Chapter 3
He woke up to hear coughing and moaning from the other side of his room. Dave. He sighed as he turned over and had to stop himself from screaming as he was faced with the lovely tattooed back of Chester Bennington. Oh how he'd always wanted that view. Chester coughed again and his body shuddered violently before another low moan rose from his throat. God he had a sexy moan. If only he were....no Mike. Bad Mike. Help the poor man, don't fantasize about him! He struggled out of bed and hurried over to the singer.
"Are you alright?" he asked, trying not to startle the other man.
"I'm fine," Chester winced, "Just...."
The sentence was interrupted when Chester groaned again and both his hands clasped at the back of his head. His eyes shut tight and his teeth clenched. He had a headache and from what Mike could tell, it was all because of the drugs.
"I think you need some aspirin," Mike said and Chester shook his head.
"No, I don't need fucking aspirin. I need my fucking cocaine but you and your stupid brother dragged me out of the car before I could even take my stuff."
It was quiet as Mike tried hard not to cry. And then Chester sighed.
"I'm sorry. Aspirin would be nice please."
There he was. There was the Chester that he knew. Mike nodded and hurried to the bathroom. He grabbed the bottle and filled up a paper cup with water. He hurried back to his room and handed two pills and the cup over to the singer who swallowed them quickly and downed the water.
"I actually don't have any in my car," Chester said finally, "I was just making it up in hope that you'd take me back."
"You really don't want to be here do you?"
"I don't want to be anywhere right now," Chester sighed as he held his head. Mike sat down next to him and swallowed.
"You know.....I mean, we just met and all but I can listen if you need to talk. I always thought it would be the other way around if we ever met but I'll listen to whatever you have to say."
"No, no, I'm not doing that," Chester muttered, "but if you want to talk, go ahead."
It was quiet for a while and Chester's grip on his head started to relax a little. Mike finally decided that he was only going to get this one chance to say what he wanted.
"I came out to my friends in eighth grade. They were really cool with it and my parents supported me but some people were really cruel about it."
Chester was listening to him. Mike could just tell. So he kept going.
"They'd beat me up behind the school and call me a faggot. I didn't understand why being gay was so wrong. I still don't. I thought, I thought it was something I did. It must be the way I did it because no one else got beat up. I came home to an empty house crying and I went into my room and turned my radio on. There was a song playing written by some punk rocker with this amazing voice. He was singing beautiful lyrics. Lyrics that made sense, that I could understand."
It was still silent in the room. Mike wiped tears from his eyes.
"Because he told me that everything wasn't my fault. That bad things happen to everyone, even good people, like himself, and we just have to get over it," Mike took a breath, "I realize it now, but I didn't back then. I was upset and scared and angry so I took a razor blade to my wrist and hoped it would distract me from what I was. I felt so disgusted. I still do. Someone like that singer would never hurt themselves this way. It's stupid and I hate it."
