||Living with the Enemy|| Bill Kaulitz ||79||

`*`

The moment my feet landed on the solid ground I stumbled over myself; I have no balance, add another thing to my list of bad. I sighed and hiked the strap of my bag onto my shoulder; it feels too strange to properly use the bag over two shoulders.

I watched as people rushed towards the luggage line and sighed in relief; at least I don’t have to go to more trouble to get my bag since I paid for it to go along with me on the plane. Yeah, they fucking ripped me off with that; usually you only pay for the second bag, but whatever, at least I got the earliest flight I could get at last second. Sure, I’ve only got four hundred fifty dollars left with me, and the first thing I am going to buy is pain killers! The headache going on in my head is brutal; hell even my vision is worse than usual. I might have to buy new glasses now; at least they will sort of mask my face from others. Bring on the ugliness! Not that I am not ugly as it is. Only ugly people get cheated on—used in my case.

I followed the line on the wall that pointed to the main entrance to the airport; I hope I don’t get lost in here, because I for sure am not going to ask anyone for help. Does this place even sell any kind of pain killer? They should because many people get headaches and ear pains while on planes.

The moment I turned around the corner of the hallway the security barrier area came into my blurry vision. Thankfully I did not get lost in my twenty minute walk here from the plane; now where are the little stores? I walked into the line to get out of the boarding a plane area; I don’t know any technical terms for these places.

It’s a good thing that I fixed the money that I stole before going through the security check back in New York, if I hadn’t I’d have a lot to explain about the wad of cash. At least it wasn’t as bad as the eighteen hundred.

Shit! I need to turn back and find train station terminal one platform five; how in the world did I almost forget about my scheduled train ride to Leipzig? I turned on my heel and rushed back to where I started from in the first place.

Purple line. Purple line, I need to follow the purple line now. Come on Ritienne; don’t let your fat get in the way of catching the train. If you miss the train you lose thirty-six Euros! I followed the line down into a staircase and across two very long hallways.

Oh my Gott! My calves are burning and my legs are going to fall off! Breathe woman. I huffed and puffed until I saw the train in the platform. Shit. I hope I have time to get the ticket checked and get on the train.

I rushed up to the lady behind the counter and handed her my ticket; she scanned it at said, “You almost missed the train.”

“Ich w-weiß.

I took back my ticket and rushed to board the train without saying good bye to the lady; well it’s not like she said hello to me either. I shrugged my shoulders and went to find my seat. Hopefully, there won’t be people near me, I don’t think I can survive if people are chatting happily near me or looking at me.

The moment I found myself at the back of the compartment the train engine started and I got thrown off balance into a seat with the motion of the train moving. Ouch, that wasn’t graceful at all, and I think I broke something. I removed the bag from my shoulder and unzipped the large pocket to look through the stuff. I picked up the mirror compact thing and clicked it open; yep, I cracked the mirror. Do I get seven years of bad luck now or does the mirror have to be in pieces for that to happen? Fuck it, I already live with bad luck, I dropped the mirror back into the bag and zipped it shut.

I turned around and to check the number badge that is screwed into the headboard of the seat, nope this isn’t even my seat. I looked around to find people sitting down minding their own business a few rows away; they won’t know if this is my seat or not. Besides, what difference does it make if the original number in my ticket is seat seventeen and not twenty-seven?

I looked out of the window to find that the train already left the airport; I shook my head, I was so close to missing my train. This is going to be another long headachy ride. “Probably five hours,” I groaned.

I should have asked that woman for extra pills before we landed; now I’m stuck with a massive headache or migraine—what the hell is the difference anyway? I unzipped the front pocket and took out a black pen, pushed the top of my arm warmer off the top of my hand and wrote in capitals: BUY PAIN KILLERS 1ST IN LEIPZIG! Whoops, I forgot to write the word thing before Leipzig. I put away the pen and fixed my arm warmer.

I shook my right leg impatiently and huffed. This is honestly going to drive me bananas, and I hate bananas. I took out the ear buds from underneath my shirt and shoved them into my ears; I might as well listen to music and try to zone out. I took out my iPod and turned it on to hear Eminem’s song I’m Cleaning out My Closet; this is not a song I would download myself, but she did. Mellany did.

I wonder what’s going through her head right now and what she must be doing. Heh, maybe nobody noticed my disappearance, or better yet they might think that I ran off with some dude. Yeah right, like I would do that to Bi—

I squeezed my eyes shut feeling my body go numb with cold again.

`*`

I wandered down the darkening street mutely; I have spoken in a while now. I guess I am too drugged to even make speak coherently. I can’t even think right. How many pills did I take anyway? I know it’s more than four, but I lost count. My head doesn’t hurt anymore so that’s a good thing I suppose; it only feels slightly fuzzy. Hah! Fuzzy like a besty bear.

I yawned and turned around the corner sidewalk and saw the faint outline of a park; I think I am getting sleepy too all of a sudden. I rotated my head around my neck feeling my head go heavy—can it even go heavy?

I scanned the park and yawned again it’s empty minus some kind of small animal that resembles a squirrel or something. No person in their right mind would take their child out in the cold to the park eight at night. Ugh. It’s getting hard to think straight. Where am I going to sleep? On the bench over there or under the slide? Out in the open or partly hidden? Hidden definitely.

I sat down slowly on the bench and sighed. What am I going to do with myself now? I’m seventeen years old and I feel like I’m fifty. I pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes and sighed. Well this park will do for my shelter tonight and tomorrow probably.

I always escape to a park when I need to be alone or have nowhere else to go. How am I going to survive with only three hundred dollars left? That’s not going to make much Euros that I have to use here in Germany. Damn it. Who’s going to hire a person like me who doesn’t even have an address? Hi, I’m Ritienne Berthing and I live at Park So-and-So. Pathetic much?

I stared up at the moon that was beginning to shine and felt the tension in my body somehow get worse. I don’t think I can live with this feeling inside of me. It’s eating away at my soul. I felt my eyes get teary for the thirty-something time today. I shuddered exhaling. I hate this feeling. I have to release it now, but with what?

I pulled off the left sleeve of my hoodie and rolled down my arm warmer to stare at the red skin of my upper arms—it’s that cold. The rest of the arm is red . . . it’s been a while. I grabbed the bag and took out the cracked mirror; I suppose it’s good luck that I have you here now. I snapped the mirror in half in my hands and pressed the sharp side of one mirror against my rough skin.

Within seconds the numb pain that has been freezing everything else melted and all I felt was a rush of burning anguish flowing through my veins. I gasped. It hurts so much. It has to get out. The coldness of the mirror is only a small comfort.

I slowly, methodically traced the faded, but still visible, lines that spelt Bill on my arm. It’s all because of him. I pressed only slightly harder as I went over and over; watching the red bubble through. It didn’t hurt—if only it did. My vision blurred greatly.

I bit back a cry of frustration and forced myself not to think or feel. Just to cut open and release. I only vaguely felt the hot tears turn cold down my frozen cheeks. It’s not working; the pain in my chest isn’t letting up. I’m going to go mad. Make it stop.

I tasted the rustic liquid that leaked into my mouth from my lips. Why does this empty feeling hurt so much? The pain doubled in my chest and I struggled to breathe through my nose. Just make it stop why don’t you? I don’t want to feel anymore.

I released my torn lip from between my teeth and took a shuddering gasp, “M-ma-ke it s-stop.”