Jinx

1. Cigarettes and Coffee

I sat on the stiff couch in the basement, staring at the old discoloured TV. Nothing was on. I was alone. I held a cup of coffee in my hand and a cigarette in the other, alternating between sips and puffs. The room was smoky and damp, and I kept coughing. It was late, maybe around 2 or 3 am, but I was too afraid to sleep, because every time I closed my eyes, nightmares would flood my mind. I thought about the blade in the desk drawer beside me, just sitting there, taunting me. I pulled it out and stared at it, the metal glistening in the faint light. I rolled up the sleeve of my sweater and ran my fingers over the scars on my forearm. I glanced back and forth from my arm to the blade. I put it up against my skin and took a deep breath.

The power suddenly went out, causing me to jump and slice across my forearm deeper than intended.

"Shit." I whispered, getting up carefully, trying not to step on any empty beer bottles. I clamped my hand down on my bleeding wrist and shoved the razor into my pocket. I grabbed the lighter from the side table, using it as my light source to get to the stairs. The cut stung more than usual, sending spikes of pain up into my shoulder. I was nearly there when I tripped on something and fell to ground. My lighter slipped out of my hand, skidding away into the darkness. I mentally cursed and got back up, feeling my way up the stairs and to the main floor.

The moonlight shone through the window, so I had enough light to find some candles and another lighter. I set them up in the bathroom to I could wipe up my arm smeared with blood.

"Ah, f-fuck..." I gasped a little too loudly. I used a rag to rub it clean. My arm stung like never before, bleeding more than usual. The cloth was covered in blood, and once I was done I tried to get the stain out. I couldn't. I decided to throw it out. I couldn't have the guys know what was going on. I hoped they hadn't heard me. They couldn't know. They couldn't help.

I sighed as I pulled down the sleeve of my sweater. The rough fabric dragged across the raw flesh, and I bit my lip to suppress a cry.

"Billie?" Someone called out, walking into the living room. Shit. It was Tré. "What are you doing still up, man? We gotta take off at 6 tomorrow. Uh, I mean, today." He said with a yawn. His green hair flopped to one side, and his white t-shirt was crinkled. He looked like he had been having a good sleep. I shrugged.

"I'm not tired." I said. Tré took a step closer to me and raised an eyebrow.

"Dude. You haven't slept for like, four days. Get some sleep." I shook my head.

"I can't."

Tré looked at me with a worried expression on his face. He could always tell when something was wrong. "I'm worried for you man. You've been acting different lately."

"Just go back to bed Tré." I sighed.

"No can-do. Not until you do." He said. I rolled my eyes at him. "Hey, how come the lights are off?"

I turned around to sit on the couch. "Dunno. The power just went off about five minutes ago."

"Did we forget to pay the bill or something?" Tré asked, sitting down next to me. I could tell he was tired by his droopy eyes.

"Maybe." I sighed. Tré stared at me.

"Have you looked in a mirror recently?" He asked.

"Well that's rude."

"No, no. I didn't mean it that way. You look... Different." He said, the concern never leaving his face. He stood up and left to his room, coming back a few seconds later carrying a mirror as big as me. "Look." He said, deadly serious. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror.

The man I saw didn't look like me.

My whole face seemed to sag. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my hair that was dyed blond was messy and unkept. My sweater hung loosely to my skinny frame. I hadn't eaten much lately; every time I did, I puked it up. The shadows on my face seemed to be more pronounced, giving me a depressed, even evil look. I looked so different that I didn't recognize myself.

"Whoa." I said, sitting down.

"Mike's gonna be back soon. He said he'd be here around four." Tré reminded me. I had forgotten that Mike was visiting his family this month. November was usually when we took our one-month break from touring, so we could catch up with friends and family, and just relax a little. This year we did it in October... There wasn't really a reason. We just needed the vacation sooner. Mike hadn't seen me all month. I wondered what he would think when he saw me now. Not that he could do anything.

"Um, yeah. Right." I said. I stared at the ground for a while.

"Billie, if you don't go to bed right now, I'll drag you there myself. You need rest." Tré said, a determined look on his face.

"Look, I told you-"

He cut me off by grabbing my arm and pulling me off the couch. His fingernails dug into my fresh cut, ripping the skin more. I let out a yell. Tré froze.

I pulled my arm away quickly and cleared my throat. I tried to ignore the throbbing pain, but it was pretty difficult. My breathing was ragged and my eyes were wide. I sat back down on the couch to steady myself. He can't know.

"What was that?" Tré said, eyes even wider than mine.

"Nothing." I murmured.

"Billie Joe. What was that?" He repeated.

"You grabbed me. It took me by surprise." I said, trying to hide the real cause. I noticed blood leaking through the blue fabric of the sweater. It seemed Tré noticed it as well.

"Y-You're bleeding!" He said in shock.

"You know, I think I'm gonna go to bed now-"

At that moment, Mike walked through the door, and I stood up. His eyes locked with mine, and he dropped the bag he was holding.

I glanced at Tré, who was staring at me, then Mike, then back to me.

"Billie..." Mike whispered, shock in his eyes. Tré grabbed the sleeve on my sweater and yanked it up, revealing the scars and the fresh wound on my arm. If it was possible for his to get bigger, they did. Mike's mouth dropped open.

I sprinted to my room as fast as I could, although my energy payed for it. I slammed the door, closing it and locking it, breathing hard.

"Billie!" Tré banged on the door. I backed up slowly, sitting down on the bed, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "Billie!" He cried again. I shook my head, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the blade. It wasn't long before my arm was covered in blood once again.