|05-06-2005, 07:00 AM||#1|
Join Date: Jan 2004
Local Time: 09:17 AM
This Aint a Love Song pt 6
Disclaimer: i don't think this is really necessary to say but: it didn't happen__________________
The next day was supposed to be our “breather” day, meaning the day without a show, before we went back into the tour for a solid week and a half before the Christmas break. Because of last night the guys have decided that they’re performing tonight so that the show isn’t cancelled. The doctors have all been frowning at Daryl and telling him that he should take at least a week off to rest to which he replied; “I’ll rest when I’m dead”.
Edge is remaining in the hospital for another day though he’ll be joining us when we head out on the road tomorrow. I’m beyond worried about him, he’s seemed out of it since Daryl announced his theory that someone was trying to kill him. Though I suppose most of us would be a little shell shocked if we thought someone was out to murder us.
There’s a bit of guilt behind my worry. Guilt that I’m so worried about Edge when I should be more relived that everyone else is alright, guilt that I left other people to take over my job of replacing everything that was lost in the fire, guilt that I only feel relieved that Edge wasn’t one of the people to die in the fire, and guilt for not really thinking about those people who did die. I know Edge is thinking about them, and he thinks it’s his fault. He said that this morning when I went to see him;
‘It’s my fault all those people are dead. If someone didn’t want to kill me then none of them would have died.’
And nothing I could say would convince him otherwise. After all, how do you end that kind of guilt?
“Beth, are you alright?” Daryl asks coming up to me.
“I…I’m worried about Edge,” I confess.
He frowns, “Why? What’s wrong?”
“He’s blaming himself for everyone who died because if someone wasn’t trying to kill him then no one would be dead, so it’s all his fault and he feels horrible, and guilty and nothing I can say will change his opinion.” The words all come out in a disordered rush but Daryl seems to make sense of them.
“It’s not his fault. He hardly set the fire.”
“Try telling him that.”
“I’ll talk to him after the show, okay?”
“Why would you get through to him when I didn’t?”
“Strength in numbers?” Daryl suggests with a crooked grin. “I donno, maybe he just needs to hear it from a bunch of people to believe it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
I give him a semi-disgusted look, but I have to admit that he’s managed to lighten my mood.
* * * * *
Daryl spent quite a while after the show talking with Edge and came out shaking his head;
“I’d have got more of a positive response if I’d talked to that wall.”
“So what should we do?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Well I’m at a complete loss for what to do. I love him and I’m worried about him, but right now I just don’t know what to do.”
Daryl runs a hand backwards through his hair with a sigh. “Don’t talk about the fire, just act like everything’s normal. Maybe that’ll help, because he’s definitely got some issues with the fire so maybe if we don’t keep mentioning it for a while that’ll help. That’s all I can think of because I’ll admit I’m just as much at a loss as you are.”
“Then I guess we should try that, ‘cause I sure as hell can’t think of a better idea.”
Since the fire security’s been increased ten fold. You can’t get anywhere near where the band is staying without having to show some identification, that and there are now two highly trained security guards acting as the bands escort for whenever they go anywhere.
Edge remains quiet and withdrawn over the next few days no matter what we say or do. I’m starting to become more and more worried and finally late one night I head down to Daryl’s room and walk in the open door.
He’s sitting on the edge of the coffee table with one of his electric guitars in his lap and is totally absorbed in writing lyrics on the back of the room service menu since both his acoustic guitar and notebook perished in the fire.
I remain silent, knowing that he’s probably working on recovering the lyrics he lost with his notebook and if that’s the case I should probably leave him be.
Dropping the pen and grabbing a guitar pick he strums a few cords, which sound strange given the guitars not plugged into and amp, and starts singing softly to himself; “I wont turn on the radio, In order to forget about you, but it’s damn near impossible, to wipe you from my mind this fast, despite everything else going on, I really want this to last…”
Just as he reaches the end of the verse he looks up to see me.
“Hang on a sec, Beth. I just want to get the last of that verse down.”
I’m surprised that he’d taken the interruption so calmly when all week he’s been snapping at people who’ve interfered with his work.
Putting the guitar down he gestures for me to take a seat. “You’re worried about Edge, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“Because his behaviour’s worrying me, and I’m no where near as close to him as you are. That and you’re in my room at close to midnight looking more distraught then I’ve ever seen you.”
Admittedly, that’s rather sound logic, even if it is coming from Daryl. “I just don’t know what to do. I’m so worried about him and it just seems like he’s getting worse and worse every day.”
“I know. The only reason I can think of is, well, because he’s suffering from the knowledge that someone wants to kill him. I think that would be hard on anyone, but what I don’t understand is why he’s shutting everyone out, especially you.”
“Maybe he’s worried we’ll get hurt,” I say slowly. “Since he’s already taking the blame for everyone else’s deaths.”
“You’re going to have to talk to him, because if that’s what he’s feeling he’s just going to self-destruct if he keeps all that inside.”
I decide not to ask how Daryl knows this, mostly because I’m unable to deal with anything else serious. “I’ll try.”
He nods. “See you in the morning, Beth.”
I go back to the room I share with Edge only to find out that he’s already gone to sleep. Resolving to talk to him in the morning I place a kiss on his forehead before lying down beside him.
The next morning I wake up to discover that Edge’s already gone. Sitting up I look around for a clue as to where he’d disappeared to when I spot a note lying on the table beside the bed. Picking it up I quickly decipher Edge usual scrawl only to receive the biggest shock of my life;
I’m leaving; it’s safer this way. I’m sorry.
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