Jinx

2. Leaving Behind

I woke up screaming on the floor of my room, the blood encrusted on my arm. I had had yet another nightmare. The images flashed through my mind as I cried into a pillow that had fallen next to me. I shook on the ground uncontrollably and sobbed into the smooth cloth, trying to rid my mind of the demons. How could my mind produce such horrific visions? Was that really what was inside me? Were my dreams a reflection of who I was?

"Billie?" Mike called softly through the door. I checked the time. 5:54 am. "Can I come in?"

I didn't answer.

"Please, Billie." Mike said. He sounded exhausted. I stood up shakily and unlocked the door. He didn't open it right away, as if he was preparing himself for what he would find inside. I sat down on my bed, hugging the blood-and-tear stained pillow close to me. I heard the sound of the knob turning, and the old wood cracking as the door opened, revealing a devastated Mike.

He blinked and gasped a little at the sight of me. "Did you... Did you get any sleep last night?" He asked, standing in the doorway, not daring to enter. I shook my head. "Figures. You were screaming all night." He said with a sigh. He kept looking down at my arm where the sleeve was rolled up. I was still shaking from the nightmare.

"We're leaving soon, aren't we?" I croaked, my voice hoarse. Mike nodded.

"Uh, Tré wanted me to get you. He said you need to get ready to go. Packing and shit, you know?" He said nervously, as if I was a bomb ready to detonate. I often thought of myself like that. A bomb. Only a matter of time until something went wrong and I blew up. And ended up hurting someone.

"Yeah." I said, standing up, but immediately falling to ground. My knees just couldn't hold me. Mike lunged in to help.

"Whoa, whoa, man. Hey, you... You don't look so good. You should eat something. How long has it been...?" He asked, helping me stand up again. I had to lean on him for support.

"Almost a week." I whispered. Mike nearly dropped me.

"Holy shit man! That's not good. Come on let's get you something." He said, eyebrows knit together with concern.

"It's n-no use. It always ends up coming back up anyway." I said, pushing myself off him, but I fell against the wall as soon as he let go. It wasn't this bad yesterday, or the day before. But for some reason, it was worse than ever today. Come on Billie! Be a fucking man and take the pain! I shouted at myself internally. But who was I kidding? I couldn't even walk straight.

Mike looked taken aback at my sudden need for independence, but didn't leave my side. I scowled at him as we reached the kitchen.

Tré jumped off his chair the moment he saw us, running over and helping me to the couch.

"I don't need help." I murmured, but didn't have the strength to push him away like I did Mike. As soon as I was sitting, I rolled down the sleeves of my sweater. Tré stopped me.

"No. We need to get you cleaned up man." He said sternly. I thought about contradicting him, but decided against it. He was right, after all.

I let him help me to the bathroom and set me up on a stool. He opened the cupboard and pulled out the peroxide and a clean cloth. I glanced at myself in the mirror for a moment, and I looked worse than yesterday. I looked dead. Maybe that would an improvement. I thought, but quickly shoved the idea out of my head. Maybe some other day, but not today.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, washing his hands.

"You weren't supposed to find out." I said quietly. Tré stopped what he was doing.

"Billie, I could've helped you." He whispered. I looked down at the ground for a moment.

No, you couldn't have.

"What caused you to do this?" He asked, lightly touching my arm to get a better look at it.

"I.. I don't..." I tried to say, but the words wouldn't come out. Tré blinked a couple times and took a deep breath. He poured a stream of peroxide onto my arm. "Ah! Fuck..." I cussed as the wound stung and bubbled. I clenched my jaw as he observed me.

"Jesus, Billie, did you have to cut so deep?" He said nervously. I stared at him. I could see in his light blue eyes that he was worried for me. Scared, even. Tré used the cloth to wipe off the excess liquid and dry my cuts. He bent down and looked through the cupboard under the sink for a bit. When he came back up, he was holding a package of bright-yellow band-aids.

"Really?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged.

"Normal band-aids are so boring." He said with a smile. I held out my arm for him to apply them all. The first ones stung a bit, and I swore some more under my breath. The rest were fine. Slowly but surely, my arm became a giant wad of yellow plastic. "There." Tré said as he applied the last one. I stood up and walked out of the bathroom as quickly as my energy would permit, wanting to avoid saying thank you.

I went straight to my room to pack, for our departing time was already overdue. I grabbed a few t-shirts and some old jeans and stuffed them into a suitcase. I threw two pairs of shoes in to complete the package and zipped it up. I didn't need much.

As I was about to leave the room, I heard Mike and Tré talking in hushed tones outside my door.

"He hasn't touched a guitar in a month. A month, Mike. He used to play every waking minute. He hasn't eaten anything in over a week, and I doubt he gets much sleep with all those nightmares. I mean, I hear him screaming every night, man. It scares me to death." Tré whispered.

"And it only started last month?" Mike asked.

"I... I think so. I don't know about the... the..." Tré paused, but I could tell from the silence that Mike understood.

"He looks so skinny. I mean, his face is sunken and his hands are all veiny and shaky. How long has he been like that?"

Tré didn't answer right away. I kept my breathing to minimum so I could hear what they were saying. "It was sort of gradual. It started with the screaming, and then he wouldn't eat, and then everything that he did eat, he puked up. I don't know what's wrong with him, but we need to find out." Tré said, his voice shaking. His voice got like that when he was about to cry. He really was worried about me. Both of them were. But I didn't know how to stop it.

I was going to leave the room for real this time when I noticed I forgot something. The razor blade of the table next to my bed.

I thought about it.

Billie you idiot! Don't bring it with you! If the guys find it... My conscience screamed at me. But my impulse was too strong. I grabbed it from its place and tucked it in the first zipper of the suitcase. I then walked out of the room, not taking one look back.