Disclaimer: Foster's is not mine, but the plot and "Teenage Suicide" are. Not that you'd want either…
On a side note, Unwritten Law has a song named "Teenage Suicide", but I'm not quoting them. One more thing- Z100 is a real radio station transmitting from the Empire State Building in NY. It happens to be my favorite Top 40 station.
Chapter Four: So You Wanna be a Rock Star?
"R.D.!" a group of rancorous fans screeched, thereby destroying the lower rungs of his hearing. Fortunately, Kip had actually invested in a worthwhile enterprise and purchased earplugs, protecting what remained of his hearing. Apparently, since his fans already terminated their hearing on a regular basis with his music, they showed the same concern for his own ears. Before now he hadn't known preteen girls could shriek quite so painfully.
Smiling benignly, inwardly cursing his producer, R.D. called back to a few. Everything he did was part of the act, the excruciating role of the rock star. If he pretended that eventually the lights would dim and he'd be able to leave, he might make it through. The thought of spending the rest of his life apart from his precious Mac and Foster's was simply unbearable. He had to listen, he just had to. A sizeable lump formed in his throat and wouldn't go away.
Today he donned an orange streak in his spiked blue hair, his customary hoop earring and filtered plastic sunglasses, an open blue vest showing his prepubescent chest, and uncomfortably tight black pants. Kip, no doubt because he was immune to stupid wardrobes, dictated he wore slacks displaying himself prominently, regardless of wedgies and chafing. It was part of the "appearance", Kip replied with a smirk when fitting him. When he'd retorted only morons wore pants two sizes too small, he casually pointed to a picture of Mac and cocked his fingers like a gun. That normally shut him up very quickly indeed.
"We love you!"
"I love you too," R.D. replied, meaning none of it. His stomach grumbled, his body ached from sleep deprivation, and he hadn't anything to drink in a good half day. It was only Kip, prodding him in the back, forcing him to complete the façade. Otherwise, he'd run away from everything, so far they'd never find him again. Back to Foster's…back to Mac…
Stepping out from behind him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Kip draped an arm around his young star. He gripped his shoulder tightly, but R.D. said nothing. The pounding hatred in his leaden head spoke volumes. He wanted to snap every bone in his stupid, leering body. First, though, he'd start with breaking those glinting teeth.
"Be sure to buy R.D.'s new album, 'Unrequited (Missing You)', in stores August 23rd and his hit single, 'Teenage Suicide', coming soon," Kip plugged, smiling insidiously. Fuming, R.D. imagined smashing every single damn tooth in his rotten mouth. He wasn't surprised that a great deal of his thoughts involved violence. Apathy towards the masses and deep seated loathing invoked violent pondering. He smirked, picturing Mac's reaction if he found out.
The smirk faded quickly, however. He hadn't seen him for four years and though he created him, his memories grew foggy with time. Months ago, he recalled Mac clearly, especially the awestruck look when Bloo ran for the hills. That was the night he considered his true self dead and his false self, constructed through lies, fabrications, and illusions, was born. He didn't refer to himself in thoughts as Bloo if he could help it.
Kip's smile drove him up the wall in more ways than one. It said clearly, "I am the master of your domain and I own you." R.D. inwardly seethed, past the point of argument. He did own him, at least, the part named R.D. (Real Deo). The part smothered, Bloo, rebelled unconsciously. It berated him tirelessly about self defeat and an overwhelming desire to see Mac (it also slipped in pleas). Kip didn't own Bloo, but in R.D.'s slump, it mattered little. He owned the part of him concerned for his creator's safety.
A collective gasp yanked him from his thoughts- they were probably wondering about the title of his hit. R.D. smirked. Kip suffered him through nearly everything, but his lyrics and album titles were never debated. He hadn't simply cowed to him, either. On his live performance on Z100 (New York's Number One Hit Music Station), Kip had subtly altered the words to his first hit. Bloo (since he had still referred to himself as Blooregard at that point), enraged, sang the original to loud applause. Since it was his version topping the charts (and selling more copies), Kip's greed led him to overlook the glaring pleas to Mac. Relieved, Bloo continued to reach out to his creator via song.
"Teenage Suicide" had induced the rare disagreement over lyrics. Disregarding his mental state when he penned it, Kip instead insisted his fans would follow suit and commit some sort of cult suicide. The thought amused R.D. darkly (a lost fan base meant no popularity which meant Kip wouldn't care about him or Mac). Once again, however, his audience won out. The incredibly angsty, haunting song about losing everything and desiring death, actually made some people shiver. Though they usually wrote it off as a disturbing pop song, there were others who thought perhaps R.D. seriously contemplated taking his own life. They kept silent, but became worried.
Bloo, after four years, was starting to lose his supposedly unshaken faith in his creator, and he wanted the world to feel it.
Mac arrived at Foster's minutes following Frankie's phone call. Despite the ardent argument erupting, he reluctantly abandoned his homework on the living room table and darted outside, stopping only to scribble a note to his mother. He passed Terrance on the street but ignored his remark about a secret rendezvous. Frankie's words had shaken him to the core; he ran willy-nilly along, narrowly avoiding adults and the occasional dog. The words "Teenage Suicide" and Bloo rang through his head.
Panting, bent over double, Mac fell into Frankie's arms when she opened the door. She smiled softly and carried him into the den much like a mother would. There, Eduardo, Wilt, and Coco gathered around her new laptop and cautiously peered at it. Guessing from Ed's intimidation, she'd probably told him it would explode if he touched it wrongly. Frankie's fanaticism about her electronics had not faded in time.
Placing him down tenderly, she scanned the room and hoped Herriman would not hop in. Herriman despised all of R.D.'s songs and ranted if anyone played them outside of headphones. If he popped in now, the results would be disastrous. Mac, under normal circumstances, never sat to listen to a single one of his imaginary friend's songs. He'd only shown up today after she snapped that he'd be heartless if he didn't.
Even so, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He really wasn't in the mood for another stupid love song. What could be so important for her to demand he come and listen? Was Bloo singing about how he abandoned everyone he cared about? Or how shallow he was?
Deep down, he'd begun to question this. Every time he saw an ad for an interview or exclusive with R.D., Kip's name inevitably followed. In pictures from People and US, R.D. was flanked by at least two guards and usually Kip as well. Reports of him stumbling and nearly passing out at a recent appearance flashed insanely for a half hour then were shut up unnaturally fast. It seemed anyone commenting on R.D.'s physical state found themselves silenced adroitly. No records of him collapsing made it to print.
Frankie gently squeezed Mac's shoulder comfortingly and pressed play on her computer. Eduardo, not expecting a song to suddenly start, jumped. Wilt eased him back onto the couch, where Coco squawked disapprovingly. Mac ignored all three of them.
"Wanna take a ride…
Teenage suicide…
"I used to think life was worth living
Until I started taking more than I was giving
People I loved left me empty and cold
Nightmares made me old
"The person I loved above everyone
Gave up on me before the day begun
Wherever he is, he left me high and dry
I can feel my soul starting to die
(Chorus- 2X)
"Everything I say I've said before
Life has no significance anymore
I just want sweet surrender and peace
I want my life to cease
"I've been used and abused
My only wish refused
Just let me escape any way I can
This world is more than I can stand
"I'm sorry to care
Love has left me bare
I don't want sympathy or pity
Just let me sing this last ditty
(Chorus- 2X, fade to end)."
Mac stared blankly for about five minutes, the last whispered line escaping his notice. Frankie, brushing her face with her hand hurriedly, gazed meaningfully at Mac before rewinding the song a few seconds before the end. She'd heard it the first time on the radio and it bothered her. Idly, she flicked a finger towards the volume and hit play again.
"I'm so sorry, Mac…." Bloo whispered.
Silence hung heavy in the room. Wilt, Eduardo, Coco, and Frankie all stared meaningfully at Mac, burying his face in his hands. He wasn't crying, but there was a lump in his throat he couldn't quite rid himself of. Finally, straining, he raised his head slightly and saw his expression in varying severity mirrored on their faces. Frankie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder again and he swallowed hard, trying to calm himself long enough to speak.
"Do you think he's…serious?" he asked finally, knowing the answer before he inquired. He just didn't want to think about it. Wilt placed his hand on Mac's other shoulder, Coco trilled sympathetically, and Ed blew his nose noisily. Frankie squeezed his shoulder again and responded.
"I…I do, Mac," Frankie said solemnly. "But that isn't the question now."
"How long has he been trying to reach me through song?" he burst out before he could stop himself. "How long has he been singing songs like that?"
"All of his songs have him whispering apologies to you, Mac," Wilt replied, frowning. "That's why we've been trying to get you to listen."
"Si, but we thought you no care enough to hear," Eduardo added, sniffling.
"(For a smart boy, sometimes you're remarkably stupid)," Coco finished, causing Wilt to scold her. Ashamed, flushed, Mac turned to Frankie again.
"This is the first time he's sung about killing himself, but we've been worried for months. Madame Foster's convinced his collapsing, hushed messages, and other actions are tied to your withdrawals. Bloo needs you, Mac, but he's starting to lose hope. If this song suggests what we think, he might end it before you can reach him."
Panic stricken, Mac suddenly remembered "Help me, help me, Mac" during Deo's Variety Hour. He'd scoffed, sauntering out of the room, but Bloo's pleas had haunted his nightmares. For weeks afterwards, he'd told himself he was imagining his pain and suffering. It felt like someone had dropped an anvil on his head.
"There has to be something I can do about it!" he protested, queasy. To his surprise, Frankie nodded grimly.
"There is…but you're going to need my help."
Producing a small clipping from her pocketbook, she showed him a contest entry. "Are you R.D.'s ultimate fan?", the paper read. "Prove your knowledge in a hundred word essay and if we chose your essay, you'll win a day with the star himself. Must be fourteen or younger to enter…"
Mac sighed. If he had to enter a teen magazine's contest to see his friend again, so be it. It was time to submerse himself in the obsession that was R.D.
I had to up the rating because of "Teenage Suicide" and the theory Bloo might actually consider that an option.
And I'm not in the mood to reply to reviewers, but please keep reading and reviewing! Thanks.
Until we meet again…