Disclaimers: Not mine. The song in this chapter is The Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance.

Chapter six.

"What's wrong, Jude?" they say. "Just tell me what's wrong." Sad eyes following, helpless. She wouldn't look at Tommy. She could feel Tommy when he passed her by, but she couldn't look. And, Kwest, she had to start avoiding him, too. "Look at me, Jude." Portia was easier. Darius knew nothing. Jamie frowned and never spoke. Spiederman spoke and never frowned. Her mother was married, and leaving for Europe. Her father was worried, but for the wrong reasons. He blamed her mother for making her sad like Sadie was sad. "Talk to me, Jude." Sadie knew she had changed before the engagement. She blamed Spied for Jude's problems, and took her out shopping to forget about boys. But, it wasn't a boy inside Jude's mind. It was Jude inside a man's. Trapped there. How could she forget the cage in which she was trapped? How could she forget? "Jude, what's wrong?"

IIIII

"I want to know everything about you," James said, stroking her hair.

"There's not a lot to know," Jude shrugged him off, uninterested.

His touches made her skin crawl. His eyes, and his smile... It was too nice, and fake. He couldn't be just what he was. He had to pretend that it meant something. That they actually meant something. Other than sex. But, Jude knew better. She didn't believe it for a second. Men were men. They knew what they wanted. He didn't have to pretend with her. She knew what he wanted to. Turning back to James, she knew she had to show him. Remind him. Standing and stretching, making sure her shirt lifted just enough. He could see her skin, creamy white, her navel. Straddling his lap, she kissed him with force. Hard on the mouth and craving back the anger. Wanting the pain. But, he pulled back. Looked at her carefully, caressed her cheek. He leaned forward again, his lips lightly brushing against hers. Too sweet, and slow, and gentle. Jude stood again, huffing in frustration.

"Lets just get to work," she sighed.

IIIII

"I never said I'd lie and wait forever
If I died, we'd be together
I can't always just forget her
But she could try

At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I? Should I?
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever ever...
Ever..."

Jude's voice deep and smooth like red velvet and pain and passion.

"Get the feeling that you're never
All alone and I remember now
At the top of my lungs in my arms she dies
She dies

At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I? should I?
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I? Should I?
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

If I fall
If I fall (down)"

Another hopeless song written for a dead girl in an alley.

"At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are
Never coming home
Never coming home
Never coming home
Never coming home
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I? Should I?
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me
For all the ghosts that are never gonna..."

Jude sang, and she sang. All the while eaten alive by maggots.

xoxo

"I love you," James says. "I need you."

"Shut up," I cover my ears and I close my eyes. "Shut up, shut up, shut up. Shut up."

No. There is no such thing as love. No. I know better than that. He's lying. He's a monster of a man. He's had sex with me, and he'll want to have sex with me again. He can pretend to be nice, hide behind love. But, love is just a pretty cover to an empty book. I see right through it. I know he's lying. He's lying. He's a werewolf. They all are. A hard on like a full moon. They change. I'm not a person anymore. I'm just their dinner. I could throw up. My stomach twisting into knots. He thinks he loves me. I know better than that. I know better.

"Jude?" he asks.

"Love is a bedtime story," I say, disgusted. "Love doesn't exist. It's not real, it's a myth. A lie we tell ourselves so we can sleep easy. You want to fuck me, then fuck me. Don't make love to me. That's bullshit."

I have my hands on his chest. I'm staring into his eyes. James, do you understand now? I shove my tongue down his throat and grab his crotch through his jeans. Do you understand? I feel the way he grows against my palm, and suddenly his hands are on my wrists. Flipping us over on the couch. Him heavy above me. Be rough with me, James. Show me. Werewolf. Show me. Prove me right. I'm not sick, and I'm not stupid. I'm not ugly. The things I think aren't sick, or stupid, or ugly. They're true. Prove it. Make me love me again. Make me not blame me. Make me hate you. Make me blame you. Werewolf. If I look closely, I can see the fire in his eyes.

IIIII

My neck is purpled where he sucked and sucked the skin. Vampire. Werewolf. Hickey. My wrists are bruised where he held them too tight. I think of brick-walls, and shivers, and slow steps, and alley-ways. The monster man. James just like him. Thinking he loved me. Everyone just like him. The whole world. I'm wearing a choker and Sadie wants to go shopping some more. She wants to go out to dinner. She wants me to be happy. I won't cry, I won't cry. Sitting alone in the studio, we finished recording, we finished having sex. I'm tired. I want to go home. I want to hide beneath my covers. I want snow-days and rain showers. I want the ocean, I want the sun. James keeps kissing me. Now we're just lying here in our underwear and kissing. He wants to cuddle. I hate him. I want to fire him. I wonder how that'd go.

"I think you should quit," I say. "I think this isn't working out."

"What?" he pulls back, confused.

"Us," I tell him. "It's just not working out. I think you should quit."

"Jude," he looks lost. "Don't do this."

He's pleading with me. He's looking at me like I'm the bad guy. Maybe he's right. Maybe I am. I don't know if I care. I gather my clothes, start getting dressed. He jumps to his feet and grabs hold of my shoulders.

"Jude," he's begging. "Stop it. I love you. Don't do this."

"Let go of me," I say.

"Jude," he doesn't listen. "Jude... Please..."

"Let go of me, James," I repeat.

"You're heartless," his eyes go wide, as though shocked. "You're fucking heartless."

"Let go of me," I close my eyes.

And, his hands are gone. So fast, as though I'd burnt him. I hear his feet backing away on the floor. I won't open my eyes. I won't move. Just listen.

"You're a cold-hearted bitch," he says. "I will quit."

I can't tell if he's crying or not. I hear the door open and slam behind him. I know I'm alone. I won't open my eyes. I won't move.

IIIII

"Care to explain why you keep goin' through producers, Jude?" Darius asks me in his office.

"I can't," I tell him. "I don't know myself. Tommy was just too much, I needed a break from him. Kwest is Tommy's right-hand man, so that wasn't a break at all... James, well,I don't know what his problem was."

"It was you, Jude," Darius says bluntly. "He called you a little monster."

My stomach drops. Cold bolts of lightening shooting through my body. I'm not a monster. I'm not a monster. I'm not a monster...

"What a jerk," I say, pretending to be offended, not scared.

"Well, you know what I'm thinkin'?" Darius asks, then doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm thinkin' that your break from Tommy's up."

"Darius, no," I try to protest.

"Your best work has always been with Tom, Jude," he says. "No arguing me on this one. He's waitin' for you in Studio B. Get over there."

IIIII

"Hey," Tommy whirls around in his chair to face me.

"Hi," I say.

Shift my weight from foot to foot. It's awkward, and I'm too shy to say anything else. This is Tommy, and that makes me insane, I know. I'm afraid of something, here. Of what I feel. Almost those old butterflies. The memory of them, at least. I want to kiss him. But, I know I can't do that. He's not like James. But, that doesn't make sense either. If he's not like James, he's not the monster man. If he's not like the monster man, then I am. Maybe that does make sense. I don't want it to.

"Sit," Tommy motions to the empty seat beside his. "I just finished listening to your latest stuff. You know, caught up with what I missed."

I can't tell if he's saying that in a bitter way or not. It doesn't seem so. I can't look at his face, or into his eyes. Only quick glances before I turn away again. I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm so sorry. But, I don't know what to say to him. So, I nod. And, then, he nods. Understanding my silence. I see him smirk, just for an instant, so quickly I'm not sure if I made it up inside my mind. But, I think he smirked. Bitterly. As if to say, "so this is how it's gonna be?" I'm sorry. I am. I really am. He rubs his mouth with his hand and considers.

"You still writing about that girl?" he asks. "Is that who those songs are for?"

He's thinking of the one I wrote on my birthday. He's remembering the story. The reason. Yes, Tommy, I'm still writing about that girl. I can't not write about her. She's haunting me. Hiding inside my reflection. I can't look into the mirror without seeing her face. The ghost that won't leave me alone. Yes, I'm still writing for her. To her. I love her and I hate her. I can't stop anymore. I notice him looking at my neck and realize I forgot to wear a choker, a turtle-neck, anything to cover it up. He can see the hickey perfectly. Fuck.

"What's that?" he asks when he sees that I've noticed.

"Um," I shake my head. I don't know how to talk to him.

"Is that a hickey?" his voice is harsh, pitch raised."Who gave you that?"

"Um," I shake my head. I don't know how to lie to him.

"James?" he looks so scared, like he's begging me not to nod.

I don't do anything. I don't try to say anything. I just look at him and try not to remember anything about it. About James. The way his tongue felt against my skin, and the way he moved inside me. The way he trembled for me. The way he worshipped me. Only my producer for such a short time, and already delusional with the idea of love.

"What happened?" Tommy's eyes so big. "Between you two, what happened?"

"He thought he loved me," I blink, looking over his shoulder.

"Jude?" Tommy questions.

"We had sex," I look at him this time.

I wait. And watch him recoil. His face twisting. Eyes squinting and mouth agape. He shakes his head, so confused. He shakes his head and opens his mouth. Snaps it shut. Stands up and runs his fingers through his hair. Begins to pace. Lost.

"Why?" he breathes. "What happened to you? Something happened to you. Tell me what happened."

I feel the words inside of me. Like this bomb in my throat. Climbing upwards and up. Dancing on the tip of my tongue, sliding between my teeth, pressing against my closed lips. They want out. They want to tell him. Those three words. What happened to me? It's right there, in my mind. Repeating itself. In my mouth. Waiting for freedom. The ticking bomb. Does he deserve it? I let it out and it explodes. Kills us both. I swallow it down and it just kills me. I'm already dead. Does he deserve it? No. Nobody deserves this. I'm sorry, Tommy. This is for your own good.

"I don't know," I lie and stand. "I'm going home, now. Cover for me to Darius. When I come back tomorrow, I want you to forget about this. Just drop it. Nothing happened. Nothing."

I leave. The bomb inside my stomach, counting down, and down.