Something In Between: Sequel to On The Edge of Tomorrow

Chapter 9

My mind lamented that Mary always knew too much as I slowly passed each stair in my descent to the basement. The records were still haphazardly piled around the floor, mingling with the amps and untouched instruments. The muted guitar snapped into focus as my eyes fell on Tim, wielding it with a cautious air. Somehow, he intently yielded his entire being to Billy without looking at him at all. I could feel why he was preserving his eyes from Billy. To look at Billy was to lose everything of yourself and my eyes willingly flickered to him.

Billy's hair blinded him from everything but the drum kit before him. His hands appeared to be barely holding the sticks but would occasionally tighten for an incredibly slicing hit, one that would rip through my chest like a bullet. But it was his elbows that captivated me the most. His entire torso would bounce up and down from the kicks, but his elbows glided with a level of precision; it was like he was a machine. It was unnatural with the jerk required from his shoulders to reach or the stiffness of his wrists. He had control of his body that I'd never understand.

His eyes suddenly pinned mine, forcing me to see the satisfaction my captivation supplied him. In a stalemate, we were locked there, neither willing to yield or bend until a final pop. Billy's hands pinched the cymbals to silence them.

"Go away, Tim." Billy didn't move his eyes from me as he spoke.

"Gladly," Tim shot.

I could hear the rustling of Tim ripping the guitar from his body and hurrying from the scene, but didn't dare look away from Billy.

"I'm not a fucking mechanic, Lil." His voice was strong and filled with his stage bravado.

"I can see that," I was surprised at the strength of my voice.

"Do you understand?" He absently gave a kick to the bass peddle, sending a boom through the basement.

"I get it. I know what you do. I always have." I struggled to keep my voice calm as my frustration grew.

"Do you? You focus on all the bulbs. Do you understand what I do, what I love?"

My muscles tensed in annoyance that he knew me too well. I did understand that creating, producing, and dissecting music was his life. The lights of the stage and flashbulbs of cameras were collateral damage.

"Nothing you love is perfect. I can't turn the lights off like I can't stop you from being the most frustratingly stubborn human being I've ever encountered." There was no tease in his voice. "Say something, Lil."

"You talk enough for both of us." My words came out of nowhere.

Billy bristled at my bullet. He threw the drumsticks to the ground with more force than necessary and stood in a violent jolt that knocked his stool over.

"Because you don't say anything. You don't do anything. You prolong and delay. Fuck, maybe I've written so much since I met you because I have to fill the fucking void." His voice thundered in a manner that should have elicited fear, but nothing rose in me. "Fucking say something," he demanded louder now.

"What do you want me to say?" I was out of my body; I had to of been. There's no way I could have held myself together otherwise.

"What's wrong with you?" He moved like a thrashing bull around the kit knocking over a cymbal as he went. "Seriously, I need to know what's wrong with you?"

"I don't know," I shrugged as though he had asked me what I wanted for dinner while inside I was going insane. My mind was screaming at me to say something but giving me no actual fodder to communicate.

Billy had moved closer; his muscles still bristled with frustration.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I answered again, equally as loud and strong but still devoid of any actual substance.