"A Sanctuary Safe and Strong"(Marianas Trench)

Chapter 40

The singer stepped through the open door, immediately flipping on both switches at elbow-height on the wall and dousing everything in a bright light. He closed the door just enough to leave a small crack between it and the frame. Watching as Matt sat, letting the car idle for several long moments before finally giving up and driving off, the singer stamped down even more guilt about what he was about to do. Josh flicked the lights off and stepped back outside, closing the door and locking it before rushing to his car as quickly and carefully as his body would allow.  

The continuing fuckin' Houdini act that he was apparently trying so hard to perfect was starting to wear very thin, and it had been less than two weeks. It was beginning to take a toll on him, these nightly disappearances of his. He didn't know how much longer he could continue the role, but still, it was better than the alternative. Now, only twenty-seven minutes lay between he and his flash pot finale. 

Somehow, Josh was able to shave about nine minutes off the drive across town, which wasn't so uncommon considering his personal driving habits. Parking the car in his usual space behind the building, the singer grabbed the bag of his clean clothing from the trunk and keyed himself into the studio. Home sweet home. Setting his things down just inside the back door, he hit the light switches in a sort of anticlimactic finish to his current performance. Ta-da! Vanish into thin air; successful reappearance right before your eyes. Smoke and mirrors; jazz hands with a magician's flair. The pledge, the turn, the prestige. Point a finger, misdirection; parlor tricks, prestidigitation. "One ahead," claims the maestro - a subtle step out of the shadows. Pause for applause, standing ovation. Take a bow, never reveal your tricks. He momentarily wished he was wearing a pair of white gloves and a top hat for effect.  

It was only a little after eight-thirty p.m., the blond realized, checking the clock on the wall. Too early to sleep, and there was no way he was going to risk leaving the building on foot alone again. He wouldn't make that mistake a second time. Lesson learned with the first go 'round. Josh settled for wandering from room to room feeling lost instead.  

On a normal day he had trouble keeping still, but lately, like tonight, it was even worse. The last time he'd felt this same inability to settle himself somewhere and just sit without wanting to pull his hair out one strand at a time, the blond had been petrified of his own home, and he could have sworn that he was able to sense some form of "big bad" out there. This time, he was simply restless. He felt safe enough at the studio, but he'd run out of things to do and, truth be told, he was fucking sick to death of staring at those same walls so much more often than he had to. 

Josh most definitely didn't feel afraid when he was at the studio, and now, it really was just pure boredom that kept him walking in circles over the course of the first hour he was there. On his third trek from the office to the control room and back, the singer stopped in his tracks, eyes widening as they landed on the door to a specific area he hadn't thought to enter yet. 

Taking a hard left, the blond walked with determination toward the room in the back of the building, four familiar purple walls in mind. He might not have been able to play any of the instruments in his possession or hand write a single note of music while his dominant arm had been in a sling, but now that he was semi-mobile and had better range of motion again, there was something he desperately wanted to do, or, at the very least, try.  

It was no lie; he missed being able to play instruments more than he missed anything else he could call to mind at the moment. Strings and keys beneath his fingers, sounds and vibrations thickening the air and giving him somewhere to direct his energy were all things the singer lived for. As cliché as he knew it would be to anyone who didn't understand that kind of passion, it hurt to not be able to create music when he had the motivation, even if it was just for a short amount of time. 

Placing a hand flat against the wood, he shoved the door open and stepped into the room, switching on the light. The singer was met by the expensive, extensive collection containing nearly forty of his guitars - every one that wasn't currently stored in his own home. They hung neatly from their respective pegs, lining the top half of three of the walls. He stepped up to the first instrument within reach and touched the pads of his fingers to the strings, pressing in gently and feeling the cool metal dig shallow grooves into his skin. The blue body of the guitar glinted under the lights, the smooth, glittery, glossy finish catching his attention and making him smile in spite of himself. "I missed you." Josh spoke quietly as he reached further up to pull the guitar off the wall with the intent to pluck at a couple of strings just because he now could. 

"I missed you too, cupcake," said a voice from behind. 

Josh jerked his hand back from the guitar, nearly knocking it off the wall in the process. His vision sparked white, littered with small explosions that caused him to blink rapidly, trying to clear his sight. The blood rushed in his ears, stripping him of the ability to even hear himself think over the noise. Breath catching in his throat, all he could do was freeze in place. This can't be happening again. It can't be, he thought frantically. 

When it became apparent that he would wind up flat on his face if he didn't give way to every shaking muscle in his body, the singer dropped to his knees where he stood, hunching over his legs and gasping unevenly. His breathing became a grated, rough, hollow, vain attempt that his body was making in effort to keep itself alive, but it didn't feel like nearly enough. "Fuck, no," he wheezed, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the inevitable. "No, no, no."