Been waiting to post this one for a long time. Just, wow. As always, we love your comments! Please leave one! I think the author has outdone herself this time...
Chapter 10 - And End Up Just the Same
Soundcheck the next day in Rotterdam, early in the afternoon. Everyone showed up on time, ready to go; the boys, who'd been watching the slow disintegration of the girls from behind, at first exchanged relieved looks that they were at the venue as planned, prepared to do their jobs. The relief was short-lived, though; Tegan looked like she hadn't slept at all; her left eyelid drooped more than ever; she looked down, lips trembling, every time one of the guys gave her a concerned look. Sara looked like someone well-practiced in concealing anger; she didn't look at anyone; her teeth were set, her brow creased. It was as though Sara knew that Tegan could not speak to her about guitar parts, about background vocals, so Sara did not address her once during the soundcheck. Sara had said that they would simply be sisters and nothing more, but that was beyond either of them.
It was Shaun who broke through the wall of silence, at the end of the sound check. As Ted tried to behave as though everything was normal, inviting people to go out to eat and look around Rotterdam, Shaun spoke up.
"You guys, can I just say something, before you go?" he asked tentatively. Tegan turned her tired eyes to him. Sara gave him a blank look.
"Go ahead," she said flatly.
"I know you guys are having a. . . difficult time," he started. "That video. . . the shows aren't going well and. . . we can all see that things are not. . . great. . . between you." Ted and Johnny stood by, surprised, anxious. Tegan's eyes started to look shiny, as they did almost any time someone spoke to her. Sara managed to reveal nothing other than an inability to express any sort of emotion. "It's just sad to see it. It's hard for everyone to see you guys in so much pain but. . . it's especially sad to see you let some kind of sick joke, hoax, whatever it is, come between you. Why should it?" The girls stood silently in the wake of that statement, which would be true if it weren't for the fact that the video was no hoax. There were a few long seconds of silence before Shaun spoke again. "And I think it's safe to say. . . all of us will support you, no matter what. And if there's anything we can do. . ." Shaun looked around at the boys. Johnny nodded.
"Absolutely," Ted said. Tegan looked down at her guitar, blinking. Sara nodded.
"Thank you," she said, her tone devoid of all emotion. She unplugged her guitar, set it in its stand, and wordlessly walked off stage. Tegan took longer, avoiding everyone's gaze.
"Tegan," Johnny started. "I also wanted to apologize for the other day. For what I asked you. I think. . . I gave you the wrong idea." Tegan looked up at him, hesitantly. "I felt like I needed to know what was really going on. Just because it's hard to know what to do, what to say. . . when we don't know what's going on. You know?" Tegan looked at him, nodded. "I didn't mean to offend you or suggest. . . anything. . . but the fact is, I'm your friend and I'm behind you either way. The video. . . whatever is happening in that video, it doesn't matter. I mean, even if it was. . . um. . . it wouldn't matter." Tegan looked from his earnest face, to Shaun's. Shaun gave her a warm smile and nodded. She looked at Ted, who smiled gently too.
"That's right," Ted said simply. Tegan was in no state for such an admission from the boys.
"You. . . you wouldn't care if it was. . . if it was us in the video?" she asked. All three of them shook their heads.
"Nope," Ted said.
"Uh. . ." Tegan started, "I. . . thank you, guys. That's. . . I need to go to the washroom. . ." Tegan quickly set down her guitar and hurriedly left the stage. The boys didn't see her break down before she reached the washroom, and she didn't hear the exchange, among the three of them, that followed.
"God, poor Tegan," Shaun said.
"But like, has she even seen the video?" Johnny asked. "It's so obvious."
"So obvious," Shaun agreed, and they laughed, a little sadly. "So Sara is just shutting Tegan out right now. It's so painful to watch."
"Yeah. And Tegan is just losing it. And they must be just. . . terrified. . . about their mom. . ." Ted said sadly. "I mean, they can tell her all day that it's Casey with Tegan but. . . nobody who knows them well is going to be fooled." They murmured their agreement over that sad fact as they filed off the stage.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
That night, in Rotterdam, I did something I'd never done before, in all the years we'd been playing live: I showed up, ten minutes before stage time, and I was drunk. Not stupid, messy drunk, but drunk to the point where I cared even less about fucking up. I was drunk enough, in fact, that I was able to look at Tegan in the room backstage where we were waiting to go on, having our bit of band-only time as we always did. I looked at her and fuck, she looked like a mess and I was not so drunk that the pain in her face did not squeeze my heart. The worst thing was that she probably didn't even realize that I'd done it for her, because one of us had to try to save her and she was fucking sure not going to save herself. She would lay in bed with me while the house burned down but I wasn't going to let her destroy her whole life because she wasn't capable of walking away from me. No way. It's bad enough feeling the way we do, being trapped like that, hopelessly. It's bad enough having the whole fucking world see that video and know about it, throw beer at us on stage, shout hateful things to us. And when we can no longer dodge our mother's calls and we are forced to talk to her again, well, it's hard to think of anything worse than how that is going to feel. But I will fucking shoot myself in the face before I will allow this sickness to destroy Tegan because I'm the only one who can prevent it. I am the catalyst for her sickness, just as she's the catalyst for mine, and if I can remove myself from the equation, she will suffer, yeah, but in the end, maybe she won't have to anymore. Maybe she really will go to Jamie and let Jamie love her. I wanted to fucking murder Jamie when I saw she'd been sleeping with Tegan and again when the video got out, but the fact is, this shit is not her fault. She's a good person and she loves Tegan unconditionally and if I am not there, complicating things, confusing her heart, making her want what she should never, ever have, then maybe enough sanity will return to her that she will be able to do what neither of us will ever be able to do if we are still around each other, alone, all the time because when we are alone, we are just not strong enough to stop it. We've proven that.
So, in the state I'm in now, I look at her and she looks back at me and I can see that her fucking heart is just broken and it's my fault and I wish my eyes could say I'm sorry but I had to and I did it for you and someday you'll understand but I've never been good at that and especially when I'm not even sure it's true. And so tonight I desperately needed something to help to face the mob again, with the hateful shit they will certainly shout at us; to see Tegan's face, even just in the periphery, always one breath, one glance, one word away from losing it. I needed to make it numb. That's what I was going for, anyway, but that is failing like everything else.
A few minutes later and we're on stage and at first, things seem normal. I don't feel like the three pints I had are affecting my performance. Of course the boys are fine. I'm worried that Tegan will cry again when it's her turn to sing and all I want is to get through this. But this time, it's only three songs in before shit starts to go south. The crowd is largely supportive, like all the others have been, but there are enough people here, I guess, just to see the freak show. More than last night, and more than the night before. Word travels fast.
"Fucking dyke whore!" shouts a drunken male voice from the crowd. The quality of the English has also improved here in Holland, I think as I step up to the mic stand.
"Sister fucker!" someone else shouts, rousing an insane chorus of anger and hysteria from the crowd. Some people seem to be angry at the haters, while many others still, incredibly, seem to be on our side.
"Sister fucker? Creative," I mutter into the microphone, and I can hear that my words are slightly slurred. I glance at Tegan, who is so fragile these days that if someone asked her for the time she would burst into tears. These days, this situation, it's robbed us of what usually saves us when we are uneasy on stage, or when the audience is not behind us: our humour, our banter. It's all gone.
"Sara, are you always on top?" someone shouts, and I can't see who. In the past, when someone shouted something offensive from the crowd, I would ask for the house lights to come up and Tegan would say something sarcastic to me and I would confront the situation. But now, the alcohol, the pain on Tegan's face, the slow implosion of everything, it's worn me down. I don't fucking care.
"Well," I start, scanning the dark shapes on the floor in front of me. "I wouldn't say always, but I guess you could say I have a preference for it." The roar from the crowd is part ecstatic amusement, part drunken indifference, part hostility. There are screams overlapping screams and it's just a mess of noise until one voice stands out.
"Sara, do you strap on?!" another man calls out. Is it only the men who want to ask me these things?
"Well, sure, I mean, who doesn't want to get on top and just fuck someone, every now and then?" I say, and by now the shrieks are continuous.
"Doggie style?" someone cries and I reply right away.
"Well, you know, I've never been a huge fan of that, actually, since you ask. . ." I say as though it's normal banter, a normal show.
"Why not?!" several people cry out.
"Well, look at that face," I say, surprising even myself as I gesture over to Tegan, who looks back at me, hurt, confused, her face flushed. I hate myself so much but I'm not stopping. I can't. "Look at her. Who wouldn't want to look at that face? I mean, be real."
"Sara, this isn't funny," Tegan says to me, away from the mic. She is barely hanging on. Her hands on her guitar are shaking. I reply to her, directly into the mic.
"Oh, I disagree. I think it's fucking hysterical. Is this fun? You guys enjoying this?" Mad, insane shrieks. "Who's next? Next question?" I ask, as I let go of another thing that matters to me.
"Does Tegan fuck you too?!" I laugh, somehow.
"Well, sure! I mean, that's only fair, don't you think?"
"How!?"
"Come on, you guys. You know how. You watch the L-Word," I answer, my head spinning as I grip the mic stand.
"Does Tegan wear the strap-on?!" one devoted fan wants to know, and I'm happy to answer.
"Well. . . actually, just once. I don't know. The jury's out on that one. I'm. . . I have issues."
"Sara, please," Tegan says to me, off-mic again, and I pretend not to hear her.
"Sorry, what was that? Speak into the mic," I say to her, flippant. The stage is shifting underneath me.
"Fucking muff diver!" screams someone in an accent so good, they could be American, not Dutch.
"Oh, well that's just lazy," I respond, over the hoots and jeers. "Every lesbian is a muff diver."
"Sara-" Tegan says, her voice trembling now, like her hands.
"Does Tegan lick you?!" the same voice asks me, starting to get hoarse.
"You know, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, but I have to say, Tegan's tongue is fucking incredible-"
"Sara, please stop-"
"I mean, I haven't been with that many people, but Tegan is by far the best-"
"Craig, can you turn off Sara's mic? Please?" Tegan is going to lose it, I can see it and feel it but the slope has proven just too slippery.
"Craig, turn off my mic and you're fired. I'm having a conversation with these people here. We're communicating."
"Craig, I mean it," Tegan says, and now she's crying, I've done it.
"Now Tegan's crying," I tell the raucous crowd. "She's pretty fucking emo and sometimes, it's like, come on. Fucking pull your shit together. But it has its good points. I mean, she's reasonably likely to cry after sex-"
"Fuck," I hear Tegan say, and she's unplugging her guitar, setting it down.
"But it's okay. She's sweet. And she's a fantastic kisser."
The crowd, it's the loudest, wildest thing I've ever heard. Tegan is leaving the stage. I'm drunk, and now I'm angry, I'm angry because they wanted a freak show in the first place.
"Okay, that's it, then! Finally, my solo career!" I'm feeling dizzy now; the ache inside of me is so intense, I think I will be ill. I'm a ten ton truck on the highway and there's no more driver. I start playing a chord progression on my guitar, the first that comes to mind, and it's "Tegan Didn't Go To School Today" and I didn't expect it but halfway through, I start to sob uncontrollably. I try to keep singing, but it's gibberish.
"Fucking dyke cunt!" someone screams, and several furious voices drown out the minority of appreciative cheers in response.
"Yeah! Fuck you! You were here to see a freak show and you fucking got one! You should be fucking ashamed of yourselves!" I'm screaming now, into the mic, and my stomach starts cramping. I hear Ted's voice and then feel his hand on my arm.
"You should be ashamed!" someone shouts at me, and I laugh, my nose running now, the spasms in my chest intensifying.
"Oh, don't worry, I am!" I scream back at him, all the hate, all the anger, all spewing out. The audience goes utterly mental and my guitar tech is taking my guitar off of me as, suddenly, Ted's arms are around my waist and he's lifting me. I struggle, kick at him. "Put me the fuck down!" I wail as he quickly carries me backstage. As soon as we're off the stage he sets me down as I take a wild swing at him.
"Sara, okay, take it easy-"
"Get the fuck off of me! Fuck!" I scream, and I'm going to be ill, I know it. I hurry for the back door of the venue.
"Sara, wait," Ted calls after me, tensely. "There are probably people back there. Maybe just stay with us until you've calmed down-"
"I am fucking calm!" I shout, pulling away from him as I reach the back door, but as I reach it, I can hear shouts, some kind of a scuffle just outside the door and something squirms in the bottom of my stomach. I open the door and see movement, people struggling and turning around each other and I see what's happening: between the back door and the bus, six or seven people, male and female, are all there and at least two of them are grabbing at Tegan and she is struggling, and I lose my mind.
I scream some obscenities and I'm on the red-headed guy who had his hands on Tegan and it's surreal, I'm insane, he is grabbing at my sister. I slam into him, and he's off-balance so he falls and I'm on top of him. The alcohol and the fury blurs my vision; I can't even see him. I don't think there's a word to describe how I feel when someone hurts Tegan. I slam my fist into his face once, twice, three times, before someone grabs me and pulls me off of him. I would have punched him until my hand was ground beef. His hand is over his nose, blood spilling down his chin as a couple of other guys pull him to his feet. The boys are there too, and then some of our crew and some security from the club and the fans are outnumbered now, and now that I've been pulled off the guy who was grabbing Tegan, I see Shaun and Johnny and Jeremy form a barrier around her. Her face is stunned, disbelieving, but she doesn't look hurt. I go limp in Ted's arms as the sobs return, and I really don't think I'm sane anymore. I let Ted carry me to the big bus.