You Know... by KiKi Zee
You Know... by KiKi Zee
You know...

You don't know how long it is you've been staring at the outside through the window, but you know it's long enough for people to start giving you odder looks than they usually do. You think that maybe you should turn away and go and find the others. You're late enough as it is, and despite all that has happened in the last two years, management still doesn't tolerate your inability to arrive on time all that well.

You sigh silently. Or at least you think you do. Maybe it was just in your mind that you did. It's getting harder to differentiate these days. Between the fantasy where it never happened and the reality where it did. It’s something you know you should worry about because one of these days, you know, you’re going to drift away and not come back. You blink, though your eyes don’t completely close, so perhaps it’s a half blink, and think that maybe today is that day. You’ve been staring out the window for a long time. Long enough to see the shadows of the buildings grow longer until they consumed the roads and avenues they over-towered. Long enough to see the number of people hurrying down the New York street steadily increase as rush hour begins and decrease as it dies down. Long enough to see the snow start to fall, and long enough to see it eventually settle over the grimy sidewalks and roads of the city.
You close your eyes and look away quickly, tears stinging behind them as a memory flashes in front of you, so real you could almost touch it. Today’s not that day, and in some ways you’re annoyed by that because you’re sick of the pain that reality brings and because you just want to go back to how things were. Back to how they were and forget that your number is now down by one, and that there are only four of you left.

You see Chris standing impatiently in the lobby, waiting. He’s pulling at the cuffs of his jacket, clearly irritated that he can’t get it to sit as it should. You watch him for a minute. Take in his actions, his movements. He’s changed, you know, and it makes you want to slip back away to the fantasy world your mind has created because you hate it. You hate the change. Hate that you can’t change it back, and hate that things will never be as they were. You continue to watch him. He’s angry, you know, about the jacket. About how it should fit, and about how it doesn’t. And watching him makes you angry, because it shouldn’t be like this. It never was… before.
You stare at the jacket, hating it, loathing it. Because if the jacket just fit then there wouldn’t be this and you wouldn’t have to see what you were about to see. What you saw everyday and what you hated seeing more than anything else in the whole world, bar one other thing. And then you see it. Because you know, and so does he. You see the change.
Before… it was never like this. Before if the jacket didn’t fit then the jacket didn’t fit. There was no anger. Chris would laugh it off. Make a joke. Pretend he had meant it that way. Chris didn’t laugh anymore. You knew it and he knew it and you know that that’s what makes him stop and look down to the ground a minute. Pulling himself back together, before he broke completely. Chris didn’t cry anymore either. He didn’t let himself. He didn’t let himself feel anything. At all. That was how he coped, by not feeling. You think that perhaps that’s a better approach at coping than yours. But you know you’ll never try because you’ll be lost in your fantasy world before you get a chance.

You hate seeing the change. Hate it. So you stop staring and walk up to him, smiling. You doubt it looks like a real smile though. It doesn’t feel real, and you know he knows it’s not by the look he gives you. Once upon a time he might of smiled back, regardless of whether yours was real or not. Not anymore though. And you know, he never will again.

The other two join you and the four of you turn and head towards the large doors that lead out of the hotel. The doormen hold them open for you and you thank them, flash a smile. They nod and you think that perhaps they also know that your smile was a fake. You hate that almost as much as you hate the change and the fact that he’s gone put together, because you know that he wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this, and if people could tell that you were, tell that your smile wasn’t real, then that was bad. He wouldn’t want you to be how you were. But you are and so are the others and people know. People know and that is bad.

You sit opposite Lance in the limo and for some of the journey you watch him. You watch him for as long as you can stand. Because you hate seeing this. You hate seeing the change in them. Hate seeing how they hurt so much it changes their very being. All that they were is changed by the hurt and you hate it. Hate it enough that you almost hate him for not being there. But you couldn’t ever hate him as much as you sometimes want to. There's no use in it. At least that's what you told yourself. You know that you’re right.
Lance seems disorientated. Lost. And you want to cry because that’s not how Lance should be. Just like Chris shouldn’t be angry. Lance was the one, the one who knew where you were, when you were, why you were and how you were, whenever. Even if you hadn’t spoken for nearly a month. He knew where you were. Now he didn’t even seem to know where he was, let alone anyone else. You turn away, deciding you can’t watch anymore and go back to looking outside.

You can feel Chris shifting in his seat as he tries to adjust the jacket once more, and you feel like you’re heading to the funeral again. All in suits. Chris shifting next to you. You might as well be, you decide, because you know that tonight is going to be just as hard. Standing on the stage. Probably the very same stage, because you know what MTV is like and you know that they’re bastards. You hate them. It’s their fault and you know it. Just like you know there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

You dislike the camera flashes when you get out of the limo. You dislike the questions they shout at you as you head down the read carpet.
You dislike the looks the other ‘celebrities’ give you as you all take your place in the auditorium.
You dislike how the MTV crew is trying to make everything perfect for you.
You dislike how Chris Rock is so desperate to make a wise crack about what happened that the only way he can contain himself is to not look in your direction at all.
You decide that you hate Chris Rock, before realizing that you did all along. You just forgot sometime between now and then and during the in between when…

Joey’s hand on your arm brings you back to reality as you wait backstage before you go on. You look up at him and smile. He smile’s back, but like yours it’s fake. That makes you sad. You remember how Joey used to get before going on stage, how he used to get before doing something he loved, or before seeing someone he loved. How his eyes used to sparkle and have this excited glint to them. How he just hummed with energy and love and adoration for everything around him, so grateful that he was there. Joey wasn’t grateful anymore. You know that he wishes it had been him instead. You all do. But Joey maybe most of all, because you know it could have been him, one step and it would have been him. Joey wasn't grateful anymore because he thought that he should have moved in front because he would have done it for anyone one of them. But Joey didn’t move in front and…

“You ready?” He asks you. You nod and reply with an of course, and smile again despite knowing that it’s fake and knowing that you will never truly be ready.

An MTV crewman comes towards you all and directs you over to where you’re to wait as the host introduces you. You loathe the fact that Chris Rock is introducing you. Loathe the fact that he has hosted the VMA’s so many times. You think he’s shit. Know he’s shit. You hate him.
He begins to talk, but you don’t hear him. You stare at the spot in front of you, trying to psyche yourself up for what’s ahead. You take a deep breath and listen. He says your names and you shut your eyes before stepping out, like you always do before going on stage, except this time you don’t step out. Your eyes are shut and suddenly it’s happening all over again, and you panic and realize that this was why you never shut your eyes and why you half blinked and why you stared out the windows for so long. Because this was what you hated seeing more than the change, what you hated seeing more than anything in the whole world, bar none.
You hated seeing it happen again. And now it was and you know you can’t stop it.

You see him as he stands up from his seat next to you grinning, and you want to stop him and make him sit back down because you know what’s going to happen, but you can’t because this isn’t real. It’s a rerun. So instead you hug him and follow him as he heads up towards the stage. And you hate yourself because why didn’t you just make him sit back down?
You watch him take the award off of Will Smith and watch how they shake hands and you want to pull him back and get him off the stage but you can’t. All you can do is watch, knowing what is coming.
You can see him leaning towards the mic on the stand. See him thank your families and friends and God and management and fans and everyone, as he stands there with his arm around Joey’s shoulder and Joey’s around his. You’re mirroring him but with Lance, as Chris stands between the four of you, grinning like an idiot. And you’d smile if you didn’t know what was about to happen.
You want to open your eyes now, you're sure you can hear the others calling you, shaking you, trying to get you back, and the last thing you want to see is it happen again, but you can’t and the scene continues to play out.

The man is on the stage now. The man who hates him and has been following him and sending him threats. And you’re shocked because who could hate him? And because he didn’t tell you. Any of you. And you know why. You know it was because he was trying to protect you, but you wish with all that you are that he hadn’t because if you had known then the man wouldn’t have been standing there shouting at him, at you all, waving his gun around like the madman he was. You’ve moved and you're almost at his other side now, and you and Joey are trying to move him back because he’s shaking and scared and because there’s a madman that wants to kill him. For a moment you wonder about where Will Smith has gone because you know where you are and where the rest of the guys are and for that second your concern flashes away from one of your best friends, away from your brother. And in that second it happens. There’s a bang and a gasp and then something splatters on you, and it’s blood. His blood. And he’s falling. Dying. And you watch horrified for a moment, unable to move. Joey catches him just before he hits the ground, then lowers him all the way down. Then within a second you’ve dropped down by his side. He’s grimacing in pain, tears constantly falling down his face. You grab his hand and hold it tightly not daring to let go and swear to him that he’s going to be okay. Swear to him that you won’t let him die. But you know.

You had known. And so had he. He had looked at you as you had said it. And he’d smiled at you, and then…


“Justin!” Chris is shaking you now, standing in front of you. “Justin come on man this isn’t funny.”
Lance is beside him, looking more lost and more scared than you’ve ever seen him in his whole life, and Joey’s there too, a look of knowing on his face. And you know that he knows just like you. And you smile. Even though you’re not really there. A real smile. Because yes, he’s gone, you know that, but now so are you. You’re lost in your world, in the fantasy where it never happened and nothing ever changed. And you know it’s bad, because he never would have wanted this. But you want this, you want fantasy over the reality.

And you know…


This story archived at http://absolutechaos.net/viewstory.php?sid=937