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The hotel room was dim, the only light coming from a small lamp standing on the bedside table. On the huge bed, the only one in the room, right in the middle, was lying Brad, a wet cloth covering his forehead and somewhat shielding his vision too. That was why he couldn’t actually see, just hear, Chester pacing back and forth around the four-poster bed.
“You shouldn’t have played the fucking show.”
“Chester, please, don’t start again,” Brad managed to mumble through gritted teeth as a wave of pain had just washed over him.
“I’m gonna fucking kill Mike!”
“No, he was right; it would have been too much to cancel three shows in a row…” Brad tried to oppose weakly, weariness along with fever taking their toll on him at last and making him even more tired.
“Who’d care? I don’t give a flying fuck about some Czech Republic! They’re all living in tents in here anyways!”
At this point, Brad knew it was pointless to waste any more energy on trying to persuade Chester that it had been the right decision to play the show in Brno. He wasn’t about to admit that whereas in the beginning he really had felt like playing, now the only thing Brad could think about was, well, dying most probably. Or slipping into a coma at least. Just anything to ease the pain in his ears and make the fever go away, really. Not much to ask, was it?
Any sound was hurting Brad’s sensitive ear drums but he didn’t have enough strength in him to open his tired mouth again and tell Chester to shut the fuck up. So instead, he just tried to tune out the pointless babbling, the habit Chester had picked up from Mike and seemed to indulge in.
“… the show’s sucked anyway. I mean, no offense Brad, but you haven’t even been on the stage most of the time. Honestly, we could have just skipped this God forsaken country and go straight to…”
With a tired smile, enjoying the sudden silence, Brad was starting to slip into a feverish sleep, glad that Chester was sensible enough to shut up for once and let him get the most needed rest. However, the thing that Brad didn’t see was that Chester’s mouth continued to move even though Brad couldn’t hear anything anymore.
The dream swiftly turned into a full-blown nightmare. Brad stood in a crowd that consisted of thousands and thousands clones of himself, all of them watching the real Linkin Park guitarist kneeling on the stage and covering his ears. Chester’s high-pitched scream was echoing in the arena, bouncing off the walls and getting louder and louder to drown the chanting of the crowd. ‘Watch my ears bleed…’ was repeated over and over again like a mantra of desperate soldiers toughening up before the final battle, ready to face off the enemy.
Brad awoke with a start, little pearls of sweat sliding down his forehead, his look locking with the concerned one of his lover. He had to fight the urge to just reach out his hand and smooth the wrinkles forming between Chester’s eyes with his thumb; he hated it when the pretty face was spoilt with worry. The slow movement of the soft pinky lips above him fascinated Brad to the point of a total oblivion and the only action he was able to manage in response was a dumb nod of his head. To his great relief, Chester just smiled and left the room.
Something was off, he knew it. Trying to balance his uncertain steps enough to get into the en-suite bathroom, Brad was starting to worry. His head felt like it was full of hot steam that was trying to find release by forcing itself out through his sensitive ears, making him dizzy and agitated in the process.
Watching the clear fresh water mingled with the Aloe vera scented soap disappear in the dark depths of the sink, observing little drops splashing and staining the crystal clear mirror, everything happening without producing the quietest sound, Brad managed only to gulp and close his red-rimmed eyes. The silence surrounding him was getting beyond awkward. Frightening, even.
Back in the room, Brad picked up his acoustic guitar and settled himself back on the bed. His hands were shaking for he was subconsciously aware of what was to come, even though not ready yet for his consciousness to register the cruel changes. Gripping the neck with one hand, the long skinny fingers of his other touched the strings softly at first. A slow vibration ran throughout Brad’s whole body, but that was all. Nothing else. A sudden wave of rage cut its claws into the desperate man and he hit the strings again, much more harshly this time. Still failing to produce any sound, or so it seemed, Brad ripped the cords apart, the force of the movement breaking his skin, and slammed the guitar against the wall, never turning around to see it fall apart.
Lips opened in a silent scream, Brad felt down to his knees, covering his ears, resembling the image of himself from his previous nightmare. An image of desperation and misery. A ruined human existence.
Storming up the stairs leading to the roof, Brad prayed the heavy metal door would be open. He acted purely on his animal instincts; stripped of all the rational thoughts he once had praised himself for. The various voices shouting his name after him fell on deaf ears and Brad just quickened his pace.
Finally. The breeze was rather cold and the Sun was hiding behind grey clouds but still, the day could have been described as lovely. It was strange to see all those cars and not hear a one single horn beeping. With the last look at his worn black Chucks, Brad decided to take the last step without giving it much thought. To Hell with it.
The fall had been much shorter than he had expected it to be. Same went for the landing, it was warm and soft and…
Strong arms encircled Brad’s slim waist and quick hot breath warmed his cheek. Before he knew it, Brad was flipped around, suddenly lying on the cold gravel surface of the hotel roof with one furious Chester Bennington kneeling above him. The only words leaving Chester’s mouth Brad could actually make out were ‘fuck you’ because having seen his boyfriend say them countless times it was hard to forget the shape his lips were forced to morph into.
Ironically, that thought made him laugh. However, the laughter quickly changed into desperate sobbing. The first tears that Brad cried since waking up that morning started to slowly wash away the tension bubbling inside him.
The silence was terrible. Denial, though, was much worse. Brad knew he had to act and do it quickly. Nothing was lost yet and he’d never been the one to give up easily and without a fight. For now, however, he wanted nothing more than to indulge in the feeling of the warm lips on his cheek, murmuring words of comfort, which Brad didn’t even have to hear. Chester’s mere presence was enough to restore the almost lost hope.