3-3-5 R, W, and NC-Blue

Nice. Bathroom in the room. And clean towels, too. Either this is our first night in a city and everyone else is still out, or I've got my own private room. Maybe they wised up that we all need separate rooms so we can catch up on some sleep for once rather than partying all night until we collapse, only to drink through the days on the road until we reach our next show already fucked up.

Ugh, ugly ugly ugly. Can't remember the last time I had a shower. Can't remember when I ever have time. Makeup's worse than ever. Looks like I didn't even bother cleaning it off between shows. Probably just fell asleep in it, only to cover over it the next morning without starting fresh.

"Hey, guys? I'm gonna hit the shower, alright?"

Where is everyone? Usually they take me with them. Something about "building team unity." Oh well, their loss. More shower for me.

Burns, the shower. I love it like a long-lost thing. Must have been a while. But it melts away the pain like always, leaving it in black streaks to swirl harmlessly down the drain. Once Foilz had the balls to say my mixed mascara and dried blood would fetch a pretty price if I were to bottle it. How long ago was that? A year? More? That was the beginning. I almost turned the foursome down then and there. But they needed a singer and a manager, and I knew how to put a mean show together.

It was Starry that managed to convince me to ignore the keyboardist's crude lyric and get me to sign up as the band's leading lady.

Biggest fucking mistake of my life, looking back. I hurt everywhere, I'm malnourished, I'm sick to my stomach, and I choke down pills and liquor all day long to keep the pain away.

Why?

Good job, Rox. You can't even remember what you're running from. This isn't like you, you know. You're normally so together, if a bit off the norm. You've had your wild past, but nothing like this. It used to be you never woke up feeling an ounce of regret, no matter whom it was with. Now you wake up alone, but you still wish you didn't have to face that person in the mirror.

Turning off that shower was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life. When the flow of burning water ceased, I felt horribly cold and naked. Only the auto-drive to find more pills kept me from plugging the tub up and turning the hot water back on. Thing is, weren't no pills in the purse. None in the cabinet behind the mirror. Nothing on the coffee table.

Where is everyone?

There's no time for this. Always another show to do; always another road to hit. Wherever I am, bandmates gonna be pissed I'm late. Always pissed at me lately. Pissed for not partying after shows and not drinking on the road. Pissed for not dating. Dating? Is that what they call it? Every few shows someone gets a new flavor he or she likes enough to bring on the road with us. The one getting replaced sticks around because she doesn't know any better, lugging gear around and coming to parties without anyone paying attention to her. Soon she just stops showing up, left with nothing but unpaid bills, no job, a brand new drug habit, and a long way from home.

Bunch of idiots, anyway. How'd I ever end up with them?

"Help you, miss?" a guy behind a desk asks. There I go thinking so much I don't realize where I'm going. I'd put on some track pants and a half a hooded sweatshirt that leaves my stomach bare.

"Yeah; donde esta?" I ask, rubbing my sore neck.

"At your hotel, miss," the nice old man says. He looks like one of those retired Florida types. Nice old man. Like Dad. "Are you checking out? The people you checked in with have already moved on."

I stood there dumbly for a minute, too dumbed to process. Brain overheating tends to hurt my thoughts-per-second score. "Huh?" I finally said.

The old man shut his eyes behind his wiry glasses and sighed. I knew what he was thinking somehow. Probably saw me as some stupid party girl come to see the show got too fucked up to get out before her reservation wore out. I knew it, and I felt bad for the old man. Poor guy, probably raised a family of his own. Probably sacrificed a lot in his life too. Probably has a granddaughter like me that went sour. I probably remind him of how he failed at something.

Still, I couldn't brain fast enough to get my bearings. I should be doing something. Should be going somewhere. "Where's breakfast?" I asked in an innocent attempt to regain some of my dignity in the old man's eyes.

"Across the street," he said, once again resuming the dignity afforded to a consièrge.

"Huh?" I stuttered. He apologized, and gave me proper directions to a diner within sight of the hotel. He was real deliberate about it, too. Explained slowly how to get there. Even offered to call ahead to tell them to expect me. How fucked up does he think I am? I was only surprised I wasn't in a proper grand hotel that had its own dining room. There should be a VIP room or something for me that has the best in the house.

Where in the hell am I? I used to get the best hotels, the best venues. My shows were always the top in the town. People came from all over to see me. How'd I end up staying in shitty hotels that send people across streets to eat greasy food at shitty diners? But of course; when I started hitting the pills, I probably lost focus on some of my duties. Sets started sounding the same every time; we'd show up in a new town without anywhere to stay. Sometimes we'd stay in the car because all the local hotels were full-up with everyone come to see us.

"More coffee?" the hardened waitress asked.

"No, thanks," I declined with a heavy sigh that matched the old man's many minutes ago. The square woman tottered off, the last of a dying breed. With magnetic railways so cheap and omnidirectional, truckers were on the decline. And with them, diners like this. I wonder what they'd think of me if I told them my dad was the visionary who killed their way of life.

"Just keep that bit to yourself, girl," I told myself. It was a crying pity, too. Real diner hash browns they serve here are a delicacy you just can't get anywhere else. Makes me forget all the pain before I remember I had any. Coffee sucks, though.

Don't have a purse or even a wallet, but my thumb-print is enough to buy dinner. Wiped the look of disgust on the waitress' face when she saw the readout dumping a tip in her favor five times the price of my breakfast. She had a right to glare, though. I felt like the old man, disgusted at myself. I was a beat-up wreck. I didn't even bother going back to the hotel because whatever I'd brought with me there was probably best left there. With food in my belly, I was already feeling like half the woman I used to be again. No use reminding myself what I'd just been by going back for artifacts.

And I was going to stop being that woman, too. Before I set foot back on the train, it had finally hit me: my band had fired me. After begging me to put their show together and run it for them, they dumped me after my work ethic and whip-cracking got to them.

Why'd I even sign up with them? I should've turned them down after that ogling Foilz said what he said. Because they're orphans, of course. I felt sorry for them. I had two parents, and the last thing I wanted to do was rub that in anyone's face like it made me better than them. I joined their fucking band, and they nearly killed me to death.

I hope you learned something, Rox.

The light in my private cabin flipped green before the residual pain could finally give way to weariness. Must only have been a few states away. Off I got, and the familiar air hit me at once. Good old home; there's no mistaking that smell. My feet took over from there, purveying me with the sun glaring into my left eye. Before it could reach its apex though, I buried myself amidst the trees. Dad's genius at work again, buying up a vast national park to bring a dying county out of the red.

The endless stretch of eternal wood was just what I needed to clear my head. I used to spend hours, days out here, nothing but a knife and a lighter in my pocket to get me by. I could lose myself out here forever with nothing to do and no expectations held on me. It felt appropriate to return here now that I no longer had a job. I had no goal anymore, no purpose. I could simply wander out here forever, for as long as it took to return to my old self.

But that wasn't to be. Adulthood had crept up on me after what seemed like eternity as a foolish child, and now I counted each of my days as precious. That, and there were people that needed me. I knew that finally, realized it at last. The gold strapped to my left wrist reminded me of that. Out here, my old self would find me again, and I could once again be who I needed to be.

One thing before I face the hardship. There's nothing between me and my destination but a huge multi-floored building with a central promenade more than a quarter mile in circumference. Nothing going on in the north end as usual, so I can creep around to the west side without being seen. Once I get that far, I can wrap my aching fingers around a precious jewel I never should have left behind. It fits my lips perfectly as always. The three simple notes flow out as beautifully as ever, coming to me as though I'd never left them behind.

He's upon me before the memories of the small whistle finish with me. It's a huge nose nuzzling up against my bare skin. Loud snorts tickling the small of my back. I turn to face him with a scratch to his neck. "Good to see you too, Delito," I say with a forlorn familiarity. He's only too happy to let me dig my fingers into his long red mane so I can drag myself onto his back. It's his warm skin and indomitable spirit that gives me the strength, or else he would've had to lie down for me to mount him, me nearly ready to collapse with exhaustion. But I can't collapse; there's something I need to do first.

All I need do is touch his flank with one toe to turn him in the right direction. The rest is up to him, cruising along at a slow pace to the south-west. There's a creek there, far from the south road that's the only hard entrance to this isolated paradise. Dense foliage. Little trail. You'd have to know where it is to find it. And once you were there, you'd hardly recognize it for what it was.

A small clearing in the trees by the creek, just big enough for several people to sit comfortably on the rich grass kept tall and green by the bubbling water.

"Hi, Mom," I say to one of two stones amidst the ferns at the edge of the circle. The other is almost completely indistinguishable with age and overgrowth. Touching the rock doesn't make her death any more real to me. Nothing changes inside me. It makes me sad, like I'm too dead inside to feel anything towards the woman who in life was my reason for breathing.

"You're probably gonna be mad at me, but I've done a few things you're not gonna be too proud of." I stop to draw a breath and look up at the bright sky from between the thick canopy of the forest. I find myself wanting an agent to speak for me. Is that really what I've become?

"I couldn't tell you when it started. It's always so gradual, you know. First it's just work getting to you, then it's a habit, then you don't even realize it." I was struggling for words when I didn't even know what I should be talking about or if I should be talking at all. My mom was the best person ever, and here I was admitting to something that would turn her over in her grave. Some daughter I turned out to be.

But I found some words anyways. How I started taking pills to stay awake longer to get the schedules done before getting to the show, then the pills to sleep. Then the parties I needed to show up at to give face to the select individuals that showed up for post-show madness. Then with the parties came pills of their own. Between all that, there were the outfits and the hair and the makeup and the cigarettes and the sex.

Words came spilling out of me like never before. I was telling her everything now that it was too late for her to get to know the real me. I didn't even try to fool myself into thinking that it was someone else in my body and that I'd be back given enough time. It was me, and if Mom was still alive to hear it, she'd probably die to think of me being what I'd been.

Soon words gave way to sobs, and sobs to tears. Sometime after I couldn't cry anymore, I think I fell asleep. I just can't remember waking up.

"Scarlette, Scarlette? Wake up, you big idiot!"

"Leave her alone."

"You leave her alone. I'm her godmother, and I have a job to do."

"You're her doctor too, if you care to remember."

"Which helps when she's sick."

"This isn't sick."

"What do you call it?"

"Something's obviously very wrong with her."

"The genius strikes again."

"Children, children," a third voice said, "that's quite enough of that unless you want her to retreat even farther. She'll wake up when she's ready."

"What if she never does?"

"I've thought of that."

"And?"

"It's killing me, too. But it's up to her, not us."

So, I honestly have no idea who the father is. Mom says she knows when someone gets pregnant within minutes, but it usually takes me a week or two. It could have been any of them. So that's my life, what about you? Where do you come from?

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

Sure I would. I told you all my secrets by now.

There's still one more secret.

Don't be silly. I can't hide anything from you.

There is: There's that which you insist on hiding from yourself.

What on Earth are you talking about? I don't hide anything; my life is an open book for all to see.

That sounds like Stormie talking. You're free-spirited for sure, but unlike her, you keep great fear inside you.

Try me then.

Why do you despise Calvin so?

Calvin? Is that what this is all about? You ought to know; I told you all about him.

You told me how much people despise him, but you've never spoken a word of his actual deeds.

What's there to say? He's a self-absorbed asshole, he's dangerous, and he's mean.

But what did he actually do?

He's mean to his sister, and he's creepy around Stormie, and his friends are all stupid, tactless ogres.

This isn't like you. You're usually so full of love and life for everyone.

Not him. He raped Kitty!

Yes, that can happen. Does he know that?

How can he not?

Does he know he raped her?

He could never believe he does anything wrong. He's self-righteous like that.

From how you described it, it sounds like they were both young. Thirteen, did you say?

Yeah. Those two are just a bit older than the rest of us.

Had you been taught about sex yet?

Maybe not. I think I was thirteen when we all did that class.

Has Kitty ever told Calvin that she wasn't ready at the time?

Well, no... she'd be afraid to, right?

Maybe it's up to you, then.

Me? What have I got to do with them? That's their issue.

Is it? It sounds as though Kitty has everybody's sympathy but her own, and Calvin has nothing from everyone. Is that fair for either of them?

That's if...

You'll never truly know what happened. But you do know the after-effects of what has been caused, and Kitty never even told anyone.

She was afraid to. What other proof do you need?

Proof?

Yeah. That solid piece of evidence that irrefutably states that Calvin raped my Kitty.

Oh, yes. She was afraid, and that is your solid evidence.

Exactly.

Like she was afraid when you pushed her off that cliff.

What are you bringing that up for? It was perfectly safe...

So is sex, when done properly.

Not when someone doesn't want to.

Didn't she tell you she didn't want to jump?

She was just being silly.

I see.

I know what you're trying to do.

I'm not doing a thing.

Oh, right. I'm battling with my own conscious. So I gave her a little "nudge"; now she's not afraid to jump in the lake any more, is she?

But she doesn't let anyone stand behind her when she jumps, does she?

I didn't mean for her to...

And she still has sex, does she not?

Just not with guys. Oh, I see.

What is it that you see?

You're part of me, if what you keep saying is true, so you ought to know.

So say it for yourself.

That I may be as bad as Calvin.

I wouldn't put it quite that way. Maybe that Calvin isn't any worse than you?

What must I do?

Save him.

I can't save anybody; I'm still lost myself.

How can you be lost if I see you right in front of me?

Because you're a figment of my imagination. I made you up so I wouldn't be so lonely.

What does that matter?

It matters because you're not real.

Silly girl. To say that I'm not real is to deny your own existence.

I have no existence. Not anymore. My mother is dead, my beloved triplet sister is lost to me forever, and the people I thought cared about me kicked me out once they got what they wanted out of me.

You still have your son.

But not his father.

That was your choice.

I regret it now.

What else do you regret? Perhaps your mother did not know how much you loved her before she came to join me?

What in the bowels of Hell are you talking about, "join me"?

Did she know?

Yes, of course she knew. I told her every day.

With your words, or with your actions?

With both.

Perhaps your sister will return, and she can tell you herself how proud of you she is, because obviously I'm not doing a good enough job.

Bring her back for me, then I'll come around.

I can't bring her back. If she's meant to, she'll return to on terms other than mine.

So what is it you're actually good for?

Are you still blaming all of your problems on Calvin?

When did I ever do that?

Do I really have to answer that?

Okay, so say I blame myself instead. So what?

I told you already.

Tell me again.

Save him.

Save him what?

Save him.

I heard that part. What is it that needs saving?

Save him.

Hello? Can you hear me? What I'm asking is what am I supposed to do that he can't do for himself.

Save him.

Now I know you're not me. I'd never be so repetitive.

Save him.

Alright, I'll try. Will you please talk to me again?

I'm merely saying what you need to hear the most.

That's funny; I thought you were here to comfort me.

Now who's self-centered? I thought you didn't want to be comforted.

Why do you insist on talking in riddles?

Because that's how you talk to me.

Then I'll be direct for a change. I understand I haven't necessarily been fair to Calvin, and because you asked me to, I'm going to put aside my problems and try to help him with his. But what if I don't succeed?

That doesn't bother me.

Why not?

You've lost at baseball before, and the world didn't come to an end.

If it's so important for me to "save" him, why shouldn't it matter if I fail?

Because it's doing the right thing for its own sake, not because you're trying to save lives. He needs you for himself, so you shouldn't worry about what you get out of it.

Can you explain it a little better?

Let me just say that even if you don't care about him, he's still a human, and you still have a heart. You should be able to figure out the rest on your own.

Can I ask you a favor?

If you want me to give you more riddles, I should be able to accommodate you. Otherwise, I'm rather limited.

Will you show yourself to me?

You mean you don't think I'm a figment anymore?

Honestly? I'm never sure whether you're really here, or if I'm just talking to myself. If you are here, I'd like to see you.

That's just no fair at all. I never accused you of being my figment.

But you can see me.

Actually, I can't.

What do you mean? This works both ways?

Not at all. While it's true that I'm invisible to everyone when I wish to be, everyone is invisible to me whether I will or won't.