Disclaimer: It's not mine. Be thankful. How depressing would Instant Star be otherwise? More quotes by T.S. Eliot.

Note: I just want to thank everybody for giving me such nice reviews. I appreciate them all very much.

Chapter seven.

xoxo

"Well, something's not working," Liam says.

"I'm sorry, did anybody ask you?" Tommy shoots.

"Nah, he's right, man," Darius frowns, pondering. "Something's off."

I see the way Tommy's lips are parting. The way his eyes squint in disagreement. He's going to say something to Darius and I'm too tired for that. I'm always so tired. Ready to curl up in a ball and fall asleep. Before I couldn't close my eyes at all. Now it feels so hard to keep them open. What's wrong? Darius, what's wrong? We can fix it. Sometimes things are that simple. What's wrong?

"What's off?" I ask.

"The sad, teenage angst," Liam jumps in. "Depressing lyrics, pathetic pleading for pity..."

No. No shut up. I never wanted that. I never, never wanted that.

(White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.)

"I don't want pity," I whisper.

"But, uh, thank you, Liam," Tommy says sarcastically.

"Enough, both of you," Darius interrupts. "Bottom line, Big D just ain't quite feelin' it."

IIIII

"What does it mean that my album doesn't have heart?" I ask Tommy outside.

I can act normal. It's easy enough. To pretend. Only Tommy looks at me and he knows different. He says nothing, but he knows. I hate him for that, and I love him for that. My heart aches and runs in fear and buries itself beneath sand. I don't know, I don't know. What I want, what I need, who I want, who I need.

"In Darius speak," Tommy says softly, "it means your missing a ballad. Look, if he really hated it, he'd still be yelling."

I nod. I don't care what Darius likes. I don't care what's on the album. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. I can't write a ballad. I can't...

"I have to write a love song?" I ask, horrified.

"When have you ever had trouble doing that?" Tommy laughs.

Only, there's something behind the laugh. He's not asking me that question. He's asking why I'm having trouble now. His eyes aren't smiling. I shrug and hand him my bag so I can put on my helmet. Have some trouble with the buckle. Hop on the bike behind Tommy. This is the hard part. Holding onto his waste while he drives me home. Resting my head against his back. I don't have to do these things. I want to. I need to. He's what I want. He's what I need.

Everything scared Tommy. There was no blanket to hide himself beneath. Just the monster words that could mean too many things. It was like one of those pictures. With a piece of paper that has one line, and then another with another line, and another, and another, and when you stack them all correctly, it makes an image. Each song was a line. There was a picture to be seen in here. He couldn't find the order to place them. He didn't know what to do with the secrets, and the heart-break. He had no idea what to do.

(And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the world enclosed.)

A song about monsters, another song about dying, another song about pain, and one about hate, and one about fear. He didn't know what he was reading anymore. He could tell the older stuff from the newer stuff. There was less self-loathing. There were love songs, hopeful songs, cheery songs. Most of them shared already. Some he'd never heard of. White Lines, and There's Us. They stuck outthe most. Especially There's Us. What was that supposed to mean? Was she giving up on them? Of course it was about them. It was always about them. Him. He felt guilt for that. For not being there for her. It was his own weakness. He didn't want to see the image. There was no order. Only chaos.

IIIII

"Hey," Jude said, sitting beside him.

"Hey," Tommy pondered for a moment, and pulled out her journal, placing it on the table.

Jude blinked at the book. She said nothing. She did nothing. Tommy waited for a reaction. Prayed for one. Anything. Embarrassment, anger, sadness, something. Jude just blinked. Jude looked like a statue. Jude broke Tommy's heart. He picked up the book again and considered throwing it in her face. Would she even dodge the thing? He drummed on the cover and pondered the words. His words. What words? Which words? He could start the same fight, and have her vanish in a cloud of perfume. He wanted to hold onto her. He wanted to make her feel safe again. How hurt can a person be to show such an immunity to pain?

(You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water.)

"I had to see if there was anything worth recording," Tommy told her. "I'm thinking White Lines and There's Us. We'll just add them on, nothing else has to go. It'll balance out the sad and the romantic."

"Okay," Jude nodded.

Tommy's jaw clenched, he nodded. What was left? His whole body was aching. He wanted to reach inside of her. Take it out. Whatever was inside that caused her pain. He didn't know how. He was helpless. And, Jude sat in front of him, right there in front of him. Drowning. He couldn't save her. He didn't know how. He didn't know... He didn't... He... He nodded. Nodded, and nodded, and stood. Helped her write the music. Recorded one song. Then another. She didn't complain about all the re-takes, and about staying late. She didn't say a word. He felt out his body. He felt surreal. He hated himself. He hated himself. He hated. He loathed. And said nothing. He loved her and he'd let her die. Was that love? What love? Which love?

IIIII

"You're home late," Sadie observed.

"I know," Jude shrugged.

"Working late at the studio?" her sister frowned.

"Yeah," Jude yawned. "I'm gonna go to bed, actually."

"Tommy shouldn't have you working so late," Sadie said with disgust. "You have school in the morning. He knows better."

School. Jude went to school, she sat silent, she did her work, she came home from school. It didn't matter if she was tired. It didn't matter. She just went through the day. Everything she had to do she did. She passed. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

(At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives)

"It's okay," Jude shrugged again. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to bed, now, Sadie."

"Fine," Sadie shot. "Fine. But, I know you're not sleeping. I hear you pacing in your room at night, Jude. I know you're up there, and your pining over Spiederman, and Jamie, and Shay, and yes, even Tommy. I know you, Jude."

And, Jude nodded. She didn't doubt what Sadie knew. She may have been right in some ways. It didn't matter. She climbed the steps and shut her door. It seemed easier to exist when people thought you were easy.

IIIII

"You think you're dead, Jude Harrison?" she spat. "You think you're dead? You think it's that easy? How dare you leave me in that alley to rot, how dare you?"

Jude shook her head. She couldn't answer. She didn't know.

"I'm still here! I'm right here! I'm right in front of you! I'm inside of you! You buried us, Jude,and you buried us alive! We breathe and we breathe dirt! We're not dead yet, Jude. Not yet. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

She pressed her hands over her ears. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. She kept walking. Back and forth, pacing like a lion in a cage. Her hands over her ears. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

"Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. Don't leave me here. Don't leave me here. We're so old. We're too young to be this old, Jude. It's like this thing inside of us. You won't fight it, you won't even try to fight it. Get it out of me. Get it out of me, get it out of me, get it out of me!"

(That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!)

Jude threw her notebook. She wasn't pining over Spied, and she wasn't pining over Jamie. Not Shay, not even Tommy. Herself. She was pining for herself. The girl in the back of her head, and screaming. She was pining for the girl in a cage. A girl in an alley. A girl with music in her heart, and love. A girl who believed in things. There was nothing left to believe in anymore.

"You're so weak. This is all your fault. You're the monster. No one will ever love you. Don't you dare cry, this is your fault. This is your fault! You have no right to cry. You're disgusting. All the things you think. You're disgusting. No one will ever love you. You're a monster. No one will ever love you!"

The book. The words. All those words. Burn my name. She tore out one page, and other. Shredded them. My mouth, my eyes. She wanted it out of her. Whatever was inside of her. Get it out, get it out, get it out. Burn my memory. The thing inside of her. Get it out. She pressed her fists against her chest. Get it out. I am not right. The book on the floor by her feet. She sunk down, her knees slamming against the wood. I am not right, I am not right. She hunched forward, and she shook. Like she had shaken after, in the alley. Right after. When he left her. And, there was nothing she could do. It was inside of her, the monster. No matter what she destroyed, no matter what. It was still inside of her. It would always be inside of her. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing. So she stayed hunched. And she shook.

IIIII

"What 'cha waitin' for, big eyes?" Tommy asked.

Mason had left, and they waved goodbye. He didn't ask her any questions, there were too many. Jude hopped into the car and Tommy twisted the knob, turning on his radio. She buckled, and listened. She was number three. With My Sweet Time. Was she supposed to smile? Hands on her wrists, her back against stone. Was she supposed to be happy? He was still inside of her, that man. The monster man. How could she smile? How could she be happy?

"What can I say?" Tommy smiled softly. "You're on your way up, girl. You're on your way up."

What would the old Jude say?

"Yes, we are," I say.

She would probably hug him after that. The After Jude didn't know if she could do that. Bring herself that close to anyone again. So, she shifted back in her seat, facing forward, her hand covering her mouth. She felt the back of Tommy's hand on her cheek, his knuckles lightly stroking the skin. She leaned into it. She couldn't help it. It was Tommy. Just Tommy. Her Tommy. His hand turned over, his palm against her face. She closed her eyes. It felt right. Leaning against the touch. She couldn't help embracing it. She couldn't help how it made her feel. Alive. Human. His hand slipping back, his fingers running through her hair. It scared Jude how much she wanted him. It had to be wrong. Anything that felt this right had to be wrong. It couldn't last, the feeling. She knew the disappointment that would crush her. She knew. Snapping her eyes open, Jude pulled away. She couldn't have it. She couldn't.

(She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
"Well now that's done, and I'm glad it's over.")

IIIII

"So, D, you hear?" Tommy asked.

"I hear a lot of things," Darius said, sounded gloomy.

"We hit number three," Jude chewed her thumbnail.

"Outside," Darius stood. "Both of you."

So they followed. To the alleyway. It reminded Jude of every other alley. Her own alley. Rats alley. She survived it because she was never alone there. Because she always had Tommy, or Sadie, or Darius. There was a car beneath a red cover. Some guy slipped it off and underneath Jude could see it was her own. New and improved. She forced a smile. Having seen enough episodes of PimpMy Ride. She understood. This reaction needed more shock, excitement.

"My car?" she laughed.

It hurt to laugh.

"Yup," Darius grinned.

He was cute when he grinned. Boyish. Seemingly innocent.

"Darius," she said. "Oh my god."

"Eighteen inch chrome rims," he said. "Full interior restore. Top grain leather."

"After all it took to fix the engine," Jude said. "I never would have dreamed."

She hated this car. It sealed her fate. Rats alley.

"You don't got to dream," Darius said. "That's what I'm here for."

She felt the tears brimming her eyes. Happy tears, she could pretend. Brushing them out of her eyes.

"Look," he said. "Thanks for recording an album I'm proud to release tomorrow."

"Darius," Jude's words choked up inside her throat.

She wrapped her arms around him. It was easy to lie. She could forget the truth if she lied.

"Thank you," Jude whispered. "Thank you."

(I think we are in rats' alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.)