Chapter 10: Back in Your Head
Remember when I was
So strange and likeable?
By the time the auditions wrap up, it's late into the evening. The parking lot's darker than I imagined it would be so my eyes need a moment to adjust. The lone street lamp gives the setting a somber feel and the breeze is chilly. I notice the sky, too—it's clear and starlit. Shivering in my coat, I stuff my hands in my pockets and nuzzle my chin into my scarf. It's ridiculously cold, so my cheeks burn from the irritation.
I listen to the silence. It's a simple serenity, a night so mute that I can recognise miniscule details like the rustling trees. Inhaling a measured breath, I, for just a moment, close my eyes; I miss this sense of peace, how I can just stand at the edge of the curb and, well, breathe.
As I do, I hear footsteps. They're initially faint and abroad but they grow more distinct with each stride. And, as I study my shadow that's stretched against the concrete, a second emerges. The body's tall and wiry, and it pauses just behind mine. Judging from its gaunt shape and dignified stance, I know exactly who it is.
Jareth and I stand there for a moment. A breeze hovers and I soak in as much peace as I possibly can; something tells me it's about to be annihilated.
"The chord arrangement is easy to play," I mutter.
"You remember."
His words aren't lively nor mocking. Instead, they sound awestruck. A little gentle, too.
"The chordarrangement," I firmly repeat, "is easy to—"
"—every word, the rhythm and articulation…" he trails off. "…you remember."
My jaw stiffens. "I said the chord arrang—"
"Look at me. Please."
"Why should I?" I say sharply. "It's just a stupid song."
I watch his shadow cross its arms. "You know, some gratitude would be lovely. I created that 'stupid' song for a girl I hoped would treasure it. But, according to her ignorance, it holds a degree of prominence that she declines to apprecia—"
"For God's sake, why can't you just forget—?"
"Dammit, Sarah!" a surge of anger rises in his voice. "Look at me, please!"
Although I'm taken aback by his frustration, I refuse to turn. There's no way I'm about to obey Jareth, whether it's a demand or a request. Determined to stand my ground, I glare at the street lamp across the parking lot and contemplate the smartest strategy to flee to freedom.
But that's when I feel two hands clamp around my shoulders. Then, before I can jerk away, Jareth's reeling me around and planting me in place, directly facing him. His movement's so agile and stern that I hardly have time to flinch.
Astonished, my eyes meet Jareth's in the dim gloom. His expression's pinched, and agitation presents itself visibly in his widened eyes. His fingers compress into my shoulders and I feel his hold tighten with each spoken word.
"Like everything else," he says through gritted teeth, "I thought you had erased it—that you'd enforced yourself to disdain the memory. That's what you've always done, correct?" he yanks me in closer. "Obliterate the gifts I have to offer?"
Even though I'm startled, I hide my shock and I glare icily.
"An awful hallucination is anything but a gift."
His stares at me. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I hate every word of that song!" I thrust him away and stagger backwards, nearly teetering off the curb's edge. Jareth pulls away, takes a heavy gulp of breath and scrunches his crimson hair in his fists, holding it back from his forehead. He doesn't look at me in the night, but instead squeezes his eyes shut. Within the blackness, it looks like he's about to lose it.
"That song—it's terrible!" I scream at him. "The thought of it makes me sick, and you wouldn't believe how difficult it was for me to stand on that stage and sing it to you! How am I supposed to feel about a—a form of torture that reminds me of—of you? About a time when I was once trapped inside my head—that my imagination was controlling whatever happened to my brother? His life, Mr. Jones, depended on whether or not I had the strength to withstand your messed-up labyrinth!"
In the distance behind him, I spot Jamie and Ceylon. They stroll from the school's front doors and down towards where we stand, accessing the looks of the situation. Though it's dark and their faces appear blurry, I can plainly see their expressions' uncertainty, like the two of them are unsure if they should pivot the opposite direction. Their strides slow and Jamie's hand flies up against Ceylon's chest.
Mindful of my best friend's attention, my voice slips into a hissed whisper. "That stupid bubble was never a gift, or a dream, or whatever you want to call it. It was a cage and it nearly destroyed everything that matters to me. And all you can say is that, because you created the damn thing, that I should appreciate it? How am I supposed to feel about something like that?"
I digest the pain in Jareth's eyes—the pain that I've never seen before—and instantly back off. He looks more troubled than I've ever seen him, and this observation feels strangely upsetting; how could I, with just a tiny hint of the truth, hurt him this much? He looks as though I've viciously stabbed him in the gut, like his organs are pouring onto the concrete and it's all my fault.
I shakily sigh; today needs to end. I'd rather stare at my bedroom's depressing ceiling all night then the expression on Jareth's face.
"But the worst part," I take a deep breath and step forward, "is how unforgettable it is; your voice—the words that you had sung—how could I ever erase that? No matter how traumatizing it was, it's a part of me, Jareth, like it's a part of you." I try to smile, but the venture immediately dies; there's nothing to smile about. "Of course I remember."
He doesn't try to speak—to add a comment before my friends' interruption. Instead, Jamie and Ceylon appear by our sides and Jareth, seemingly oblivious, just stares at me. He hardly blinks an eye at their arrival.
"Good evening, Mr. Jones," Jamie chirps, beaming up at him. At the sound of her voice, Jareth offers her a side glance. But I notice the distressed glint in his eyes and I realize how, although he looks at Jamie, he's not really here. He's somewhere else entirely.
The happy glow to Jamie's entrance promptly diminishes, and the four of us are left standing there in the chilly air. We wait for Ceylon's greeting—any sign of a recovery—but there's an empty muteness and we quickly accept his insolence; he glares at his shoes and ignores Jareth. In an effort to rescue the moment, Jamie dives into a small-talk endeavor.
"So, did we kick Vick's ass tonight or what—?"
"Goodnight, Mr. Jones."
I latch my hands onto Jamie and Ceylon's elbows and steer them the opposite direction, any direction away from Jareth. The two of them throw me startled looks, confused by the dismissal. Jamie opens her mouth to complain, but, after my warning glance, she instantly silences herself.
I secretly pray Jareth will keep quiet, that he'll allow me to escape without a word. That pained look in his eyes shouldn't have to be my problem, and if I disappear then maybe it won't matter. This sort of behaviour doesn't belong to the Goblin King. It never has. It's not Jareth, so why should I have to deal with it? God, what's wrong with him?
But, just to my dismay, I hear his choked response sound from behind us, more anguished than I could ever expect.
"Goodnight, Ms. Williams."