I'm With The Band [completed]

I'm With the Band

He's onstage, singing just to me. Thousands of girls fill the arena behind me and he's singing just to me. I feel the weight of his gaze on my body, caressing my curves, heavy with desire. I move to the music, swaying my hips, my arms bowed over my head in supplication to the beat. I keep my eyes fixed on his letting him croon the words to me, the words written about me. The words he can never speak to me directly.

I know what he feels, what he wants. I know it better than I know my own desires, my own emotions. I know because he tells me, in words he sings in front of the whole world, in the way his body moves towards mine like I'm a magnet pulling him in. He can't help it. He fights it, resists it, turns away from me as best he can, but he can find me, every time, among a thousand people screaming his name, and then he sings only to me.

The show ends, all the encores are over, and the masses move as one towards the exits. I push my way towards security, flashing my pass on the handmade lanyard, the leather embossed with my name among roses. He gave it to me after a fan sent it to him, thinking the name and the flowers were just lyrics to a song, not realizing there was a real girl behind them. A real girl he cried out to every night from the stage, begging her to love him.

My love was never in question. I could not stop from loving him even if I wanted to, even if I was as frozen inside as the song claims. Cold enough to frost over the roses, ice filling their delicate veins, leaving them withered and dead when the morning light hits them. That's what he tells the world, that it is my touch that kills everything around us, that it is my ice that leaves him frozen and broken and left behind. But it's a lie.

He accuses me of being emotionless, unfeeling, when I have never been anything but exposed nerves and agony, feeling everything until I had no choice but to hide it all before it destroyed me. I thought he knew that, but he chooses to believe I am a liar and a fraud rather than trusting me and giving us a chance. He fears being left behind, being the one who loved but wasn't loved in return, and he let that fear take over. Even after I told him everything, all my secrets, all the needles piercing my heart, begging him without saying the words not to add to my collection. Not to thrust another skewer through my soul.

He tells the world that I am the impenetrable cold that kills his love on the vine, but I'm not the one sitting on the couch with women on either side, their hands groping under my clothes, cradling my sex in grasping claws. I'm not the one with my tongue buried in one woman's mouth as the other sucks on my fingers, moaning like a pornstar over the taste of my skin. I'm not the one with my other hand tweaking a redhead's nipples, snaking up under her skirt to pluck at her panties and force my fingers inside her as she gasps and begs for more.

No, that's all him. My rockstar.

He knows I'm here, he always knows when I'm nearby — in happier times he claimed it was our souls recognizing each other even before our eyes or hearts did. I see him tense momentarily before he relaxes again, indolent and cruel, pretending I'm not standing in the doorway watching as the blonde unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, sliding to her knees between his legs. Before she can take it into her mouth, the piercing through the glans gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the greenroom, he looks up at me with a mocking smile and haunted eyes, knowing that this is the coup de gras on what we had. Knowing that doing this here, today of all days — but he's forgotten, today is no different from any other — forcing me to see him give them everything and leaving me with nothing, not even memories... there's no coming back from this.

I didn't give anything away, as cold and as implacable as he always accuses me of being, I stare into his eyes as she fumbles with his cock. When it slips between her lips, I let him see me break. It's what he always wanted, after all.