We're from America (Marilyn Manson)

Tourniquet

M: I really can't wait to see you again ;)
M: Might be sooner than you think
M: I can't get you out of my head James.
M: I guess you're busy atm. Text me back when you can, yeah?
The constant buzzing of her phone was irritating. With every buzz she wanted to rip her hair out more and more. Why did he keep texting her? Why couldn't she be normal and still like him? 'Just reply, Molly.' She thought time and time again. 'Tell him you don't feel the same way. And what the hell did he mean by sooner than I think? What?'
"What's gotten you all worked up?" Brian came from the bathroom and sat down on the balcony floor next to her. She showed him her phone and sighed. His eyes darkened, fists clenching. "Well, what are you going to reply?" She shrugged. "I am so confused about all of this." She waved her arms, motioning to her phone and her and Brian. His fists unclenched and his eyes softened returning to their normal brown color. He took her hand in his and squeezed. "Are you okay?" She shook her head. "I'm leading him on by not replying. But I can't bring myself to tell him to shove off. He's so nice. And what the hell did he mean by 'sooner than I think'?" "Obviously, he's flying out to Europe and seeing you in person."
After that one time they had sex things changed between them. It wasn't noticeable really, but they did. They started sleeping in the same bed but weren't having sex. They never held hands or kissed or anything, but when one of them was sad or anxious the other one would drop everything to help. They didn't talk about their feelings for each other, not after that night anyway. They continued the way they were going before.
"I guess that's good. I can tell him who I am in person. He won't want to stick around and that's that." She sighed. His eyebrows scrunched together in thought. "Do you want him to stick around?" He held his breath in waiting for her answer. "No. Yes. I don't know. Like I said, I'm confused." He let go of her hand quickly as if it burned him. "We should get to the arena; the concert is in 4 hours." And with that he left. She sighed again. What had she gotten herself into? She shot up when she woke up, but she wasn't high anymore. She considered shooting up again but dropped the idea quickly. The concert meant more to her than being blissfully empty. She was finding it hard to deal with everything, but she enjoyed the pain of her mixed emotions and withdrawal symptoms.
.
They arrived at the arena and she decided to stay outside for a while. She told the rest of them to go inside when they asked if she wanted company. Marilyn would have usually objected to her staying outside alone, but their previous conversation had left him a bit hurt.
She put in her earphones and blasted her band's music on full volume. She closed her eyes and let the music overflow her. She lit a cigarette, feeling the nicotine flow through her veins to her brain and all through her body. It was pleasantly numbing. Then out of nowhere somebody sat down next to her, bumping her shoulder. She shrieked and opened her eyes. She looked to her left and saw Michael of all people. He was smiling broadly at her. Taking out her earphones she raised an eyebrow and asked what he was doing here. "I thought I'd surprise you. Nice to see you again Wuornos." She was utterly shocked. So, Manson was right. He came to see her, and she would break his heart. Seeing him in person made her realize she really felt nothing for the man next to her. She felt anxious because of it. How would he react when she told him everything? That smile would fade because of her. He'd have come to Europe in vain. What the hell was he thinking anyway? They had seen each other in person once. Was he obsessed? Or he really fell head over heels in love with her from that one encounter and he was a hopeless romantic at heart. Tough luck for him then, because she had become so numb to the world around her that she couldn't even bring herself to appreciate the gesture, let alone be able to reciprocate the feelings. She would have to explain this to him. Hopefully, he'd understand. But she wouldn't do it now. After the concert, she thought. So instead of feeling happiness or any other even slightly positive emotion, she felt dread and anxiety, sadness even. But she didn't show it, not just yet anyway. So she smiled back at him and said: "Yeah, you too."
"So how has Europe been treating you?" He asked her, positively beaming. "It's been okay." She still wore her fake smile and before he could say anything else she quickly added: "Hey, I have to go inside and prepare but I will talk to you after the concert, yeah? There's something I have to get off my chest." He gave her a puzzled look but nodded anyway. "I'll see you later." He said, looking at her expectantly, but she just waved, quickly turning around and closed the door behind her.
She was still in shock when she reached the dressing room. She couldn't make out what the voices around her were saying. She locked herself in the bathroom, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She was so pale. She looked kind of scary. She had also lost quite a few pounds since her beginning in the band. She hated the person staring back at her. That wasn't new though. She never liked herself. Sha stared at her familiarly unfamiliar reflection. Suddenly she just started crying. The person staring back at her had tears streaming down their cheeks too. She didn't feel sympathy for them. They were a stranger. She was a stranger. She couldn't handle it anymore. She screamed silently, punching the wall. "FUCK!" It hurt. But it was better than her emotional pain. She put her hand under freezing water, trying hard not to look in the mirror. She could hear voices calling her. Banging on the door. After the pain subsided, she washed her face and left the bathroom. All of her band mates were standing in front of her, worry written all over their faces. Even Scott looked sad to see her this way. "What?" She asked them. Twiggy answered. "Well, you know it isn't an everyday-sight seeing you like this and hearing you scream out in pain. So, tell us James what's wrong?" She shook her head and said: "Nothing. I'm fine." She made her way through their group ignoring their pleas to tell them what was wrong. She changed into her outfit, black for mourning this time. She painted her face black to match. She took off her shoes and went on stage to practice. She felt a presence behind her. She knew it was him. She would recognize his distinct smell anywhere. It was pleasantly intoxicating. But at that moment she couldn't bring herself to turn around to look at him. It turned out she needn't have turned around anyway because he walked around her, grabbed the microphone and started singing along to her beat. It was kind of odd without the guitars and keyboard, but it sounded fairly good none the less.
He stopped singing but she kept playing. She could still hear him over the sound of her drums when he started speaking. "Molly, I won't pester you. I won't make you share your feelings right now, because I know you'll open up eventually. But I want you to know something. I know you've dealt with enough shit to be able to play well tonight. And I trust you to do so. Please don't let me down, Molly." With that he left her alone.
.
"Did you ask what's wrong?" "Is she alright?" "Will we be able to perform?" They badgered him with questions when he returned. He shook his head and answered quietly. "When she's ready to talk about it she will. Leave her alone about it. And of course, she'll be able to perform. Have you met her?" They all exchanged glances and then Twiggy asked what they have all been dying to find out for weeks. "Are you two doing it?" Brian's eyes widened. Then an angry frown appeared on his face. "No Ramirez we are not. And even if we were it would be none of your goddamn business. Any more questions?" All of them quickly shook their heads and went back to preparing for the concert. Another hour and a half and they would start. Manson took his box of cigarettes and left the room. He hoped she would still honor their pre-show cig tradition even if she wasn't okay. He had been waiting for ten minutes when he heard the huge heavy door opening. He already knew it was her. He recognized her scent and the energy that surrounded her wherever she went. She plopped down next to him. Sighing quietly, she lit her cigarette. He turned to look at her. He could see tears forming in her eyes again. Quietly he took her hand in his and gently rubbed it with his thumb. She whimpered softly and he squeezed her hand. He let her silently cry and she appreciated it.
After about half an hour she finally stopped. She had finally come to the point where she felt empty again. No more pain. She laughed grimly at that thought. She welcomed the emptiness now, but she used to run away from it. I mean, she adored the emptiness that came with heroin, because it wasn't an empty emptiness. It was a lack of emotions and trouble, but she still felt something. She felt greatness, like she could conquer the world. She felt divine. But she ran away from complete apathy. She'd rather cry so much it would start to hurt. Not today though. So that's why she chuckled. She thought it ironic how times are changing.
She got up and pulled Marilyn up with her. "We should really go; the show starts in 45 minutes. I have to re-do my makeup and you still need to put on yours and get dressed." He nodded. They were still holding hands when he opened the door. She stopped in her tracks and he looked at her questioningly. She hugged him and whispered: "Thank you." He rubbed her back and squeezed her tighter.
.
"She's made of hair and bone and little teeth
And things that cannot speak
She comes on like a crippled plaything
Her spine is just a string