LoveandLogic
Refugee
After a long, frustrating, day at work there is no better way to relax than to write about the loveliest man alive. For some reason, I had issues writing this chapter, even thought it's probably my favorite.
And I had to re-read my first chapter to remember some details and I noticed so many typos, so I re-read this chapter, too. And I hate doing that! Grr. Oh well, it's finished, hot off the screen from me to you!
Thank you for all the support!
Disclaimer: I own the MP3's of Jack Johnson songs I listened to during the writing process. Fictional, otherwise.
Chapter Nine
I couldn’t sleep.
Throughout the night, my mom had called me at least a dozen times, the phone remained unopened. She had obviously seen the tabloids, it’s not like her to call me in such a frenzy. What would I say? Yeah, mom, Bono had an affair with YOUR EIGHTEEN year old DAUGTHER in YOUR house. Sounds more like a Jerry Springer episode. It wasn’t right to ignore her, I know, but the situation at hand, the loss of my job and the lifestyle to follow, consumed my mind in the worst possible way.
Needless to say, it would only make sense to be restless. Trying to sleep in my room, the lights from the city irritated my eyes. The couch was plush and comfortable, but nothing like the leather sofa in my office that had been my bed of choice since graduating college. Brooke offered to stay the night with me. Such nonsense. I didn’t want to disturb her work. No need to put a friend through what I was going through.
Three a.m. and no television, no radio, the only sound being of the neighbors next door who were obviously had friends over, partying for the last five hours. Friends. That’s where I needed to go. To see Edge and Larry and Adam. To be in their presence and talk of the good times we had together stuck inside a snow, trapped house. Bono…even Bono wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he always knew the right things to say.
Bono stepped out of the shower and quickly wrapped a towel around his waist. Because of the cold, the inside of the house was beyond freezing, even with the steam from the hot shower clouding the bathroom mirror. Drying off, he dressed, combed his hair and brushed his teeth.
For eight days he had been staying in a strangers house. Every minute of those days he filled with getting to know his new temporary roommates: Lynn, her daughter Jessica (prefers ‘Jessie’) Alan, husband and stepfather. They were an interesting family, Bono noted, each with their own story and personality.
Lynn, who used to be a stay at home mom, divorced from Jessica’s father when Jess was thirteen. She was on her own, with a growing, confused and hurt teen, a large house and even larger mortgage, and had to find a way to support not only herself, but her child as well. For four years she went back to college full time on top of a full time job serving tables at a local diner on top of finding time to go to Jessica’s art shows and parent/teacher conferences. Once she graduated, she then got a job working as paralegal.
“It was,” she proclaimed, “the toughest and yet most rewarding experience my her life.”
Five months later she met Alan, a retired U.S. Army General and current computer technician. After only a year, they decided to take a huge step and had a small wedding at the house (they showed Bono and the band pictures.) At first Jess and Alan didn’t get along. He would nit pick, claiming she didn’t keep her room as well kept as she should have, her grades were slipping and she remained a recluse ninety-percent of the time she was home. One night they got into it, she called him an asshole and that he wasn’t her real father, and he said he would never want a daughter like her anyways. She broke down, apologies were given and ever since then they were as close as any father and daughter Bono had ever met.
And Jess…Jess on the other hand was a mystery to him. He knew very little about the girl. Physically, she wore her mothers features well: slim, curvy in the hips, medium brown eyes and reddish/ brown hair, and very pale. She liked art, that much was obvious for her work was displayed throughout the whole house: paintings, photographs, sketches, drawings, even bits of poetry.
In the guest room where Bono was staying, all four walls were bookshelves, from ceiling to floor. There were way too many titles to read, but he did skim: Anne Rice, Shakespeare, Whitman, Edgar, books on philosophy, art, Mozart, Di Vinci, science, biographies, autobiographies, musical biographies, Carl Jung, Sigmund Freud and a huge collection of John Keats. When Jessica told Bono that all those books were hers and that she had read every single one, he was amazed. Bono loved the written word, obviously he is a writer, but he had read maybe a third of amount of those books in his whole life.
She loved to cook, too. The house always smelled of some sort of dish or baked good. Her and Adam made cookies together last night. She showed him how to produce cookie dough from scratch and to mold fun shapes without using cutters. Everything she did had to have some artistic science behind it. And Bono found it very…consuming. It was tiring, really, to try and keep up with her excitement of hobbies. It also sucked him in like a rocket to gravity.
Bono folded his clothes neatly into his suitcase and set out to go downstairs to hang out to see if anything entertaining was happening only to stop in his tracks. Something distracted his ears. Laughter? No, not laughter.
Sobbing.
And it was coming from Jessie’s room.
Debating on whether or not to knock on the door, his concerning side overtook his logical sense of “teenage privacy.” Tapping for the fourth time, he put his ear to the door to listen and heard thumps and ruffles. He laughed. She must have been doing a quick tidy up. Finally she opened the door, her eyes bloodshot and her face tear struck.
“Hey,” He said. “I’m sorry to bother you and I’m not trying to be nosy but I thought I heard you crying and I wanted to make sure you are alright.”
She felt embarrassed and her voice proved so. “Oh…thank you. I’m ok.”
“You don’t look ok.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to talk? I’m all ears.”
Thinking for a moment, she nodded and motioned him inside. It was the first time Bono had been inside the girls room. Not untidy in the least bit, it was, however, a simple room, which was unusual for her being such an artist. There was a computer desk in one corner, two medium closets, an oak dresser and black curtains. Covering the floor was plush, white carpet. They sat side by side on the foot of her well made waterbed and it sunk from their weight.
“I had expected more from your room,” Bono joked, hoping to make her laugh.
Case accomplished. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, where are your paintings and such?”
“Eh, I paint for gifts. Hm, I worded that wrong. If I paint it’s usually a gift for someone. I don’t like to look at my own art.”
“Why?”
“It’s vain.”
It was his turn to laugh. “I guess I can see that. But I like to listen to my own CD’s. Is that vain?”
“No. It’s just my opinion on my own art. Some actors don’t like to watch themselves in movies because they will think ‘Lord, my nose is huge!’ or ‘Why did I suck in that scene?’ I’m the same way with my paintings or photographs. ‘Why did I use that color?’ ‘What was I thinking using that angle?’ It’s not very motivating.”
“Maybe I’m just over confidante?”
“Or maybe you’re sure of yourself?”
He turned to look at her. “And you’re not?”
“Not in that way,” She sighed, twisting her fingers. “I’ve had experiences in life that have made me less confident over the years. I had to grow up quick. I couldn’t be a normal teenager after my dad split. Mom worked all the time and went to school. And what did I do the whole time she was busting her ass to pay bills? Painting cartoons and writing worthless poetry.”
“You’re mom doesn’t look at it in that way. It’s pretty clear that she is proud of you.”
“I don’t see how. I should have got a job to help with everything.”
“You were an emotional mess. And education is sometimes more important than money.”
“Yeah. I suppose.” Said Jess with a sigh.
“Is that why you’re crying?”
“Ahhh, no. My father just called.”
Confused, Bono asked. “And that’s bad?”
“Yeah, it is. We used to be really close when I was growing up but after they divorced everything went downhill. He never called, never picked me up from school. We used to go to the library every Wednesday. Then he just stopped showing up. He forgot about me one day and I had to wait for my Aunt to come get me from school. It was heartbreaking. He never even apologized. His excuse was that he was working.”
“Was he?”
“What do you think?”
Bono hummed, realizing the issue. “He started dating a woman, huh?”
“Yeah.” Her face twisted with disgust. “Monica. Ugh. You know what the sad thing is? He lives only ten minutes away. What kind of father lives ten minutes away from his daughter and doesn’t even stop to visit? He called to tell me that he and Monica are getting married and that they were moving to Chicago. Psh.” She rolled her eyes. “So much for having a father at all now. Well, besides Alan.”
“I’ll be the first one to tell you that fathers are not always the greatest examples. My mum died when I was fourteen and it tore my father and my family apart. Trust me, he was never the same after her death. I lived with the man for years and we maybe said five words to each other in a day. To dream was worthless. To dream was foolish.”
It had been years since Bono had talked about his Dad. The same went for Jess. Bono put his arm around her small shoulders. It must have been the touch of a man that helped her to release. Burying her face in his chest, she let loose all the tears that had been held back, just begging for freedom.
Like a broken record, the next five days repeated themselves, a sick sitcom if you may, dragging and dragging in tortoise speed. Brooke and I would meet for Starbucks at ten every morning and, if the energy kicked in, I would walk around the city for a few hours, window shopping and listening to the local musicians on the streets. When I wasn’t walking, I would be at “home,” if you could call that stuffy, dark apartment as such, either lying on the couch, wishing I could sleep. I would flip through On Demand, glancing through the movie selections for something even remotely close to entertaining. Or I would read a few chapters of a book, only to end up tossed on the floor after a few chapters.
Damn you, Lady Depression.
Eight p.m. rolled around and I had somehow accomplished to find an interesting enough movie to watch. Half way through, at the peaking point, the lights of my apartment flickered and, low and behold, the electric went out.
B-E-A-utiful!
It wasn’t even storming out! As if the night couldn’t get any worse, the coffee table vibrated with the ringing of my cell phone. Great. It was probably mom again. Taking a quick glance at the screen, I set the device down and quickly snatched it back.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” A thick, Irish accent greeted from the other end. A voice that could only belong to-
“Bono?”
“Yeah. Hey, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about a few things and I know you don’t want to see me and I understand…”
I waited. Silence. “Buuut?”
“But, I have this awful craving for Chinese takeout and you know, those Chinese really load you up with enough rice and MSG to last a year.”
It was the first time I had laughed all week. And it felt way too good. “You…you want to come over?”
“I would love to. I’m afraid that my big head won’t fit through the door, though.”
“Smart ass,” I smiled. “I’ll smash the doorframe out.”
He chuckled. “Do really want me to come over?”
“Sure, I could use some company. Make sure you’re equipped with egg rolls. I’m starving.”
Flipping my phone shut, I rushed off the couch, clashing knees first into the coffee table. Damn it! Stupid apartment and it’s old breakers…
It took a half hour to find candles and I scurried them around the living room, some on the entertainment center, others on the bookshelves and tables. Go figure, the one night I actually don’t mind having Bono in the same room with me and the surrounding just had to have a romantic feel to it.
Again, I am cursed…
Slipping on a fresh pair of jeans and tank top, Bono was knocking on the door. When I opened it, he stood in the doorway, a sharp expression of aggravation painted on his handsome, Irish face.
“It took me fifteen minutes to find your apartment!” He declared. “Why is your electric out?”
Sniggering and inviting him inside, he followed me into the living room. “Yeah, I uh, kind of forgot to tell you about that. My bad.”
With his eyes on the candles, he smiled. “It’s quite alright. Dinner by candlelight?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You said you wanted to talk so this is more of a meeting than a friendly visit.”
“…I see.”
My emotions must be really out of whack because for the first time, I truly felt bad for causing the grave hurt in his diamond eyes. Why was I so cruel to him? It didn’t make myself feel any better. Hell, nine out of ten times it made me feel downright disgusting. He was still human, after all.
“Bono, I’m sorry. There’s so much going on right now. I haven’t slept for more than three hours a day, and that’s on a good day. I’m snappier than usual.”
“Hey, it’s alright.” He sat on the floor, laying out the Chinese boxes on the table. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. But let’s eat first. You look like you haven’t had a descent meal in days.”
He was right about that. My meals consisted of …well, nothing actually. Besides coffee. Going to the kitchen, I grabbed two plates and two beers for Bono and myself and sat down on the floor across from him.
“Damn that smells tempting,” Gushing, I took a huge whiff of the fried rice. “Mmmm. Yummy. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”
Before I could even make a plate, Bono already had his mouth full, chewing quickly. “Sorry,” He added between bites. “I told you I had an awful craving for Chinese.”
“It’s fine,” I laughed and dug in as well.
“So, you will be pleased to hear that your photos are going to be displayed on the next months cover of Rollingstone magazine.”
Nodding, I swallowed. “Yes, Lucy called yesterday.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how much are they paying you for that photo?”
“Fifty-grand.”
He cleared his throat. “For real? Damn! Good for you.”
“Thank God, too. I have one more paycheck my way. Luckily I’m a good saver. My bank account hardly gets touched. I guess you can say that I’ve been preparing for a moment like this.”
“Why? You knew you would get fired?”
“Well, no, not exactly. It was a safety precaution of sorts. Everyone gets fired at least once, right?”
“Good point. I once had a job at a hair salon, sweeping up hair, you know? The ladies loved me a bit too much and my boss said I was swooning more than sweeping, so he booted me out.”
“…a hair salon? And you got a mullet?”
Chucking a piece of chicken at me, he grunted. “Shut up! I thought it looked nice. At the time.”
There was no holding back my laughter. “It suited you. It wouldn’t now.”
“And why not?”
“You have a different style now. You’re more causal than punk. It just wouldn’t work. You would look like a redneck in a business suit.”
Throwing his head back, Bono laughed hysterically. “You’re crazy.”
“At this point in my life, I would have to say you’re right.”
Stabbing my food with wooden chopsticks, a sigh of sadness escaped and from across the table, Bono laid his hand on mine, running his thumb along my knuckles. I sniffed my tears back and chuckled, looking at anything and everything besides him.
“You didn’t come over here to see me like this.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. I came over to see you. In any state of emotion.”
“Why do you always have to be so nice? Ugh, look at me.” I said, drying my tears away with a free hand. “I’m a mess.”
Bono scooted next to me, now taking both of my hands in his. Was that electric shooting through my body? No. Yes. NO! Arg, STUPID emotions! I haven’t slept in the last two days, my mind has to be going through a faze of misinterpretation. Yes, that was it. Does the heart do the same?
“Jessie,” Bono’s tender voice brought me backed me out of my confusion. “I have only myself to blame for all of this. Your life was just fine when I wasn’t in it. You had your job, your friends, your photography. When I entered your life, it was taken away. And in the worst possible way. If I never would have pulled you on that stage…”
“Shhh,” I cooed, squeezing his hands, forcing his eyes to mine. “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you at all.”
“How can you say that? You worked so hard for what you have and-”
“And I will continue to do just that. Bono, it’s a job. Yes, I’m depressed and I’m not used to this lifestyle that has been brought to me by force. But if I’m sure of one thing about myself, it’s my strength. And no one, not Lucy, not the tabloids or even God himself can take that away from me.”
“I know you’re strong.”
Engulfing me into his arms, Bono pulled me into him, stroking my hair. Nuzzling into his neck, his familiar scent surrounded me. All at once, my shield let down and I became a child again. Tears slid down to my chin and I whispered into his ear.
“I want to be weak,” I buried my face into his chest. “Just for tonight.”
“You go right ahead,” He whispered back. “I’ll be your strength.”
Stay tuned for the next chapter coming soon to computers near you!
And I had to re-read my first chapter to remember some details and I noticed so many typos, so I re-read this chapter, too. And I hate doing that! Grr. Oh well, it's finished, hot off the screen from me to you!
Thank you for all the support!Disclaimer: I own the MP3's of Jack Johnson songs I listened to during the writing process. Fictional, otherwise.
Chapter Nine
I couldn’t sleep.
Throughout the night, my mom had called me at least a dozen times, the phone remained unopened. She had obviously seen the tabloids, it’s not like her to call me in such a frenzy. What would I say? Yeah, mom, Bono had an affair with YOUR EIGHTEEN year old DAUGTHER in YOUR house. Sounds more like a Jerry Springer episode. It wasn’t right to ignore her, I know, but the situation at hand, the loss of my job and the lifestyle to follow, consumed my mind in the worst possible way.
Needless to say, it would only make sense to be restless. Trying to sleep in my room, the lights from the city irritated my eyes. The couch was plush and comfortable, but nothing like the leather sofa in my office that had been my bed of choice since graduating college. Brooke offered to stay the night with me. Such nonsense. I didn’t want to disturb her work. No need to put a friend through what I was going through.
Three a.m. and no television, no radio, the only sound being of the neighbors next door who were obviously had friends over, partying for the last five hours. Friends. That’s where I needed to go. To see Edge and Larry and Adam. To be in their presence and talk of the good times we had together stuck inside a snow, trapped house. Bono…even Bono wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he always knew the right things to say.
Bono stepped out of the shower and quickly wrapped a towel around his waist. Because of the cold, the inside of the house was beyond freezing, even with the steam from the hot shower clouding the bathroom mirror. Drying off, he dressed, combed his hair and brushed his teeth.
For eight days he had been staying in a strangers house. Every minute of those days he filled with getting to know his new temporary roommates: Lynn, her daughter Jessica (prefers ‘Jessie’) Alan, husband and stepfather. They were an interesting family, Bono noted, each with their own story and personality.
Lynn, who used to be a stay at home mom, divorced from Jessica’s father when Jess was thirteen. She was on her own, with a growing, confused and hurt teen, a large house and even larger mortgage, and had to find a way to support not only herself, but her child as well. For four years she went back to college full time on top of a full time job serving tables at a local diner on top of finding time to go to Jessica’s art shows and parent/teacher conferences. Once she graduated, she then got a job working as paralegal.
“It was,” she proclaimed, “the toughest and yet most rewarding experience my her life.”
Five months later she met Alan, a retired U.S. Army General and current computer technician. After only a year, they decided to take a huge step and had a small wedding at the house (they showed Bono and the band pictures.) At first Jess and Alan didn’t get along. He would nit pick, claiming she didn’t keep her room as well kept as she should have, her grades were slipping and she remained a recluse ninety-percent of the time she was home. One night they got into it, she called him an asshole and that he wasn’t her real father, and he said he would never want a daughter like her anyways. She broke down, apologies were given and ever since then they were as close as any father and daughter Bono had ever met.
And Jess…Jess on the other hand was a mystery to him. He knew very little about the girl. Physically, she wore her mothers features well: slim, curvy in the hips, medium brown eyes and reddish/ brown hair, and very pale. She liked art, that much was obvious for her work was displayed throughout the whole house: paintings, photographs, sketches, drawings, even bits of poetry.
In the guest room where Bono was staying, all four walls were bookshelves, from ceiling to floor. There were way too many titles to read, but he did skim: Anne Rice, Shakespeare, Whitman, Edgar, books on philosophy, art, Mozart, Di Vinci, science, biographies, autobiographies, musical biographies, Carl Jung, Sigmund Freud and a huge collection of John Keats. When Jessica told Bono that all those books were hers and that she had read every single one, he was amazed. Bono loved the written word, obviously he is a writer, but he had read maybe a third of amount of those books in his whole life.
She loved to cook, too. The house always smelled of some sort of dish or baked good. Her and Adam made cookies together last night. She showed him how to produce cookie dough from scratch and to mold fun shapes without using cutters. Everything she did had to have some artistic science behind it. And Bono found it very…consuming. It was tiring, really, to try and keep up with her excitement of hobbies. It also sucked him in like a rocket to gravity.
Bono folded his clothes neatly into his suitcase and set out to go downstairs to hang out to see if anything entertaining was happening only to stop in his tracks. Something distracted his ears. Laughter? No, not laughter.
Sobbing.
And it was coming from Jessie’s room.
Debating on whether or not to knock on the door, his concerning side overtook his logical sense of “teenage privacy.” Tapping for the fourth time, he put his ear to the door to listen and heard thumps and ruffles. He laughed. She must have been doing a quick tidy up. Finally she opened the door, her eyes bloodshot and her face tear struck.
“Hey,” He said. “I’m sorry to bother you and I’m not trying to be nosy but I thought I heard you crying and I wanted to make sure you are alright.”
She felt embarrassed and her voice proved so. “Oh…thank you. I’m ok.”
“You don’t look ok.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to talk? I’m all ears.”
Thinking for a moment, she nodded and motioned him inside. It was the first time Bono had been inside the girls room. Not untidy in the least bit, it was, however, a simple room, which was unusual for her being such an artist. There was a computer desk in one corner, two medium closets, an oak dresser and black curtains. Covering the floor was plush, white carpet. They sat side by side on the foot of her well made waterbed and it sunk from their weight.
“I had expected more from your room,” Bono joked, hoping to make her laugh.
Case accomplished. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, where are your paintings and such?”
“Eh, I paint for gifts. Hm, I worded that wrong. If I paint it’s usually a gift for someone. I don’t like to look at my own art.”
“Why?”
“It’s vain.”
It was his turn to laugh. “I guess I can see that. But I like to listen to my own CD’s. Is that vain?”
“No. It’s just my opinion on my own art. Some actors don’t like to watch themselves in movies because they will think ‘Lord, my nose is huge!’ or ‘Why did I suck in that scene?’ I’m the same way with my paintings or photographs. ‘Why did I use that color?’ ‘What was I thinking using that angle?’ It’s not very motivating.”
“Maybe I’m just over confidante?”
“Or maybe you’re sure of yourself?”
He turned to look at her. “And you’re not?”
“Not in that way,” She sighed, twisting her fingers. “I’ve had experiences in life that have made me less confident over the years. I had to grow up quick. I couldn’t be a normal teenager after my dad split. Mom worked all the time and went to school. And what did I do the whole time she was busting her ass to pay bills? Painting cartoons and writing worthless poetry.”
“You’re mom doesn’t look at it in that way. It’s pretty clear that she is proud of you.”
“I don’t see how. I should have got a job to help with everything.”
“You were an emotional mess. And education is sometimes more important than money.”
“Yeah. I suppose.” Said Jess with a sigh.
“Is that why you’re crying?”
“Ahhh, no. My father just called.”
Confused, Bono asked. “And that’s bad?”
“Yeah, it is. We used to be really close when I was growing up but after they divorced everything went downhill. He never called, never picked me up from school. We used to go to the library every Wednesday. Then he just stopped showing up. He forgot about me one day and I had to wait for my Aunt to come get me from school. It was heartbreaking. He never even apologized. His excuse was that he was working.”
“Was he?”
“What do you think?”
Bono hummed, realizing the issue. “He started dating a woman, huh?”
“Yeah.” Her face twisted with disgust. “Monica. Ugh. You know what the sad thing is? He lives only ten minutes away. What kind of father lives ten minutes away from his daughter and doesn’t even stop to visit? He called to tell me that he and Monica are getting married and that they were moving to Chicago. Psh.” She rolled her eyes. “So much for having a father at all now. Well, besides Alan.”
“I’ll be the first one to tell you that fathers are not always the greatest examples. My mum died when I was fourteen and it tore my father and my family apart. Trust me, he was never the same after her death. I lived with the man for years and we maybe said five words to each other in a day. To dream was worthless. To dream was foolish.”
It had been years since Bono had talked about his Dad. The same went for Jess. Bono put his arm around her small shoulders. It must have been the touch of a man that helped her to release. Burying her face in his chest, she let loose all the tears that had been held back, just begging for freedom.
Like a broken record, the next five days repeated themselves, a sick sitcom if you may, dragging and dragging in tortoise speed. Brooke and I would meet for Starbucks at ten every morning and, if the energy kicked in, I would walk around the city for a few hours, window shopping and listening to the local musicians on the streets. When I wasn’t walking, I would be at “home,” if you could call that stuffy, dark apartment as such, either lying on the couch, wishing I could sleep. I would flip through On Demand, glancing through the movie selections for something even remotely close to entertaining. Or I would read a few chapters of a book, only to end up tossed on the floor after a few chapters.
Damn you, Lady Depression.
Eight p.m. rolled around and I had somehow accomplished to find an interesting enough movie to watch. Half way through, at the peaking point, the lights of my apartment flickered and, low and behold, the electric went out.
B-E-A-utiful!
It wasn’t even storming out! As if the night couldn’t get any worse, the coffee table vibrated with the ringing of my cell phone. Great. It was probably mom again. Taking a quick glance at the screen, I set the device down and quickly snatched it back.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” A thick, Irish accent greeted from the other end. A voice that could only belong to-
“Bono?”
“Yeah. Hey, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about a few things and I know you don’t want to see me and I understand…”
I waited. Silence. “Buuut?”
“But, I have this awful craving for Chinese takeout and you know, those Chinese really load you up with enough rice and MSG to last a year.”
It was the first time I had laughed all week. And it felt way too good. “You…you want to come over?”
“I would love to. I’m afraid that my big head won’t fit through the door, though.”
“Smart ass,” I smiled. “I’ll smash the doorframe out.”
He chuckled. “Do really want me to come over?”
“Sure, I could use some company. Make sure you’re equipped with egg rolls. I’m starving.”
Flipping my phone shut, I rushed off the couch, clashing knees first into the coffee table. Damn it! Stupid apartment and it’s old breakers…
It took a half hour to find candles and I scurried them around the living room, some on the entertainment center, others on the bookshelves and tables. Go figure, the one night I actually don’t mind having Bono in the same room with me and the surrounding just had to have a romantic feel to it.
Again, I am cursed…
Slipping on a fresh pair of jeans and tank top, Bono was knocking on the door. When I opened it, he stood in the doorway, a sharp expression of aggravation painted on his handsome, Irish face.
“It took me fifteen minutes to find your apartment!” He declared. “Why is your electric out?”
Sniggering and inviting him inside, he followed me into the living room. “Yeah, I uh, kind of forgot to tell you about that. My bad.”
With his eyes on the candles, he smiled. “It’s quite alright. Dinner by candlelight?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You said you wanted to talk so this is more of a meeting than a friendly visit.”
“…I see.”
My emotions must be really out of whack because for the first time, I truly felt bad for causing the grave hurt in his diamond eyes. Why was I so cruel to him? It didn’t make myself feel any better. Hell, nine out of ten times it made me feel downright disgusting. He was still human, after all.
“Bono, I’m sorry. There’s so much going on right now. I haven’t slept for more than three hours a day, and that’s on a good day. I’m snappier than usual.”
“Hey, it’s alright.” He sat on the floor, laying out the Chinese boxes on the table. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. But let’s eat first. You look like you haven’t had a descent meal in days.”
He was right about that. My meals consisted of …well, nothing actually. Besides coffee. Going to the kitchen, I grabbed two plates and two beers for Bono and myself and sat down on the floor across from him.
“Damn that smells tempting,” Gushing, I took a huge whiff of the fried rice. “Mmmm. Yummy. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”
Before I could even make a plate, Bono already had his mouth full, chewing quickly. “Sorry,” He added between bites. “I told you I had an awful craving for Chinese.”
“It’s fine,” I laughed and dug in as well.
“So, you will be pleased to hear that your photos are going to be displayed on the next months cover of Rollingstone magazine.”
Nodding, I swallowed. “Yes, Lucy called yesterday.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how much are they paying you for that photo?”
“Fifty-grand.”
He cleared his throat. “For real? Damn! Good for you.”
“Thank God, too. I have one more paycheck my way. Luckily I’m a good saver. My bank account hardly gets touched. I guess you can say that I’ve been preparing for a moment like this.”
“Why? You knew you would get fired?”
“Well, no, not exactly. It was a safety precaution of sorts. Everyone gets fired at least once, right?”
“Good point. I once had a job at a hair salon, sweeping up hair, you know? The ladies loved me a bit too much and my boss said I was swooning more than sweeping, so he booted me out.”
“…a hair salon? And you got a mullet?”
Chucking a piece of chicken at me, he grunted. “Shut up! I thought it looked nice. At the time.”
There was no holding back my laughter. “It suited you. It wouldn’t now.”
“And why not?”
“You have a different style now. You’re more causal than punk. It just wouldn’t work. You would look like a redneck in a business suit.”
Throwing his head back, Bono laughed hysterically. “You’re crazy.”
“At this point in my life, I would have to say you’re right.”
Stabbing my food with wooden chopsticks, a sigh of sadness escaped and from across the table, Bono laid his hand on mine, running his thumb along my knuckles. I sniffed my tears back and chuckled, looking at anything and everything besides him.
“You didn’t come over here to see me like this.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. I came over to see you. In any state of emotion.”
“Why do you always have to be so nice? Ugh, look at me.” I said, drying my tears away with a free hand. “I’m a mess.”
Bono scooted next to me, now taking both of my hands in his. Was that electric shooting through my body? No. Yes. NO! Arg, STUPID emotions! I haven’t slept in the last two days, my mind has to be going through a faze of misinterpretation. Yes, that was it. Does the heart do the same?
“Jessie,” Bono’s tender voice brought me backed me out of my confusion. “I have only myself to blame for all of this. Your life was just fine when I wasn’t in it. You had your job, your friends, your photography. When I entered your life, it was taken away. And in the worst possible way. If I never would have pulled you on that stage…”
“Shhh,” I cooed, squeezing his hands, forcing his eyes to mine. “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you at all.”
“How can you say that? You worked so hard for what you have and-”
“And I will continue to do just that. Bono, it’s a job. Yes, I’m depressed and I’m not used to this lifestyle that has been brought to me by force. But if I’m sure of one thing about myself, it’s my strength. And no one, not Lucy, not the tabloids or even God himself can take that away from me.”
“I know you’re strong.”
Engulfing me into his arms, Bono pulled me into him, stroking my hair. Nuzzling into his neck, his familiar scent surrounded me. All at once, my shield let down and I became a child again. Tears slid down to my chin and I whispered into his ear.
“I want to be weak,” I buried my face into his chest. “Just for tonight.”
“You go right ahead,” He whispered back. “I’ll be your strength.”
Stay tuned for the next chapter coming soon to computers near you!
ittttt! *waits by laptop for more* >_>
That's it, I'm jealous of a fictional character being in the arms of a representation of a real person in an invented piece of writing!! 
