. He just hoped they wouldn’t complain to him when it didn’t turn out as they’d planned…when Munky would bitch because Sheena wouldn’t let him fuck or when Sheena was crying because he cheated on her. But did it really matter what Brian thought—what Brian knew? Nope.

As Head pulled out his razors and accidentally carved a line of crimson into his cheek, Munky looked at Sheena, passion swimming in his eyes. Now that her disturbed gaze had melted, she was breath-taking. He loved it so much when she was happy. He wanted to keep her happy as long as he could, because when she was happy he was even happier.

"I brought you a muffin and an apple. You like apples," he said. He figured this because apples were the only things he’d seen her eat. Ever.

He wasn’t surprised when she frowned.

When she didn’t answer again, he repeated himself, a little more sternly. "I have food for you. Come on. Come eat breakfast with me. We’ll go out."

"Jimmy—" she moaned. As if he were punishing her.

"Come on, baby," he said, pleading now. His heart crashed. He had suspected this; he’d suspected it all along. But now that he had her, now that he had held her and had actually almost kissed her it made it even harder for him to do it.

She rolled away from him. "I don’t eat very much."

"I’ve noticed."

"Go away." She suddenly didn’t want to see him anymore. She wanted him to go away, get away, as far away from here as possible. His smell, his eyes—that look—which had once disturbed her and then enticed her, now annoyed her. She didn’t want to see it anymore.

But on the other hand she wanted to tell him so bad. If he would just hold her in his arms again, she could tell him. It would be so easy that she actually considered it. Two words would set her free…all he wanted to do was help her. He had seen the obvious. Jon had seen it, Renee had seen it, and she was convinced that Head had seen it, too. But they didn’t know what to do about it. They told her she didn’t eat enough. They told her she should share some chips with them. They asked her why the food they bought for her never went away…just rotted in the fridge. That’s as far as it went. The moment she refused them they lifted their eyebrows—convinced themselves she liked to eat alone—and walked away.

She was sick of being weak. Unable to do anything. Sometimes she got so scared. When she went to bed sometimes she wouldn’t sleep—the emptiness in her stretched too deep—and so she’d lay awake, in the darkness. Or sometimes, even worse, during the day she’d see black. Only for a second, but she’d see black, all the same. It was enough to mortify her. But it was black.

But Munky, he wanted to help her.

She wasn’t ready to be helped.

"Go away. Please."

His large hand clamped her shoulder. She felt the pressure of it. As he moved onto the bed more his body inundated her. She didn’t want him there. She didn’t want him doing what he was. His grip was gentle but strong, too strong for her.

She began to cry. She couldn’t help it. "Go away. God, just leave me alone."

"Is that what you really want?" She was so harsh. He didn’t understand why she didn’t want help, not realizing that what had grown within her was not something that could be quit. Anorexia never went away. It just lied underneath the skin like a disease, threatening to surface anytime. That’s all. It never went away. Just like being an alcoholic never went away. Because when something gets into your head, it is always there. In the folds of a mind that never ceases to create habits.

He pleaded with her some more. Until he finally gave up and left with a long sigh. The cheap springs bounced up and down as he sprang up. The door slammed behind him. She cried, tucked under the cheap stiff covers and her own despair. It would have been so easy to tell him. They were just words, weren’t they?

The thing was that she didn’t know what it would mean if she allowed him to help her. She didn’t know what they meant yet. And that was somehow scarier than the prospect of what might happen if they ended it all right there.

Later that night—after a day stretched on and on forever—Munky returned from the stage, still sweaty after he’d changed out of his white jump outfit in the dressing room. His face stung from the sweat that had suffocated his skin beneath the leather. He didn’t care. All he wanted to do was get drunk and die. That’s it. Was that so much to ask?

"You got any Jack?" he asked Fieldy over his shoulder. He got out his shot glass, and a gallon of Coca-Cola. He poured a sufficient amount of Jack into the shot glass, and swirled it around with Coca-Cola. Fieldy shifted his weight uncertainly as Munky downed it. Face stinging, he pinched his nose. Warmth spread through him. He sighed as soon as the pain had subsided, leaving his stomach a little oven of poisonous warmth.

As soon as he was done, he started another one.

Even when he was thoroughly drunk he kept at it, until he could no longer pour the liquor into the shot glass. So he took the Daniels and swigged it. His eyes rolled back as the world began to spin. His memories of the night before with Sheena flickered as he downed another swig. Sheena never ate anything. Nothing. No wonder why she was so skinny. He imagined her filled out a little more, with nice breasts and a full waist. He loved girls with full waists.

But no. She didn’t want to stop starving herself. He had been hungry once; there had been a time in his childhood where his mother and him were so poor that they’d only had half a loaf of bread to eat. They used to sleep in cheap hotels. For what seemed like forever he’d lived in a world where no one understood him, held him or loved him. He hated being hungry. He had been an alien in a strange world.

And now, again, he was in a new world. All of him told her to stop caring, to leave this girl. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Even though everything inside of him told him that he should just leave her alone.

She didn’t love him, anyway. She couldn’t possibly understand how much he felt for her.

The tears coming now because he couldn’t stop them, he stumbled into the back of the bus.

Sheena had been concerning herself with her wardrobe. All of her clothes were now too big…she’d have to ask Brian for a belt or two to borrow. He always wore thick, black belts with his pants and shorts. So did Munky. But she’d never ask him; he’d just tell her off again.

Her back hurt. She hated it when her back hurt. She considered another piece of fruit, but decided against it. In her stage it would only make her feel even worse. She hadn’t eaten anything since last night’s champagne. If you could call that eating. She just wasn’t hungry anymore. The instinctive desire to eat had melted during her years alone in the apartment.

Her emotions had dissolved during her years in the apartment. Along with her body, which was now as gaunt as pale as her soul…as the white-washed walls of her purgatory.

As she headed to the back to her cubby to fetch her laptop, she heard sobs coming from the back room. Among his guitars, Munky lay, helplessly. His cordless phone was cocked against his shoulder. He was talking in slow, meandering Spanish. The sobs hiccuped from him as he mentioned Sheena’s name.

He was dead drunk…obviously. With a snarl she reminded herself that he thought she had a problem!

She wanted to turn away. It would have been so easy to just leave him there. But she wanted to help him. She was numb until her feelings resurfaced. He needed her help, even if it was just for the night…but she wouldn’t be able to end it there. It wasn’t that simple; she still felt for him, even though he scared her. She didn’t know if he thought it was all over or not. But the day had been so long.

As she scampered to his aid she thought about how her father used to get drunk. He had gotten alcohol poisoning, once, and had had to spend three days in the hospital. They had been the happiest three days of her life, but still…the thought of Munky going through that was much more than she could handle.

He started when she placed a hand on his shoulder. His large, dilated eyes glared into hers. Sheena picked up a faint, female voice inquiring in Spanish from the other line. He bid adios to her, and clicked the phone off, tears still streaking his face. He pulled her down next to him.

He was so strong. She wanted to resist, but couldn’t.

For a second she was terrified. They were alone, and it would be a minute before anyone would come to get him. She knew very well some of the things that drunk people do.

And he was so goddamned strong.

But he was gentle. With a shaky hand he caressed her hair, slowly. She hugged her knees as he buried his head into the nook of her neck, and kissed her there. He let tears mark the spots where his lips planted. Then he backed off, and wrapped his arms around her. His large hands ran periodically up and down the sides of her bare arms.

"Sheena. I care about you. Why won’t you let me care about you?" he kept murmuring, in a drunken voice, until it was almost frantic.

She eventually led him back into the kitchen. Sitting him down at the table, she prepared for him a special mixture that she had read of in an old Indian remedy book and gave it to him. He ran into the bathroom and vomited viciously only moments after drinking it.

Later that night Sheena kneeled before the leather couch in the living room where she’d slept. After he’d thrown up she’d brought him back into the living room and sat with him, holding him. Just holding him. He was eager at first, less drunk now but still eager, touching her and kissing her on the neck softly. As he settled into it, however, he simply lay with her. She brought him a blanket and a pillow as sleep tugged on his eyes.

She was determined to stay up all night. If he ever got sick, or needed her help—the alcohol level in his blood was probably skyrocketing—she would never forgive herself. She was going to see herself that he made it safely through the night.

The time ticked past, slowly, as the tour bus meandered along the winding roads of Washington. Sheena wrote for about an hour, and then she watched TV, never straying more than a few feet from him. As sleep tugged on her she went to the fridge and grabbed a piece of fruit. As she nibbled on it tears crept to her eyes. Munky was right; she needed help. She wanted to have the energy—the self-confidence—to do what she wanted to again. She didn’t quite remember how the whole thing had started. About a month after she’d moved into her apartment she’d gotten caught up in writing, and so had quit her job as a story bloomed itself in her head. Some days she spent at least twelve hours at the computer. Writing. Non-stop.

Eating had become a waste of time.

She’d kept a bag of Cheese Nips and a beer next to the computer, and munched away only when she read over the parts she had formulated. Food just wasn’t that much of a priority as the story blossomed, coming from her mind and into reality.

Of course, it was several drafts later and a year gone that she finally was satisfied enough with it to send it to a publisher. (During which time she hardly ate anything, because she was so nervous about it.) She didn’t even have any money left to buy food, even if she’d wanted to: her savings had run out, and she was five months behind in her rent. Bills stacked themselves ominously on the top of her fridge. There was no way to get rid of them. In her condition, she wouldn’t have been able to keep a job.

During this time, also, she became extremely depressed, upon being refused by two publishers. They said that it was great, but that she was too young. Too young to be accepted as a true writer. Sheena wished that they could have known what she’d been through; she was convinced that they would have seen it differently had they walked a day in her shoes.

But then something happened. On her last straw and over five thousand dollars in debt, she received a deal from a small-time printing firm on the East Side of New York. This was her last chance; she revised it again and sent it, with a little note attached reading:

Dear Editor,

The overwhelming demand that Sheena had prophesized of wasn’t bogus. The Seventeenth Floor was a major success. Before she knew it Sheena was receiving Rosie O’ Donnell’s letters in the mail, asking for her to appear on the show. She had supervisors to advise her on what to do, and she was living the high life. No longer in debt, she stayed in the little apartment however.

And she developed a slight case of insanity.

The walls played tricks on her. Being naked was better than being in clothes. She developed queer little habits; she hated them, she wanted them to go away, but they wouldn’t. From this period in her life she created a quiet disturbing narrative. Told from the point of view of the murderer, she had Time Magazine raving at the genius of making the reader feel bad for the antagonist. Feel bad for the bad guy. The son of a bitch had been an axe murderer, and yet people jerked tears at his electrocution.

It was absolutely genius.

With the arrival of a large sum of money, her sanity returned. She wisely invested her money, and it was soon growing safely inside of a secure bank account. She had been satisfied with her life. Very satisfied. Until that phone call, the phone call that had changed everything.

She didn’t want to think about her life before, because it seemed almost welcome compared to this confusion. Inside of her apartment, she was hidden from the world. She didn’t have to worry about men. She didn’t have to worry about what she looked like…or what she ate. Beneath that roof the only thing she had to worry about was her next story. That type of life had fulfilled her for years. She had been alone for so long that now being around people was odd. Her life was so much more complicated with the arrival of Munky. Was she feeling so much because he was the only one that showed any interest? Or was this really meant to be?

Sheena believed in fate. But, to tell the truth, love was another issue. She couldn’t imagine an emotion as powerful as that.

How could her and Munky ever be in love? Could they love? He was evidently promiscuous…that was evident since the first moment they met. Not a good start, to say the least. If it had really been meant to be, would they have met under such circumstances?

Sheena’s idea of love at true sight didn’t involve finding out that your lover had just slept with some kind of a whale. It involved candles, firelight, and a wonderful walk under the stars.

Walk under the stars…

Hadn’t Munky said that he loved the stars last night, as they sat in that café? He had. Stargazing was something Sheena was definitely up to, if he wanted to. And maybe, under the stars, he would even find the strength to kiss her. To hold her, under those wan, twinkling lights. It would be so romantic, and that would be love at first sight. Definitely.

With these thoughts, she kneeled before him. Her elbows nestled into the soft leather side of the cushion by his face. She lifted a hand to his dreadlocks, and played with them gently, lest she awaken him. She imagined his eyes opening, ever so slowly…this was a heavenly time. A heavenly time to kiss. In the climax of the dark night.

She could see it in her mind: his eyes flickering open ever so slowly. She swallowed and shook her head as she leaned in closer. Her warm breath made him twitch. For a second she thought he would actually awaken. But the drunken haze in which he’d brought himself kept him asleep.

Her kisses started at the nape of his neck. She slowly trailed her way up to his cheek. She pressed her long, delicate fingers against the side of his face. The warmth of him spread from his stubbly skin—rough from lack of shaving—to her lips. She fed on it. Realized how wonderfully she felt.

The closeness, the exhilarating thought that he’d perhaps wake up—made her heart flutter. A deep throbbing surfaced within her. This was what she had missed all these years as she isolated herself. Some of the best years of her life had wasted away in suffering…the man who had this skin, the man whose chest is throbbing so softly in rhythm with her kisses…all he wanted to do was help her. That’s all. He wanted to make her strong enough to handle their love.

Slowly, she caressed his lips with her own. Waited. Did it again.

"Sheena?"

"David!" she said, surprised. Her hand flew to her chest as she turned from Munky to David. He had just walked into the room, and was busy pouring himself a glass of cold milk. His hair flew out sporadically; dressed in boxers, his body showed wonderfully. Sheena noted how fit he was as he settled onto the floor beside her, his ankles cradled in his fists. He put his glass of milk on the floor between them.

"What are you doing up?" Sheena asked. She leaned against the soft couch. He hadn’t seen.

"I couldn’t sleep."

"Bad dreams?"

"No. Why you up?"

She sighed. "I wanna make sure he makes it through the night," she said after a minute of careful contemplation. He shrugged; told her that he’d be fine, and that she looked tired. She insisted on staying anyway. After a moment she told him about her father, and how he used to get drunk…and how one time he didn’t wake up until they brought him to the hospital. At this David merely picked up his glass again. The morose look in his eyes said more than anything else could. He could empathize.

"So. You didn’t answer me. Why are you up?"

"I was thinking about my family."

"Oh." Sheena suddenly had a flashback to Munky on the phone, sobbing uncontrollably. Who had he been talking to?

"Sometimes it gets real hard. I mean, I’m gone from my family for over eight months in the year." He flattened his hair with his large palms, his muscles rippling with every move.

She told him slowly, "I know. It must be hard."

"It is. Sometimes I just don’t know if all of this is worth it. I lay in that fucking cubby all alone every night and all I can think about it how I didn’t get a chance to kiss my little boy goodnight or read a story to him. And I can’t ever see Shannon. I love her so much. I mean, it was nothing when I didn’t have a house with all my stuff in it, and I didn’t have my own family. I used to miss my parents, but I was used to being away from them anyway. Now it’s a whole different kind of missing."

Sigh. "That’s so sad."

David slowly sat beside her. At first she tensed when he took her hand, but after a pat she settled down. She listened to Munky’s breathing behind them. David eventually let go of her and hugged his knees. "She called me tonight, begging me to come back home. She’s so lonely. She doesn’t have a job, or parents, or anything. All she does is wait for me to come back from tour, only to go back out again. Her life revolves around me, and I’m never there. She’s giving up everything while I’m out here doing what I love and seeing the world.

"If she knew what she was getting into she wouldn’t have married me."

"Don’t say that!"

He looked at her. A fat tear slid down his face in the moonlight. He glanced past her, and then to the other side as he smeared it away.

Her eyes large and ominous in the dark, she asked softly, "Did she say that?"

"Yeah."

"She doesn’t mean it," Sheena concluded as she took him into her arms. He sank into her.

"Yes, she does. But I love her so much."

Sheena couldn’t think of what to say. For a long time, they sat there, in silence. His tears abated as quickly as they’d come, and he moved from her embrace. He thanked her. She didn’t try to stop him as he stood up and walked away.

"Goodnight, Sheena. Try to get some sleep okay?" was all he said before he disappeared.

Sheena felt as if she’d failed some horrible exam. Her stomach churned as she thought about his words. She didn’t love him anymore…she didn’t know what she was getting into…she’d given up her life…

Was that the way it had to be?

For some reason, this was a momentous choice. To choose to go with Munky was to give up her past, to move blindly into the new. She’d have to get back onto her feet, face things she’d avoided for years. With the return of Jon, also, came so many new emotions she knew she’d never be able to block out again. She remembered things she hadn’t thought about in years. They both hadn’t changed. They were both depressed, holding that time inside of them even though years had passed.

Yes, it was an important choice.

An extremely important, life-changing dilemma.

She curled onto the couch with Munky and clung to him tightly. She was determined not to fall asleep. But by the time the clock struck four her breath was as long and heavy as his. His warmth had enveloped her, had enticed her into wonderful dreams.

Dreams of a genre that she hadn’t experienced since high school

Munky woke up in her arms. From the throbbing dullness of his hangover, he couldn’t tell right away who he held in his arms. The fleeting moment passed when he thought he’d gotten drunk and awoken with a girl…or even worse, he had woken up with Sheena. Before he lifted his head he only felt bare skin.

When he sat up he let out a whooping sigh, and a little laugh. Before his headache came back, of course. Luckily, his hand had wandered up the back of Sheena’s shirt…but that’s it. It wasn’t another girl. It wasn’t Sheena, totally bare-skinned. It was just her, sleeping with him. Somehow that thought relieved him.

He didn’t know why. It just did.

Somehow, she was making him see things in a different light. It frightened him. He didn’t know what to make of all these new feelings…

But right now his headache was making it really hard to concentrate. He was thankful for it; he’d been thinking way too long and hard these days.

She was rudely awakened as he pushed past her and ran to the back of the bus. He threw open the bathroom door and vomited. Falling to his knees, another spasm gripped him and he filled the toilet with a violent spurt of acid. When he stopped gasping, he flushed and struggled to his feet. He brushed his teeth. He checked his face in the mirror. He decided he needed to shave. The third-day stubble had checked in with the coming of the morning. Sheena eventually knocked on the door. He let her in by reaching over to twist the knob. He was in his boxers.

"Jimmy, I uh—I kinda need to talk to you."

He carefully kept his gaze on the mirror.

Her hand rubbed his bare shoulder. He stopped running the razor down his face. It clattered into the sink.

Her eyes teamed. His fingers carefully lifted her chin to him. She forced a smile, but it quickly turned sour in what she said next. "I’ve had a lot of time to think about what you said. I have been having a rough time lately, and I just don’t know what to do. I lived differently from before I came here. I’m strange, twisted. I don’t know why I do the things I do, but I can’t help it.

"I—know I have a problem. You were right. I need help."

"You know that’s why I’m here."

"I know," she whined. He held her. "It’s just so hard. It’s something that keeps me from losing it, you know? Just something that helps me to deal. Something I've come to depend on.

"But now I know that I’m strong enough to move on." She backed away from him until their gazes met. "After all, you can’t love anything until you love yourself. And I can’t love myself when I live like this."

He gave her his silver cross—the one he had cherished for years—for strength.