Chapter 7:

Renee’s hand moved from Munky’s as if it had been zapped with a lightning bolt. Munky dashed to the door to receive Sheena as she flew into his arms. The cops were there; but not to arrest Munky for disturbing the peace. They were busy calling an ambulance. Jon had passed out in Sheena’s arms.

The next three days were spent in the Atlanta hospital. Head, David, and Fieldy refused to leave the hospital. Renee, Nathan, Munky and Sheena shared a hotel room (they had to be quiet this time, but this was no problem). Obviously Jon had not been taking his medication, and had suffered a chemical imbalance. Sheena told Munky that he had started shaking after she’d swept him up in her arms; he had talked in monosyllables and collapsed, still mumbling incoherently until a fit seized him.

Renee was an emotional wreck. She regretted bringing Nathan on tour, but Nathan was both too young and too naïve to understand what happened to his father. He had been scared as he heard his mother and father screaming at each other, but with a donut from Fieldy he started to feel better. Daddy was tired. Nathan visited him everyday in the hospital. Every second he spent prodding along with his weak father tore Renee’s heart apart.

She hadn’t known what she was getting into when she married Jon. She hadn’t even known the man she was marrying. God, had she paid for it.

He fed off her strength, however, and eventually he was mentally stable enough to be released from the hospital. The first thing Jon did as soon as he was good enough to walk was sneak down to the lobby. Before he was caught he made sure it was with a beautiful rose. How the tears had filled her eyes.

That morning, Jon had been angrier with her than he had ever been. To her horror, he had even gone to hit her—but stormed out of the room instead. She proposed to him her suspicions as to his loyalty. He had been so disgusted he had vomited. And yet he still wouldn’t answer her, for a reason quite beyond her. Had the reaction been a result of how revolting the idea was—or his guilt, at an act he had committed against her?

She hadn’t been able to decide, and had kept on pressing him.

A mistake.

Munky had told her everything she needed to know: Jon had been faithful to her.

But that was unimportant. Everything was unimportant, except for Jon’s condition. Sheena had been scolding herself about that for days. She loved Jon more than words could describe, even though he refused to be in the same room with her. It was all her fault; she should have been tougher, monitored Jon’s medicinal intake whether he liked it or not. Munky had distracted her. She had even completely forgotten about Jon. If Jon died, Sheena wouldn’t be able to handle it. Munky could wait; he wasn’t dying from mental insanity.

Sometimes, however, when she thought about the blood rushing into his face as he’d screamed at her, she wasn’t so sure.

Yes, Jon was released from the hospital. The tour was reluctantly started…except at a much slower pace. A month had passed by the time they made up four out of the five shows they had postponed.

"Did you feed Jon yet?" Sheena asked Renee one morning as she sat, drinking her coffee. Jon was by no means an invalid, but he wouldn’t eat unless fed. When Renee answered no, Sheena whipped out applesauce and forced it

(pushed it down and forced it)

to open. She poured it into a bowl, and headed to Jon. With a start, he woke up, only to see Sheena there, staring at him so pitifully. She couldn’t help it, he knew. His face contorted in sadness as she fed him. He remembered a time when he’d been stronger. A time when he’d shown her what it was like to love and to be loved. Those childish memories filled his head, the memories that had started off so good only to end up tragically. Traumatically. They killed something. They were murderers of the most precious gift anyone could be given. They were going to hell for what they did; it was all Jon’s fault. If he hadn’t of—when she—

Sheena clattered the bowl into the sink, tears cascading down her face. She knew Jon could hear; she was beyond caring. She always hid behind her lies! She was more than an awful person, she was a monster. If she hadn’t have been so awful, none of what happened in high school would have transpired. And because she’d lied, Jon was suffering, thinking that he was responsible for something that had nothing to do with him. God forbid she’d give anyone reason to believe—

"Dammit!" she cried as the bowl dropped and broke into several pieces. Blood poked through her skin. Before she knew it, Renee was cleaning up the mess. Sheena hid her dark-red hand—she didn’t want anyone to help her clean it out—and helped Renee. Munky touched her back, and she straightened. A sudden flashback from another time, another place, sent her to her knees. Her hands flew upward in exasperation. She was hysterical. Munky found her bloody hand.

"Shh. Shh. Sheena, calm down, okay? I need to see this cut." On one knee, he held her hand; asked Renee for a cloth and some peroxide. Sheena didn’t want any help. She didn’t deserve it, anyway. There was no pain, she found; she was so numb, so numb to everything. So numb to herself, so numb to Jon, and so numb to Munky as she yanked her hand from his. Munky chased her as she headed to the back. When she slammed the bathroom door on him, all he could do was beg.

"Sheena, let me in. Come on! That fucking thing is gonna get infected if you don’t clean it out. You have to be gentle, or it’s fucked." Sheena looked down at the large cut on her hand. It was a serious laceration, just shallow enough to avoid stitches. She should have let him in. Wanted to.

"How the fuck do you know what to do?" she asked rudely, the hoarseness of her voice struggling to hide her tears. She was a monster; she didn’t deserve him. By liking her he was making a huge mistake.

His voice was hurt, muffled through the door. "I lost my fingertip in a four-wheeler accident. I know what to do, Sheena." Silence. "Look, I know you’re hurting. If you want to talk, we can—"

"My best friend’s dying, Munky. You know it like I do. So shut the fuck up and go away. I can’t deal with us right now."

Us…

"Sheena, you know what? I’m tired of your bullshit. Let me in. Please. I really want to help."

He was extremely gentle with the cut. He cleaned it out expertly, and wrapped a bandage around it when he was done. He kissed her again, and told her to dry her tears. There was only one show left. After that Jon could go home—finally home. It had been four months since Munky had walked into his house—

He didn’t want to go home. Neither did Sheena. She wanted to stay with Munky, but the first part of her story was finally finished and she needed to start fixing it up—which meant returning to her bare apartment. She had developed normal eating patterns, which she was afraid would dissolve as she returned to the world she had avoided for nearly half a year now.

Yes, home meant salvation for Jon. But it would be hell for the two young lovers in the bathroom, the blood on their hands a testament of their love.

*****************************************************************************

"Jon?" Sheena asked into the door to his dressing room. It had been nearly half an hour. After they’d finished their last song, Jon had broken down in front of thousands of shocked people. Crying and on his knees in the middle of the stage, he’d asked the crowd through his sobs,

"Am I fucking alone, guys? Huh? Am I? Is there no one out there that I haven’t helped? What more can I do, guys? I can’t stand it anymore! Dammit! Does anyone here feel me? Am I insane?" At this, thousands of children cheered to him that they felt it, too, crying and saying he was the reason they were still alive. Sheena ran out into the bright lights and hugged Jon. He held her as he collapsed. She’d escorted him backstage when he came to. After telling her that he needed a minute alone, he disappeared behind the door. She left him to his privacy for longer than a minute; it had been nearly an hour now.

But she didn’t notice. She was distracted with the prospect of returning to her apartment. She didn’t want to go back. She wanted to be with Munky. She was positive that Jon would be better once he was home and back at rest. She remembered Harvard—where she had gone to medical school—and how the professor had instructed that sunshine and rest helped one to recover from even some of the worst medical conditions. He said that miracles didn’t occur in the hospital; they occurred at home. Whether Jon believed it or not, he was strong. So much stronger than Sheena. A sob reached her ears, and she bounded into the room.

Jon was in a fetal position on the floor, crying softly into his hands. When Sheena entered the room he curled up even more. She fell to her knees at his side. On second thought, she lay down and wrapped a thin arm around him. He kept sobbing.

"Jon, talk to me, baby, talk to me," she cried, scared. There was only so much that she could take.

"Oh, God. Oh, God!" He sobbed. The sorrow in his voice urged tears from her eyes.

"Is it me, Jon? Am I why you’re so depressed?"

"It’s not you, it’s me. I killed it, Sheena. I killed the fuck out of it." Sheena didn’t know what he meant by that—she’d killed it, on her own choice—and told him that. The pain of the loss filled her heart again. They had been young, so young, with such a burden to bear.

At this, he turned, and wrapped his arms around her. With her help he managed to get to his feet. They hugged, crying hysterically. He insisted consistently that it was his fault, and Sheena kept denying him. She wished she could free herself from the lie that strangled him. Telling him would make everything so much easier, even if it made him hate her—

She bit her lip. Half an hour later, they both walked to the tour bus with tears in their eyes. He would never know. He could never know. Why? Because he couldn’t handle the truth.

Neither could Sheena.

They talked for a long time in the bus in Jon’s little cubby. Alone. They didn’t want anyone else to hear what they talked about. Let the others think what they wanted. Who cared if they were suspicious? If Munky was jealous? Sheena cared if Munky was jealous. But she also cared about her friend. Jon vented about everything that had transpired in high school. All his guilt, all his regret. He couldn’t stand the thought that he had ruined her life with what he’d done. She listened to him cry, and all the time thought that she could set him free by setting right her lie. It wasn’t his fault at all, but how could she tell him that? If she told him the truth, she’d have to tell him something she’d never told anyone else. Something that even Sheena hadn’t faced.

But it was so tempting. Until he was done, and she hugged him, kissed his parched lips in the dark. She hadn’t kissed him in years . . .

Hadn’t kissed him since high school.

*****************************************************************************

As if on cue, Munky was outside. Sheena walked to him from behind. He heard her footsteps, and continued to look at the sky as she approached. He was enjoying a Tootsie Pop a fan with blue hair had thrown onstage. It was really good. Not as good as a cigarette, but he was trying to quit, so it was good—and let Sheena wait for him to speak. As soon as he saw her body, the sorrowful look in her eyes from many tears, his heart softened. It didn’t show on his face.

"Jim, I—"

"Sheena—"

"I’ve had many burdens," Sheena admitted. "Many. I know this has been so hard on the both of us. But I just wanna leave here with you knowing that in three months you’ve helped me more and cared about me more than anyone I have ever met. You are the only person in this world that really gives a shit about me. I—I’m sorry I don’t know how to have a relationship."

"You don’t have to know anything" was all he said. "There’s no formula or right way to do it. Listen to your heart. Try it. What is your heart telling you right now?"

"Well…" her eyes wandered away. To the stars. In the climax of the night. "My heart. Right now? It’s telling me I want to love you. This is our last night. Who knows if we’ll have another one."

"Sheena, don’t—please—don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like this is over. Please. You’ve become a part of me," he whispered, his cold exterior melting into sadness she had become so familiar with. His lips met hers. She kissed back. After, he held her closely, lovingly.

Without a word he led her past the living room. Head watched them as they went. David opened his cubby just in time to see them enter the bathroom together. His eyes wandered out the window—and to the stars. They twinkled brightly as they headed back to California, back to home. And as Sheena revealed her soft curves to Munky, the curves he had tasted once, as she felt his large, caramel body pressed against hers as water pounded all around them, David opened the fridge. For once the bread was gone…and there was fruit.

Even the roaring of the tour bus engine and the running television couldn’t hide their moans. Munky held her fragile body in his arms and rocked into and out of her, with slow, deep thrusts. She was coming to him quickly. He didn’t hold it back; he joined into her, melted in her warmth as a shuttered sigh ripped from him.

Her fingernails dug deep crimson crevices in his back. Her breath came short and quick. Even when she bit his shoulder lightly, trying to hold back the moans brimming within her, the noises resonated through the thin walls of the tour bus. He called to her, too; made love to her, even though he really didn’t know how.

Head ignored the sounds; tried to ignore them. He went through two packs of cigarettes that night, shakingly holding the lighter every time he lit one. Renee gazed at the stars with David; Fieldy binge-drank and passed out. Jon listened to the moans. He cringed, his eyes shut tight. High school. He hadn’t been able to resist. He remembered how young he had been. Munky…would he be different? Would Sheena love him forever?

Or would he, too be mortified, haunted, damned? Or would he, too, need two simple words? Yes, or no?

The two simple words that never seemed to let Jon go. It was such a simple word. And yet it still haunted him. But, oh, he could still remember it all as if it was yesterday…

Tears rose from deep within him, but never came. He was numb. So numb. Their moans were a shot of novocaine to his heart.

In Munky’s cubby he and Sheena watched television for a long time, him rubbing her back, and then her shoulders. At first she felt pressure, then an unbelievable satisfaction that drained her. She’d been exhausted when she’d come to him; the talk with Jon had been painful and arduous. So many secrets. So many lies. If Jon or Munky knew what Sheena had done, they’d leave her. They’d want nothing to do with her, and she was convinced they’d hate her, too.

Because it was all her fault, and not Jon’s.

Right now, she had Munky, and she was determined to make the best of it. She’d gotten what she’d longed for ever since she saw him. The contact; the intimacy. There was nothing for her to do but enjoy it, for in the back of her mind came the fact that she would somehow manage to ruin it. She dreamed about the hands that ran down her face.

The next morning they reached California. Munky took Sheena to the airport after they had lunch, and he gave her his number and e-mail address. He told her to call him whenever she wanted and he’d be there for her. She gave him her phone number and e-mail address, too. When it was time to leave, Munky’s heart wrenched with a pain he had never known existed before, and he kissed her passionately in front of the old women and young children in the airport terminal. It was lusty and steamy; Sheena was swept off her feet by his passion. She thought about the night before, and had to stifle a tear.

"So, I hope I see you again soon," Munky said. He wished it more than anything, even though he doubted it. This was saying goodbye to the only one he’d ever really cared about. It was going to be too hard to keep in touch; she’d lose interest in him soon, and find someone else to fill her newfound needs.

"Yeah. Munky I’m going to miss you so fucking much," she said. Tears slipped down her face. He wiped them away with his thumb. She went to kiss him again, but he stopped her. If she kissed him again, he’d take her right there, in front of the old woman giving them the nastiest looks. He told her that, and she laughed sadly. She wished him farewell. Turned away. She’d write a note to him on the way to the airplane, call him when she got home, everything. They’d spend hours online talking to each other—but she was afraid she’d lose him. Any guy his age couldn’t go very long without someone to hold. She imagined him getting lonely and going to a strip club to find someone to fuck with—

Munky drove home to his empty house. It was so barren to him. Looking back, he wondered why he had bought something so oversized. He had been young, and, even though unmarried, had wanted to compete with the other band members. So he had bought a house so large he hadn’t known what he would do with it. Many times he had considered selling the house to buy an apartment.

The size of the house wasn’t the only reminder of his loneliness. Every meal that he cooked only to wash one dish was a reminder. Every time he moaned, even, it resonated emptily through the house like a lone call. Even the gasps from his tears were heard and left uncomforted, no matter how many rooms they whispered through.

He often wondered what the house would be like with the pitter-patter of children’s feet, what it would be like to come home to the television on, cook books open and something good cooking

(Honey, I’m Home!)

as he opened the door.

The silence was terrible. Sometimes he preferred the tour bus and the little

(coffin)

cubby.

He was exhausted, but he played one of his several guitars for hours. He thought about Sheena, and watched the clock. He jumped on the phone as soon as it rang. He heard Sheena’s voice, so far away. It sounded small and tinny, not like the beautiful, real person he had hugged eight hours earlier.

This was going to be harder for them than either could have ever imagined.