~ * ~

'Be quiet, big boys don't cry . . .'

Excerpt from Rhiannon Mary Lougher's diary

'Life is an illusion. I beg to differ. Life is a deception. A masking. Society, in its totalitarian view, forces us to hide behind walls of our own devising. Our true personalities are left behind these walls as we don our masks and step from our lairs. To survive we must act. To survive we must contradict our true selves, act the total opposite of who we are. Our real feelings are hidden behind a mask of contradiction. Those who are insecure must act confident to survive. Those who ache to speak out must keep silent to survive. Those who are shy at heart force themselves to be outgoing to survive. May the gods have mercy on anyone who dares shed their mask in the sight of Society. In man's freedom from other men's will, he has become a slave to the will of the monster of his own creation. Society . . .'

~ * ~
June 9th, 1998
Paris, France
The Zenith Centre

The shrieks of fans quickly turned into one long million-voiced scream as the centre filled with its hyped audience. In less than an hour, their idols would step on stage to begin the real show. Who gave a damn about the opening act? The real stars would come after them. Had that audience known what was going on in the wings, then maybe they might have been a little quieter, pricking up their ears to hear a small boy's panicked words.

Brown eyes wide, staring at the sea of signs and hands with a building panic, Zac crouched in a corner, shaking his head and breathing fast.
"I can't go out there!" he gasped in fear. Isaac pushed open the stage door and almost missed his scared little brother, who was dressed all in black. Except for the bright yellow Docs that caught Ike's eye.
"Zac what's wrong?" he asked gently. It wasn't often Zac got a shy attack; they scared the daylights out of the poor kid.
"Can't do it any more. I can't keep it up!"
"Can't keep what up?"
"Acting psycho! They all expect me to be crazy! I can't! I can't do it!" Zac turned his confused and frightened eyes to his older brother, "I can't go out there!"
"Yes you can Zac,"
"I can't!"
"You can,"
"I can't!"
"You can," in answer, Zac just shook his head and stared at the crowd. Keeping a calm expression on his face, Ike racked his brains trying to think what to do. If Zac wanted to curl up in a dark room and suck his thumb for a few hours, he'd have to do it after the show. The stage door opened again and Taylor walked in.
"Hey guys, what's up? Zac? You're not freaking out again are you?" He was beside his brother in a second. Nodding, Zac's terrified eyes didn't move from the screaming fans.
'Like you can talk!', the thought came unbidden. Taylor ignored it.
"What are we gonna do?" Ike asked.
"We can't exactly get the audience to shut-up, that's what's freaking him. Um . . . I'd take him backstage and fill him up with that Coke that's left . . . if that doesn't work . . . I don't know,"
"Worth a try," and with that, Ike helped his little brother to his feet and took him backstage in search of a caffeine fix. Sighing, Tay hooked his foot around the leg of a chair and sat down. He was tired. Why did it take him twice as long to shake off jet-lag as everyone else? Or was it jet-lag? All he wanted to do was sleep. And sleep. And sleep. And maybe never wake up. The thought left his mind as quickly as it came, barely registering.

A few minutes later, Zac bounced through the open stage door, thoroughly hyped on Coke. "I really don't know why you get so worried Prozac," Ike said with a fake smile. He did know, he was just making conversation.
"Tay's given me his psychosis!" and Zac cackled like a witch. No response. "Tay? Hello? Are you awake?" nothing. What was it lately with Tay? Was the guy going deaf? There he was, elbows resting on his knees, staring out at the empty stage.
"Tay?!" Taylor didn't hear his little brother. He didn't see the empty stage. All he saw was dark hair, splayed out on a white hospital pillow. She'd needed him so much. He'd never forgiven himself for that . . .

~ * ~
January, 1996
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

The stench of disinfectant and white nearly overpowered the boy's nostrils. He hated the smell of hospitals. His footsteps echoed loudly in the corridor. Every inch he sent a prayer to whatever god was listening that he wouldn't see Polanski. His hand strayed to the bulge of the Swiss Army Knife in his pocket. He wouldn't be held responsible for his actions if he saw that idiot quack's face. 698 . . . 700 . . . 702 . . . 704.
Rhiannon sat on her bed, dressed in loose jeans and an old University of Wales jersey. It was huge on her, it must have been Lew's. Hesitantly, the boy took another step further. Had she noticed him? She seemed engrossed in the lecture pad resting on her knee. She was drawing. Her dark hair was loose, tossed over one shoulder, soaked up the stray sunlight that fell on it from the open window. He could almost picture her in her glass room, sitting on the polished wood floor. Almost. The white overpowered the vision. It was too much . . .
"Tay?" he looked up and realised she was staring at him. Without warning, a small shiver of fear crawled down his spine. Polanski had attacked her with that electric shock crap three days before hand. What had it done to her?
"Tay?" she said again, looking at him with a confused glance.
'Come off it Tay! This is Rhee!'
"Tay speak?" she said. He stared.
"What?"
"Tay speak?"
'Dammit Rhee, speak! Why can't I speak properly? This is all Polanski's fault! I ever see that bastard again I'll kill him with my bare hands! How dare he do this to me!'
"Tay speak!" it wasn't a question now.
"I . . . um! . . . I . . . came to . . . uh . . . visit . . . you! Yeah,"
"Tay scared?" she looked concerned for him, and frustrated at herself. Why was she speaking so strangely?
"Um . . . no . . . I . . . just . . . um . . ." he stuttered. Not very convincing.
"Tay scared," and she rolled her eyes. "Rhee hurt. Tay scared!" and she threw her hands up in disgust.
"I'm not scared, just a little . . . nervous," he'd been scared as hell at what he might find!
"Same thing!"
'Just admit it Tay, you're scared witless because you don't know what they did to me! Bastards! The nurses, not Tay'.
"So how have you been?" forcing himself to walk over and sit on her bed, he tried to look at her drawings. She snatched them away.
"Tay no look!" why was she so fierce about it?
'Screw you Polanski! Screw you to hell!!'
"Okay, okay," he put on a very fake laugh, "Is the food as bad here as what everyone says?"
"Food bad. Tay no laugh,"
'Funny! He's not funny! Why can't you just say it?! What have they done that I can't even talk?!'.
"You don't want me to laugh?" almost violently, she shook her head. What the hell was she trying to say? "I'm not funny?" she nodded and sighed. "Why won't you talk properly?"
"Rhee no talk,"
"You don't want to?"
"Rhee talk . . . no!"
"What?" he was confused as a camel on a freeway. Rhiannon was trying so hard to talk, he could see the beads of sweat popping up on her forehead. She was shaking from the effort and the frustration.
"Rhee no talk . . . no,"
'I can't! I can't even tell him I can't talk properly! By the gods Polanski, I'll have your filthy hide for this! TALK DAMN YOU!!'
Taylor just shook his head. He didn't know what she meant.
"I don't . . ." in exasperation, she tossed up her hand at him in frustration.
"Rhee tired. Tay go," and she pointed towards the door. He understood that clearly enough. She was asking him to go. Go? But he just got there.
'God Tay, can't you understand the word 'go'? Leave! Leave me alone! Go away!! LEAVE!!'.
"TAY GO!!!" she screamed. He was out of that room faster than the speed of light. Rhiannon collapsed in sobs, staining her drawings of the valley of her dreams with tears.

~ * ~
June 9th, 1998
Paris, France
The Zenith Centre

"Fly the wings of an eagle, glide along with the wind, no matter how high, I'll be thinking of you the whole time . . ." Ike sent another glare at his brother. He'd lost count how many times Taylor had gone off-key. The audience was screaming so loud, they couldn't have heard, let alone cared. It wouldn't have mattered if it was only once or twice, but the whole night Tay had been stuffing up. Wrong notes, wrong words. In Ike's guitar solo in 'Where's The Love?', Tay'd absently started softly humming 'Stories'! God knew, Tay spent a hell of a lot of time in his head lately, but surely, he couldn't possibly be day-dreaming half-way through the first show of the tour?! Ike winced as he heard a wrong chord blasting through the amps to his right.
'Jesus Tay!'
What else could he do but send another glare at his brother, too busy wandering in his thoughts to notice?

~ * ~
January, 1996
Tulsa, Oklahoma

Head down, clutching her books tight to her, Rhiannon walked through the crowded corridor, trying not to draw attention to herself. Was it just her imagination, or were they staring at her, throwing quickly averted glances her way. She was the circus attraction, hissing and scratching as the children ran around her cage, poking her with sticks. She was the freak.
Both she and Liz had said absolutely nothing about her electroshock therapy, and they'd sworn Carlton to silence, but somehow, it'd gotten out. Did they think she was deaf? Did they think she didn't hear the whispers as she walked past? 'Psycho', 'insane', 'that girl'. The bastards! The clicking heels of her brown platform boots - that came up to just below her knee - suddenly seemed extremely loud. The corridor was too quiet. Everyone was staring pointedly at her. By their own will, her feet went faster. Where the hell was her locker? She risked a glance up. Shit! Marlene, the girl who owned the locker next to hers, who was also a cheerleader and one of the most . . . uh . . . well-endowed girls in her grade, was talking to one of the hundreds of brainless jocks that flocked around her like moths to a flame. This brainless jock happened to be standing right in front of her locker. Well, it wouldn't hurt her to politely ask him to move. As she got closer, the conversation ceased. They both stared at her. She came to where the guy was standing and was about to say something when he quickly moved aside, looking at her like she was an alien. It took every bit of her will-power to not scream at them all 'What's your problem?'. She just spun the combination into her locker and tried to open it. It wouldn't budge. She pounded it once with her fist. It sprung open. If only Life was that simple.
With her left hand, she held her books, with the right, she rummaged through the junk that had been slipped through the slits while she'd been away - she hadn't been to school in almost two months. Rhiannon thought she heard footsteps coming up behind her. She ignored them. They got closer. The knuckles of her left hand were turning white.
"Well, well. Guess who decided to grace us with her presence!" one of the guys said. She didn't need to look up to know who they were. 'Little' Andrew Butler and his group of dickhead jock friends. God, she hated these guys; they made her life hell. They were the main reason she didn't come to school.
Andrew had his palm rested on the locker beside her. His buddies had her surrounded. Ignoring them, she picked up the rest of the books she'd need and shut her locker, but didn't turn around. She'd need every second to gather her courage.
"Come on Rhee," he said it like a pet-name of a favourite pet, "Aren't you even gonna say hello to us?" the mock-disappointment was met with chuckles. She turned her head to glare hatefully at Andrew.
"Fuck off," she seethed with as much venom as she possibly could. He grabbed his heart as if he was in pain.
"And here I was thinking Psycho-bitch was madly in love with me!" oh! How much did she want to wipe that gloating smile off his face?!
"Who'd love someone more interested in football than anything else? Or are you getting your kicks from your team-mates? One big happy orgy!" the smile faded from his lips, replaced with a scowl of hatred. She returned it full force. She despised him just as much as he despised her!
"Oh! I'm hurt Psycho-bitch! I'm really hurt!"
"That was the intention," looking at her with an almost incredulous expression, Andrew glanced at his buddies, then back at Rhiannon. He gave her the assessing once-over. Her brown boots looked like something out of 'Pretty Woman'. Black stockings; black denim shorts; a black Shakespeare-looking, long-sleeved baby-doll dress and brown leather coat. Her hair was down in about two dozen braids, scattered over her head. In his opinion, she looked every bit the freak she was.
"You're pushing your luck, bitch. You're out-numbered and surrounded,"
"You don't scare me," she thought she sounded very convincing. But Andrew just smiled maliciously. "That's the best thing. I do," slowly, he turned in. Involuntarily, she took a step away . . . and found herself backed up against her locker. "You're a freak, Psycho-bitch,"
"That's what they pay me for," sarcasm laced her icy reply.
"I suppose they pay for being a whore too?" She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to quell the anger inside her. If she valued her life at all, she wouldn't hit him. "Go on Psycho-bitch, hit me!" she didn't move, just glared at him. Laughing, he had a hand around her neck, pushing her back. "Just think who they'd believe. Me or you? One of the best footballers this fucking school's got, or a crazy sckitz who's just had her brain electrocuted? Think about it,"
"You'd be surprised, when they find out just what a bastard you are -" Adam just laughed, gently, brushing his forefinger at the base of her neck, like he would a pet cat. What, did he expect her to start purring?! Revolted, she grabbed his hand and threw it away from her.
"Only like it when your daddy does it huh?" she slapped him as hard as she could. The THWACK! resounded clear across the corridor. Everybody froze. Nobody dared slap Andrew Butler. They looked at one another; maybe the girl was crazy? Embarrassed and humiliated, Andrew grabbed Rhiannon by the arms.
"You are gonna pay for that Psycho-bitch!"
"So are you," came a deeper voice behind them, before Andrew was grabbed by the throat and slammed into the locker beside Rhiannon. Again. And again. All of Andrew's comrades suddenly seemed to have evaporated into thin air. A bunch of seniors - Rhiannon recognised their faces almost instantly; members of the school's varsity football team - and the guy that had Andrew by the throat had dark hair cut just above his shoulder and bright blue eyes.
The black spots were swimming in front of Andrew's eyes, but he heard Carlton's words well enough.
"Stay away from my sister you fucking son of a cunt. I don't think I need to tell you what'll happen if you don't," the words were low and calm, even more dangerous for the cold, calculated ruthlessness behind them.
"Y . . . yes . . . yes sir!" Andrew stammered, wildly looking for somewhere to escape. Disgusted, Carlton flung him by the neck into the enthralled crowd. One of the bunch of seniors landed Andrew a solid kick up the arse. He went flying.
Chuckling, Carlton turned back to his sister.
"You all right?" he asked, concerned. All the hours had he spent convincing her to come back to school, and look what happened!
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," 'Psycho-bitch'
"You sure,"
"Yeah, I'll be fine Carlton,"
"Wouldn't have done it for anyone else," he put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze, "I might see you at lunch,"
"Maybe," 'You're a freak'. She smiled weakly. Giving her one last reassuring smile, he went back to his friends and walked off. Carlton meant well, he felt obliged to flush her out at lunch-time to see if she was okay. She knew it embarrassed him, even though all his friends were really good about it. In those first few months that she'd come to Eaglevale High - the only school she knew of that went from 6th grade up instead of 9th - Carlton's friends had all discreetly looked out for her. Still, her brother felt he needed to make sure she was all right. No, she wasn't going to put him through that. Sooner or later, he'd make her come and sit with him and his friends. And what would she do then? Talk to all their girlfriends? Clones of Tessa? Oh no! Opening her locker again, Rhiannon dumped all her books in there and picked up her bag, her black coat and a notebook and pen. Carlton would get another note slipped in his locker, telling him not to bother looking for her. Throwing the notebook and pen back in her locker, she slammed it shut. Good thing Carlton's locker was only around the corner. Note safely delivered, she hurried down the corridor, went out the side-door, through the school's front gate and broke into a run.

Going straight to the back of the empty bus, Rhiannon huddled herself against the window, looking around at the bare trees and frost-bitten ground. As much as she tried to stop it, one phrase that Andrew had scathingly said echoed inside her head. 'Crazy sckitz who's just had her brain electrocuted'.
The bus-driver pulled his parka tighter around his shoulders and looked in his mirror. The girl had her forehead resting against the cold foggy window, hands covering her face. He felt his heart go out to her. She was crying her eyes out.

~ * ~
June 9th, 1998
Paris, France
The Zenith Centre

Taylor was the first one off stage. Thoroughly pissed off, Ike stormed up to his brother and shouted,
"What the hell were you playing out there?!"
"I wasn't. We sang 'Weird' a cappella Ike, that kinda means not playing anything," there was a little smile on his face, but his eyes seemed strangely sad.
"You know exactly what I mean!"
"Actually I don't," as if that answered everything, Tay turned and walked towards his father, who was trying to calm down a fussing Zoë.
"I guess she doesn't like the screaming any more than we do," Walker tried to joke. To tell the absolute truth, he'd noticed his son's rather poor performance as well. But Tay was 'recovering' from that little episode in New York, of course he wouldn't be playing as well as he should have been! Still . . . Zoë's whimpers were about to turn into a full blown bawl.
"Here," Tay held out his arms for his little baby sister. Unsure, Walker handed her over, expecting to get her back in five seconds. To everyone's utter surprise, the second she had her little head resting on her big brother's shoulder, Zoë quieted.
"Tired are you Bubs?" he asked softly. In response, Zoë yawned. "Me too," not seeing the stunned glances his family was giving him, Taylor pushed the stage door open with his foot. It swung shut behind him with a soft click.

Not really thinking, or caring, where he was going, Taylor pushed open the first door that caught his attention. It was empty. He sat down on the dark blue leather sofa and absently focused on the blank TV screen. Not much to do. Zoë softly gurgled. Did she understand?
"I always knew you were smart Bubs," he murmured. She was such a gorgeous little girl. "How many hearts will you break when you get older hmm?" Zoë just yawned. That bought a tiny smile. "You don't care yet. To tell you the truth if I was six months old, I wouldn't either," why was he talking to a baby? Probably because she was the only one he could trust; she wouldn't judge him or blab to their parents like some people he could think of. "Not mentioning any names, are we Isaac? God, Zoë, if only you knew the shit I'm going through right now," 'Taylor Hanson!' a little voice shouted in the back of his brain, 'How dare you swear in front of your sister!'. "Shut up Mom," mumbling, Tay turned his attention back to the blank TV. They'd probably be all out looking for him. Oh, let them worry. He wasn't in any trouble, let them stress. All he wanted was some time alone; no condemning eyes or interrupting voices.
"You understand that don't you Zoë?" she stared at him. He could have sworn he saw understanding in those dark blue eyes. At least one person understood, even if she was only six months old.
He sat there for a long time, silent, thinking. Stillness; the quiet of being alone, able to think clearly, without being interrupted, thoughts just flowed. Nothing could compare to that. How often now did he get the time to just sit and think? Where it was quiet? The long trips were permeated and spoiled by the constant chatter of his family. On the aeroplanes at least, he could lock himself in one of the bathrooms, until somebody pounded on the door, saying 'What the hell is taking so long?'. But the car and bus trips that took hours and not a chance for peace and quiet? By god, he hated those. Which was why he read. Reading was good. It was so easy to focus on the words, become absorbed in the vivid technicolour movies of the imagination, get lost in the world of the mind. He'd read more books in the past year than he had in his entire life. Books made it so easy to forget . . .

A knocking on the door startled Taylor so much he almost fell off the lounge. Zoë, who'd fallen asleep, lulled by the steady heart-beat of her big brother, was startled awake. She whimpered in protest.
"Hey Bubs, it's okay. It was just the door," just the sound of his voice seemed to calm her down, ease her fears.
"Tay?" it was Jason, their bodyguard. Tay just smiled weakly.
"Hi,"
"We've been looking all over the place for you,"
"I figured you would," no apology or contriteness, just a straight stating of fact. Coming from Tay, that was surprising.
"Uh . . . yeah. Look, they've got some competition winners backstage," need he say any more? Sighing, Tay looked at Zoë. Meeting all these competition winners was pretty cool, but right now he just wanted to be alone.
"Can't Ike and Zac do it themselves?" not a whine or a beg, just a plain question. Coming from Tay, that was surprising. Jason shook his head. Taylor sighed and got to his feet.

"She getting heavy?" Jason asked as Taylor hitched Zoë up higher. Again. They were walking down a corridor towards some room - Tay really didn't care which - that these competition winners were waiting.
"Just a little,"
"Here," reluctantly, Tay handed over his little sister. The second her head touched Jason's shoulder, she whimpered, sniffled, and burst out crying. "Hey. Hey Zoë, it's all right," he talked to her in a baby voice, like Jessie and Avie did. "Come on Zoë, what's wrong?" it was almost an involuntary reaction. Tay took her back. She quieted instantly.
"It's okay Bubs," not seeing the shocked look on Jason's face, Tay just kept walking. He could see his brothers now. Follow them and he'd find wherever he was supposed to be.

All through the short fifteen minutes, Zac could see that three of the four girls were trying not to scream. Why? Was he a monster or something? They'd been firing questions back and forth, mostly with the one girl there that was sane. She looked to be about Tay's age, a to-die-for French accent, red hair, brown eyes and freckles. She was kinda pretty, he supposed. She seemed to be really nice, and she talked to him like he wasn't a baby Zoë's age. Speaking of Zoë . . .
Zac quickly glanced at his older brother, who still had Zoë on his lap. He hadn't spoken a single word, except to answer a direct question. Must have been one of his moods. Unless . . . no! His Mom said Tay was better. Better, you hear? It was just one of his moods!
"Three days between shows? When do you find the time to do anything?" being the theatrical maniac that he was, Zac gave a big yawn and collapsed on the table.
"Really late at night," he said. The girl, whose name was Celena, smiled, Ike chuckled and Tay didn't say anything. Had he even seen?
"Look guys," the rep. from the radio said, "Sorry, but time's up," the three freaking girls all kinda inwardly groaned and sent evils to the radio guy, but Celena just smiled and stood up.
"It's been nice meeting you," she said.
"It was nice meeting you," Zac said back, not to be outdone. The three screaming girls were ushered out quickly and quietly. Ike stood up, politely shook Celena's hand and walked out. Zac could hear his running feet pounding down the corridor. Probably wanting to call Tessa; what did he see in the cow? Chuckling, Zac ran up and gave the girl a huge bear hug and raced out the door as well. He wanted to be able to claim the TV before Jessie and Avie got to it. It'd been a while since he'd given the Playstation a good work-out, and now was as good a time as any.

Whispering to Zoë, Tay got up a walked towards the door. He didn't even notice Celena, and was surprised when she spoke.
"Is everything all right?"
"I, um . . . why do you ask?"
"You just didn't say much that's all,"
"Oh," he forced a smile and a short chuckle, "One wrong word and those girls'd have my hide," the truth was he hadn't trusted himself to speak. Not with . . . with . . . her, so prevalent in his thoughts. One word about another girl, and those three trying-not-to-scream girls would have killed him.
"Yeah," there was an awkward silence. "Well, I guess I'd better go,"
"Yeah, me too,"
"Well, maybe I'll see you 'round if you come back to Paris,"
"Maybe," they'd never see each other again. He knew it, and she knew it.
"See ya,"
"Bye," she smiled weakly, turned around and walked down the corridor.
'There goes another friendship, before it's even started' he thought sadly, then turned his attention back to Zoë.

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